Grandma Was A Flapper

My Grandma was the ultimate party girl in the 1920s. Always dressed to the nines, with perfectly chosen accessories, and a natural but complete makeup and hairdo, she held court in the modest family home in suburban Seattle she shared with her husband and son. She ran it like a drill sergeant, with everything always in place and ready for company, so that when Grampa came home on Friday evening, from his job at the Pike Place Market, the weekend round of parties could begin. The Federal Prohibition Act wouldn't stop them from having a good time!

They either went out to dinner and dancing at various speakeasies with friends, or they hosted a huge potluck dinner and beer party. Once in a while, they would have guests in for cocktails and a fancy dinner behind closed doors. But every weekend night, the party was on! Louis Armstrong, Grandma's favorite entertainer, blared from the Victrola, lending a frenzied and jazzy edge to the festivities. The food, usually spicy goulash, five alarm chili, or clam chowder, was followed by a huge cake with French vanilla ice cream. Neighbors and friends brought salads, fruits, and breads to round out the meal. The dining room table groaned under such a feast! But the real star of those parties was Grandma's homebrew. Her German immigrant father had taught her well. She made the best brew on the street!

She stored crocks in the huge upstairs bedroom, each with a date when the brew would be ready. When it was, she would provide the beer to the party. The following week someone else in their circle would bring their homebrew, and the following week another family would bring theirs. Grandma taught everyone how to make good homebrew, how to bottle it, and how to store it. Everyone had at least six weeks of brew curing in hideaways around their homes, so at least once a week, someone in their circle of about eight neighborhood families would have a batch ready to serve. The law allowed for the home creation and consumption of alcoholic beverages. [It did not allow for the manufacture and sale of those items.] As the circle of friends grew larger, and more families were added, at least two couples were required each week to provide enough beer for the party. Men often filled their hip flasks and brought that to the party, too. The corner bootlegger provided the stronger spirits for the neighborhood.

The house on the corner of 16th Avenue and 124th Street had a bedroom window on 16th that the bootlegger used to keep open on nice days. Pedestrians could sidle up to the window, trade a few bucks and continue on their walk with a pint or a quart of good Canadian Whisky in their pocket. When cars drove up, they usually parked across the street, the driver dashed across the street for his or her pickup. Funny thing, the house they parked in front of was the home of Grampa's older sister Aunt Maude who taught Sunday School and was a pillar of the Presbyterian Church. She frequently held church committee meetings at her house and it wasn't uncommon for a lot of cars to come and go in front of her place. What's another car or two parked there? Needless to say Aunt Maude heartily and vocally disapproved of the wild lifestyle of her younger brother and his pretty young wife. She and her husband never went to the weekend parties, though they would have been welcome.

Grandma's long gone to the Big Speakeasy in the sky. My Dad, who died recently, recalled that when he as a very small child, every weekend the boisterous house parties kept his Mother happy and in her element. She was a fabulous hostess, serving up good food and drink to their friends. It's her birthday today. Thanks for helping me take a quick look back at her lighthearted and carefree days so many decades ago.

Happy Birthday, Grandma!