The Boomer Way to Deal with Trash and Garbage

The very definition of what it means to be a baby boomer — born in the immediate two decades following World War II — means we had a front-row seat at the dawning of the Consumer Age that begat the Age of the Disposable Everything. Fortune magazine seemed to be the ones to fire the starting gun, writing in 1946, “The Great American Boom is on.”

By 1950, polyethylene replaced wax as a coating for hot beverage cups, as the next few years saw an increase in the amount of convenience foods that were offered in frozen, canned, dried and boxed packages. In 1953, Swanson introduced the first TV dinner, and President Eisenhower’s chairman for the Council of Economic Advisers proclaimed that the economy’s “Ultimate purpose is to produce more consumer goods.”

By 1960, bread was sold in polyethylene bags instead of waxed paper, and the first pop top beverage cans appeared. That same year the fist disposable razor was sold, and within the next three years, aluminum would replace steel for beverage cans.

By 1965, the country was beginning to see signs that the rapid increase in the amount and new types of disposable items and packaging was creating a national problem. When Lyndon Johnson was president, Congress passed the Solid Waste Disposal Act of 1965 in an effort to study the problem to find better ways to deal with the mountains of trash that had begun to build. It would take another decade before comprehensive methods of dealing with all types of waste were addressed in national legislation.


Landfills were the method of choice for dealing with our trash, since in those early days, land was plentiful and cheap. National standards for controlling the sanitation of landfills to reduce smells and the spread of disease began to be introduced throughout the 1960s and 70s.

It has been said that one man’s garbage is another man’s trash. Certainly some people use the terms interchangeably, but in Mister Boomer’s neighborhood, there was a difference.

The term “garbage” was saved for the leftovers and trimmings of food waste. In an era that had just begun accepting modern conveniences, many households bought family-sized cuts of meats that required preparation, thus producing bones, excess fat and cartilage that needed to be discarded, either before or after cooking.

“Trash,” on the other hand, was meant to designate disposable materials like tin cans, cellophane wrappers and cardboard boxes. Before the age of child-proof, security-locked, tightly-packaged products, things came simply wrapped. Cookies, for example, came packed in a clear cellophane wrapper with a single cardboard backing. In some cases, additional cardboard was added to form columns to protect and separate the baked goodies. Bread, such as the Wonder or Silvercup brands that Mister Boomer’s family frequently purchased, came in waxed paper wrappers prior to 1960, when plastic bags began to be used. At that point, an empty bread bag was rarely discarded. In the age before Ziploc bags, empty bread bags became the receptacles for all sorts of non-greasy leftovers, from muffins and rolls to cheeses and grains. Mister Boomer’s grandmother would go so far as to hand-wash the bags for reuse again and again.

For Mister Boomer, growing up in the 1950s and 60s meant the family had two cans for refuse; one was for “garbage” while the other was for “trash.” Both cans, however, were made of steel, with steel lids. The city had trucks pass down the block once a week to empty the cans that had to be placed curbside the night before. Mister Boomer and his brother would grab the cans by the handles, one boy on each side, to drag the cans from the backyard to the front curb. Two cans were usually sufficient for a week’s worth of family waste.

Since garbage bags had not yet found their way to his municipality, the cans themselves created a rather unpleasant situation in the warm summer air; cleaning them was required after emptying, at least once every two weeks. Being the males of the family, that job also fell to Mister Boomer and his brother. Wanting to dispatch the job in the quickest manner without getting their hands dirty, the method they chose all summer long was a power shot from the backyard garden hose.

The “trash” can could get by with a quick rinse. It was then placed upside down in the grass for the water to drip out and dry before the steel can could rust. The “garbage” can was another story. As a receptacle for the remains of family meals, it was often covered with hundreds of off-white, squirmy maggots. Mister Boomer was the younger of the two boys, and was therefore tasked with tipping the can on its side (with a swift kick) while Brother Boomer took aim and blasted the maggots with the hose. Inevitably, the can had rusted holes in the bottom since no lining existed to stop fluids from deteriorating the metal. Now those holes could be used to guide legions of maggots into the grass where they’d disappear, to return another day.

