I could either cut through Boyd Dingman’s place to get down to the Eagles Hall or peddle my bike a half block to the Sweet Road and coast down the hill and turn left into its parking area, normally stomping on my brake to make the back wheel of my bike lock up and spin sideways. There I’d find dad either checking the boiler or upstairs in the tiny bar area having a beer with one of the members. Both dad and mom were in the Eagles and it was pretty much the center of their social life, in addition to the 20-40 club where they played pinocle.
Dad rarely put on a suit to attend Unitarian Church in town with the rest of the family because his religion revealed itself more by watching the bees flying in and out of their hives on a warm summer morning than turning the pages of a book in which he had little interest. He did however put on a suit to attend the formal meetings of the Fraternal Order of Eagles. He took the Eagles seriously and spend countless evenings memorizing the words to its rituals. He’d say “Dicky, take this book and correct me when I make a mistake.”
The ritual was filled with words like integrity, honor, equality, and character. Dad would look at me and tell me that a man was only as good as his word. These were deeply held beliefs and he and nearly all the men and women of our town believed them.
I think one of the greatest disappointments he ever had was when he wanted to sponsor an African-American Airman from out at the base at Birch Bay to be a member only to be told it wasn’t possible. This word came from the national headquarters. It had embarrassed him to the point where he nearly quit. He had never heard of such a stupid thing.
But dad wasn’t alone in his feelings. The folks in Blaine were amazingly tolerant. One of the bankers down at the National Bank of Commerce preferences ran toward his own gender. Everybody knew it, nobody cared. The man was honest, a good banker, and a fine man to have in town.
We had a couple of teachers that today would be called gay or lesbian. Again, everyone knew, nobody cared. They kept their preferences to themselves and no one wanted to make a fuss. It was a very practical and honest approach to something that never seemed to be an issue in our town.
The town’s social life revolved around the Masons, the Eagles, and clubs like the 20-40 club where a rotating game of pinocle was played for years. My brother Larry, who was deaf mute was an active member of the Junior Chamber of Commerce. These organizations made our town a community, not just a place where people lived.
Television was slow to come to our part of the world. Dorothy Bullitt had bought KRSC and renamed it KING, channel 5 in 1948. In 1952 a friend of dad and mom, Dar Springsted opened a television store uptown. Dad had a good season fishing and that fall Dar showed up at our house with his station wagon. Inside was our new Hallicrafter’s television.
First the four spindly black legs were brought in and set up. On top of the legs was a turntable of sorts upon which the blonde box holding the CRT was housed. Then outside an antenna had to be erected with the wires brought into the house. The wires were a flat ribbon like affair so they could easily be slid under a window sill. When all was set Dar turned on the television with dad outside with a plumbers wrench to twist the antenna to line up with the signal coming from Queen Anne Hill in Seattle. The picture wasn’t exactly crystal clear, but you could watch it, and the audio was good. It wasn’t until the Vancouver stations got going that we had a good consistent signal.
It wasn’t long before people were enjoying shows like I Love Lucy and the Honeymooners. People could sit in their living rooms in the evening and enjoy the new form of entertainment.
The core foundation of the Eagles, Masons and other clubs kept going for a long time. Eventually however television started to kill both the movie theaters and the clubs. When the “old guard” started to die off, so did the clubs. Younger people weren’t much interested. They found their entertainment with Dick Clark and American Bandstand and Warner Brother’s Maverick. The better television got the more the clubs died.
The death of these clubs was a loss to the sense of community enjoyed in towns all across the country. Words like honor, integrity, and equality eventually became a bit malleable.
Now, as I listen to some of the politicians, and the people who support them, I’m sad that they didn’t have to help their dad with the ritual and thereby learn the meaning of those words. Sad because our community held people to those standards regardless of their preferences. Sad because there was a time when a person’s word meant something. I’m glad I lived during a time when it was important. I’m glad I lived in Blaine during that time.