Growing up in North Weymouth, Massachusetts, in the 1950s holds some funny memories. We didn't have much money, and I can remember my dad coming home on payday with a handful of paper money that he'd throw into the air in a celebratory gesture. My family would applaud and shout with glee. My brother and I would do a little "war dance." It was a very happy time. There were other times he was afraid he'd lose his job. Those were not such happy times. We would share a can of Franco American spaghetti for dinner, with an onion and a bit of hamburger mixed in if we were lucky.
I remember Dad chopping up our cellar stairs and the coal bin for firewood whenever we couldn’t afford coal. He’d warn us every now and then not to open the cellar door or we’d go tumbling down. There was a mad scramble to rebuild the stairs and coal bin when he got a little bit ahead. It was bad when the coal truck arrived before the bin was finished.