It’s that time again, folks, when the cluttered desk needs to be freed from accumulations of useless information. Bear with me, please.
I stepped into a local smoke shop and asked what I already knew would be a useless question. The question was this, “Do you sell any Bull Durham tobacco in those little drawstring pouches?”
The clerk didn’t know what I was asking about, of course. It was said that cowboys loved them because it enabled them to roll a cigarette with one hand while holding the reins with the other. The main reason for asking was because nostalgia had overtaken my thinking process as I recalled the huge pots of chili my mother used to make.
A small diversion here to explain why the question had such importance. My father was a mail carrier in those Depression years of the 30s. There was a large, vacant old house on his route that had been empty for years, and dad had the idea that — with work — it could make a more comfortable home for a family of five than the one in which we were living. The house sat on a full quarter of a block, two blocks from the end of paved streets in that western edge of Tacoma.
The asking price was $450, which gives you an idea of the lack of facilities in it: no electricity, no furnace, no water and no sewage facility, not even a remaining outhouse! It was solid, but “needed work.” Sunday afternoons, after church services, became popular occasions where young couples could help with whatever work might be needed, away from prying eyes of more “proper” church members and — perhaps — even allowing them to stroll through some nearby patches of brush during break times. They became dad’s workforce.
I might digress a little further by saying that a young man in one of those couples was a teacher in the parochial school in the basement of our church. He began his career as my teacher in the third and fourth grades and — in later times in our lives — became a good friend.
Where was I? Oh, back to the house. The house’s only concession to modern living was a chimney in what had probably been a kitchen and mother always had a large pot of something bubbling away on a small sheet-metal stove, ready to alleviate any hunger pangs in those part-time helpers.
Now, here’s where we get to the Bull Durham pouch. The favorite of mother’s dishes was her version of chili, flavorful...but not overly spicy. One of the ingredients was a goodly amount of bay leaves contained inside one of those Bull Durham sacks making them easily removed before serving.
I think we all have a memory of our past which may be better than the reality and reason for that memory, and mother’s chili is the top of my list. The saddest part of this example is that mother never wrote down her recipe; it was always “a handful of this and a dash of that.” My brother thought he had duplicated it but his recipe included a full can of Rainier beer, and I know that was not something in mother’s list of ingredients, if she had had one. My daughter came up with a good reproduction, but memories can rarely be completely matched.
Since there was no running water yet in the house, all dishes, utensils, pots and pans were brought back home to wash. On many occasions there was something left in the bottom of the large kettle, and it often appeared the next day on our dinner table.
As mentioned, these were the Depression years and everything, including food, had to be stretched as far as possible. Here’s the way the Moeller family ate our chili: first, crush about a half dozen soda crackers onto your plate; follow that with a layer of freshly cooked spaghetti and top that with the leftover chili. It’s enough to make this old man’s memory softly think, “aaaaah!”
And, in closing, does anybody know if those small drawstring bags of tobacco are still available anywhere? They seem to be a collectors’ item on eBay.
•••
Bill Moeller is a former entertainer, mayor, bookstore owner, city council member, paratrooper and pilot living in Centralia. He can be reached at bookmaven321@comcast.net.
