Most evenings we sit at the kitchen table and read. Natalie will consume one of her blood-and-thunder novels, either electronically or by that obsolete paper-and-ink software we once held so dearly.
I, on the other hand, remain up-to-the-minute by reading ancient Sears and Montgomery-Ward catalogs. I always have. And no, I don’t know why, except that I seem to find some peace that way.
I also learn a lot of weird trivia, like how America used to live. For those unfamiliar with the great mail-order firms, well, they were much like Amazon. You could buy virtually anything: canned pineapple, valve covers for a 1936 Packard, men’s suits suitable for clergymen, an amazing assortment of flooring materials, including multi-colored coated fabrics, which in 1946 were vastly cheaper than the newly-introduced ‘linoleum,’ and a selection of firearms that underwent a radical change after World War I, from 20 shotguns, 20 rifles and 20 revolvers in 1910 to approximately nothing in the 1920’s. That’s because the 1920’s crime wave was conducted with war surplus military munitions and Sears didn’t wish to arm the Mafia.
Lately, I’ve been poking through the 1946 Sears catalog, which was unusual because the nation was still cleaning up after World War II: Singer sewing machine factories had been making 45 automatic pistols, and the Ford plant where I later worked was building Army tanks. Almost every resource was taken, and you couldn’t buy much of anything from Sears or anywhere else unless you needed a Sherman tank or a machine gun.
1946 was interesting because the Great Depression had passed, and people had money again, but little to spend it on. A few fun facts: you could buy an electric iron, but there were no steam irons yet. There were no ballpoint pens, because Marcel Bich hadn’t invented them yet. You could buy tires, but only for heavy trucks or farm tractors. For a car tire, you had to fill out a long Ration Board form describing just why, say, a corporate lawyer might need to replace his right front tire. Then you submit the form and eventually Sears would send you a tire. The catalog featured a fine selection of coal stoves, some of which were partially finished in white enamel but had a big black stovepipe and a black cast-iron cooktop, looking like the Maytag repairman was hallucinating. To complement the off-the-grid lifestyle Sears sold a selection of neat little table lamps, which looked fine until the ad copy mentioned that they ran on kerosene. Same thing with the Coleman gasoline clothes iron (also not steam.)
Some shoes were still under ration restrictions: walking was encouraged for good health but not in rubber-soled shoes. There were no bicycle tires, either. Or rubber bands.
So I guess I could claim that I’m studying history from primary sources. And every period has its fads and decorating hints. Example: the 1910 catalogs feature many pages of horse-drawn cabriolets and carriages (including some powered by dogs.) Just 17 years later, they were gone, replaced by page after page of automobile parts and accessories.
Beware, Amazon and Walmart.
Mark Kinsler, kinsler33@gmail.com, lives in a little house in Lancaster that’s older than all these catalogs. Natalie and her cat preside, regarding me with negative adoration and muttering.
This article originally appeared on Lancaster Eagle-Gazette: Life in 1946 is glimpsed in the 1946 Sears catalog
Reporting by Mark Kinsler, Special to the Eagle-Gazette / Lancaster Eagle-Gazette
USA TODAY Network via Reuters Connect
By Mark Kinsler, Special to the Eagle-Gazette | USA TODAY Network
