Boomers and Hospitals: Then and Now

Recently, Mister Boomer had the occasion to visit a family member in a hospital. It struck him how different hospitals are now as compared to our early days of boomerhood.

For starters, hospitals in the 1950’s and ’60s were often stark and industrial, with uninspired painted plaster or cinder block walls and vinyl tile floors shined to the max to render the appearance of a sanitary environment — and that was just the waiting room, solid wood chairs and all. This form-follows-function zeitgeist may have been helpful in keeping the premises as sterile as possible, but gave the feeling of being cold, uninviting and even intimidating. Now, colorful artwork, fabric chairs, skylighted lobbies and — sanitary horror of horrors — carpeting, greet visitors entering hospitals.

Nurses offer another good comparison of then and now. In the boomer-era hospital, nurses wore pure white uniforms and funny caps that immediately identified the woman (they were almost exclusively women back then) as a nurse, and possibly the rank she had received, if you could speak the nurse-cap language. Today’s nurses dress in a variety of colors, usually based on their function and rank, and caps are a thing of the past. Where nursing was once considered an occupation for women, today men are increasingly entering the nursing field.

Hospital rooms have changed, too. Where once there was just a bed and bedside stand, now rooms are filled with plugs, outlets, wires, screens and assorted electronic doodads that were the stuff of science fiction in the ’50s and ’60s.

Mister Boomer recalls that in his early days, children under the age of 12 were not permitted to visit patients in rooms. He and his siblings would spend time in those sterile waiting rooms while his father visited his mother, or his parents visited relatives. On some occasions, they waited in the parking lot until their father would visit their mother’s room and open the window so she could wave at her children. Today rules may vary from place to place, but generally speaking, children accompanied by a parent or guardian are now welcomed as visitors at most hospitals.

One of the biggest changes in hospitals among the four to six decades we’ve lived may be the relationship between doctor and patient. In boomer years, doctors were clear authoritative figures that were rarely questioned. You didn’t ask your doctor about your diagnosis or prognosis, he told you what he wanted you to know, and that was fine for most people. Today’s patient wants to take an active role in his or her treatment — is it any wonder, since boomers always wanted to do things differently than the generations before?

Well, real life hospitals may not have been like Dr. Casey’s, but on display in that clip is a rough sense of hospital life, minus the private room and accoutrements from a businessman patient.

How about it, boomers? Did an early visit to a hospital traumatize you for life, or have you embraced the Modern Age of Hospitals in all their technological glory?

Boomers Go Fly A Kite

This year’s relatively mild winter belies the winters of boomer days when, by this time, we would have been desperately awaiting spring. Most of the snow would have melted, but the ground and trees were brown, and the sky was grey. A sharp wind was blowing, shaking our reality as the dot of sun beckoned us to play, while its rays struggled to warm our frozen landscape.

One of the first outdoor activities the neighborhood would engage in at this time of year was kite flying. The blustery winds of a Midwest March were perfect for launching our paper and wood flying machines, even if the bite of the cold numbed our fingers in the process. Boy or girl, regardless of age, could participate in the activity. For boomers, kite flying was another in a series of outdoor activities that required very little cost or training.

The neighborhood store readily sold kite kits for ten cents. Another ten cents would buy a ball of kite string, and you were in business. We could easily raise the money the same day we decided to “go fly a kite” by picking up a few discarded pop bottles (it was ALWAYS called “pop,” not “soda”). We’d quickly race back to our houses to rinse any accumulated dirt from our finds by using the faucet on the outside of the house. Glass bottles still wet, we’d rush back to the corner store. At two-cents apiece, it never seemed to take that long to accumulate the cash. All we’d have to do was follow the path that teenagers took on their walk home from our high school.

In the store, a cardboard box with the top third cut off sat alongside a glass display case that held a tempting assortment of candy bars, neatly arranged row by row. On this day, the money in hand wasn’t for sweet treats. Mister Boomer would browse through the selection of kites, looking for a color to “speak” to him. The paper kites were wrapped around wood strips and slipped into long, clear plastic bags. On the glass counter was a cardboard display of string balls. Kite selection and string ball in hand, the transaction was completed, and off we’d go to the nearest kid’s house that had a garage. It was easier to assemble our kites out of the wind, and we stayed a tad warmer in the process.

The kite itself was easy to assemble: Two wooden strips were joined by a piece of metal bent around them like a staple. All that was required was to turn the shorter strip perpendicular to the longer to form a cross shape. Each end of the strips had a slit notched into it. Unfurling the triangular-shaped paper kite, it was ready to attach to the strip by way of pre-placed pieces of string that conveniently slipped into the notches on the pliable, thin wood strips.

At this point, the kite took shape, but wasn’t flight-worthy yet. Down the central spine of the paper face were two dots that indicated the place to pierce the paper. Using a pencil tip we would do just that, then open our ball of string and slip the end through one of the holes. On the backside, the string was knotted. Flipping back to the front, the string was let out to give it a little slack between the two holes. A scissors cut later, the other end could be threaded through the hole and tied off like the previous end. This central string was the main line to which we could we could tie our ground-based string.

Flipping the kite over, we could see the paper was not as taut as we preferred. Mister B can’t say if this was a neighborhood or regional thing, or if it was the proper way to make a kite, but we’d tie off string on one horizontal end of the wooden strip and stretch it across to the other side, forming a bow by pulling the string before tying it off. Now the paper fit tightly over the wooden structure.

Next, a quick trip home to raid the basement rag bin. Boomer families kept rags for cleaning, but they sure came in handy when you needed to make kite tails. Strips of cloth were tied to a longer strip at regular intervals, creating Bow-tie shapes along its axis. Then it was tied to the bottom of the kite to act as a rudder tail and counterweight in the wind.

How you prepared string for your first flight was a personal choice. You could let it unwind from the ball as it came from the store, but most kids in Mister B’s neighborhood chose to tightly wind the string around a twig. If you found the right one, it would have a couple of knobs that could contain the string between them while offering space to grip the twig on either side when two hands were needed to steady the kite in flight.

Once the prepped string was tied to the central string, the kite was ready. Mister B’s block had far too many trees and telephone wires for kite flying. Inevitably, kites, trapped like live creatures rustling in branches and wires, were testaments to the hubris that got them there. Instead, happy to avoid a Charlie Brown kite-eating tree moment, we’d head over to the nearby schoolyard where the baseball field offered an unobstructed free range for flying.

While Mister B enjoyed the process of building the kite, he never became an expert flyer. First there was the launch: running over the uneven terrain and learning to time the release at just the right moment for your paper triangle to catch the wind. Then there was the stability factor. Here is where you’d see if you had indeed built a flyable kite: A tear in the paper, tautness too slack or too tight, cloth tail too long or too short, and your kite would not stay airborne for long. Once it was in the air, though, it was a thing of beauty.

Mister B recalls one time when the conditions were just right, and he launched a promotional kite he had received from the neighborhood Sinclair gas station. Fifty-plus feet up as he carefully let out more string, the kite seemed to hover in a sea of gray, its green dinosaur logo on a white triangle of paper holding strong in the breeze. The kite seemed to fly itself, and for one moment, Mister B’s spirits climbed up along the string and into the spring sky.

What memories do kite flying bring to you, boomers?