The grandparents of boomers had come from an era of reuse and recycle. During both World Wars, the population was asked to save items for the war effort, most notably metal, rubber, paper and animal fats that were to be used to lubricate mechanical parts. Their children, on the other hand, wanted to embrace wholeheartedly a New Age of Convenience that brought with it the disposables consequences that adult boomers are now facing. Throughout our boomer lives, we’ve seen the continued growth of disposable items and the creation of all sorts of new substances — some toxic — that now require even more attention for long-term disposal. We helped spur an environmental movement in the early 1970s that resulted in keenly raising the country’s awareness of waste, recycling and other environmental issues. Is it time for aging boomers to get off the bench and lend their voices to a new age of waste management awareness?

What did “trash” and “garbage” mean to you as a young boomer?

Boomer Summers: How Moms Treated Scrapes and Cuts

Summer is here, and kids are out of school and ready to hit the video games for a day of indoor, air-conditioned play. This was hardly the case in our boomer youth; of course, video games had yet to be invented, but for us, summer was synonymous with outdoor play.

Each summer day, shortly after the sun came up, and certainly by seven or seven-thirty in the morning, Mister Boomer and his siblings would get out of bed and fix themselves bowls of their favorite sugary cereal. Their mother, having awakened hours earlier to make their father’s breakfast before he headed to work by six-thirty, had returned to bed and remained sound asleep.

The kids, heading out the front door, left it as it had been all night — open to allow the cool evening air to circulate through the screen door. They proceeded to meet up with other boomer kids on the block, of varying ages. Usually the girls would split off on their own to revel in a world of Barbies and tea parties, but occasionally some would join the boys in explorations of streets, fields and forests, as they picked up stray bits of wood, twigs, rocks, dirt balls, insects and garter snakes along the way.

Sometimes the play would stay on the block, with bike riding that inevitably turned to dares of maneuvers with varying degrees of questionable safety: riding no-hands, standing on one pedal, jumping off as the bike crashed into a neighbor’s tree.

Since boys will be boys, there were bound to be bruises, cuts and scrapes. Whether they were self-inflicted from falls or jackass stupidity, or at the hand of a neighbor via a spur-of-the-moment projectile or weapon, there was blood. Rarely did the condition warrant a doctor’s attention. More often than not, a quick pit stop back home would suffice as the Emergency Room of Summer.

At the home front, moms would take the nearest cloth — a dish cloth, dish towel or bathroom washcloth — and wipe the wounded area. Then, reaching into the bathroom medicine cabinet, the family’s bottle of Mercurochrome would be taken out. Just the name alone said “this is real medicine.” It was funny stuff. A bright, red-orange liquid kept in a small, brown bottle, it was topped with a cap that contained a glass stick applicator. The kids cringed as the liquid was spread across the affected area, though it did not sting. It left a reddish patch surrounding the wound as it dried; a Red Badge of Courage in the Battles of Summer. Like a race car driver that finished getting a new set of tires, just like that the kids were out the door and ready to finish the day’s race in record time.

Little did we know that Mercurochrome, the trade name for merbromin, was not a miracle mystery cure, but a topical antiseptic. Unlike iodine, which we sometimes confused it with, Mercurochrome did not contain alcohol and therefore our initial cringes were calmed when the sting that iodine delivered did not follow its application. What it did contain was mercury, which ultimately led to its undoing.

Mercurochrome
Mercurochrome was the trade name for merbromin. Photo attributed to Kevin Vreeland; Some rights reserved. For information on licensing, visit Creative Commons:http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5/deed.en



Like many drugs present in our early boomer years, merbromin had been in use for decades. Discovered in 1919, it was developed for public consumption by the Baltimore firm of Hynson, Westcott & Dunning. As a topical antiseptic, it was used to treat small cuts and scrapes through the Depression years, World War II and into the prime boomer years of the 1950s and ’60s.

In 1978, the Federal Food and Drug Administration conducted a review of over-the-counter medication, including mercury-based compounds like merbromin. There had never been a study linking the mercury-based compounds to any injuries or deaths, but some subsequent studies have suggested possible links for mercury-based compounds to a number of illnesses, including autism in children. By 1998, the FDA had concluded that merbromin — Mercurochrome — was “not generally recognized as safe and effective.” As a result, the sale of all forms of merbromin was forbidden across state lines. Thus the reign of this topical antiseptic of our youth had unceremoniously ended.

What boomer memory is conjured up for you when you hear the word, Mercurochrome?