Remember your first cup? Coffee is a hallmark beverage for many. Ubiquity to the extreme, some might say. Sept. 29 was National Coffee Day in the U.S. Wisps of steam rising from a mug of Joe bring memories to mind.
How could something so mysterious smell so good, and taste like road tar on steroids? In the 1950s and ’60s, every house had the coffeepot, the percolator — a metal basket, metal cylinder inside, glass bubble on top. Put the ground coffee in a basket. Put the basket on the pole. Put the contraption into a pot of water. Tuck in the lid. Turn on the heat, and wait for the liquid to shoot into the glass bubble at the top of the pot. A quick count of seconds and listening for the sound of the pot almost boiling over; then turn off the heat and set the pot to cool — percolated coffee.
For a young kid under the age of 5, this was real he-man stuff, guaranteed to put hair on the chest. By the middle ’70s the percolator had been replaced by drip coffee machines that have now morphed into the one-cup wonder of the Keurig machine. It’s appropriate, then, that we take time to celebrate National Coffee Day.
Those who grew up in The County well remember local television’s “Potato Pickers’ Special” at the time. Flannel shirts, braces and freshly made breakfast made right before your eyes while listening to the monotony of pickers needing extra sandwiches, crews working late, drivers grinding gears and diggers that made life interesting.
Coffee was the lubricant, a necessity. Those announcements would dry out a tongue.
The ringmaster of this circus of old was the humble John Logan. Beverage of the day: coffee. No wimpy instant stuff on the table, but thousands of gallons brewed each and every year. No ties, no suits, and just enough brew to wash down bacon, eggs, pancakes, beans, sausage, biscuits and advice. Maxwell House and Folger’s competed for the basket on the grounds that people who worked for the farmer should be fed. The host made comments about fishbones, dirt, and gravel coloring the water.
On Saturdays, there was “camp coffee,” made by throwing the beans into the pot, loose, and boiling the water. When the pot boiled over and it was ready, the grounds would hold a spoon so one did not poke out an eye. Show coffee — not for wimps. Black and served straight up was the order of the day.
A rich brew for those cold, frosty, rainy mornings when the harvester was stuck; the digger thirty rows ahead; and one more government person having his tie clipped so he did not feel outta place. Reality: hot, fresh, and with an attitude. Raise a mug and swallow fast.
One neighbor to the show, Paul Higgins, would have enjoyed that cup of coffee — the longtime pilot who kept his plane in sight of the tower at WAGM, who could often be seen flying around the fields mapping fields and entertaining the neighborhood with feats of daring in the yellow plane.
Mr. Higgins, as I knew him, earned his wings this week. One lucky man, witness to a few Pickers’ Special shows, actor in the skies over the station, and visionary for air services in the County. Lift a mug to a pilot who has truly earned his wings.
Today’s Pickers is too much city and not enough farm. Zarilli and Macari attempt the look of farmers but should make a few visits to Tractor Supply or Sleeper’s. Where is the coffee? Best get down to S.W. Collins and get a few buckets of roofing tar to compensate. Nice effort, but no hair …
Real coffee stirs the memories.
Orpheus Allison is a photojournalist living in The County who graduated from UMPI and earned a master of liberal arts degree from the University of North Carolina. He began his journalism career at WAGM television later working in many different areas of the US. After 20 years of television he changed careers and taught in China and Korea.
