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I think I wrote a long time ago on the old web site about the Dugan truck. We rented an upstairs apt on Bionia Ave in South Beach about 1945 for a couple of years. It had a long flight of stairs inside a door that usually was open to outside entrance. The upstairs one being locked.

Well I went to Lake Mohawk in New Jersey for a family visit. When I returned he for some stupid reason had almost lined the steps from bottom to top with bakery items he had left. Stupid for sure. I did not pay of course for that bunch.

It was an Italian neighborhood. I was a young gal and these women who gathered at the vegetable wagon taught me how to make many italian dishes. Standing there in the sun, picking over items, I learned a lot.

Before this I lived on Summers Lane in Four Corners with the folks. We had ragmen, icemen, coalmen, insurance men, women selling and fitting corsets, men selling linens a quarter a week, and many other conveniences.

After World War 11 it all changed and fast.

No one could afford to drive to the stores for small items. Gas was rationed so it came to us.

The familiar honking or ringing of a bell or chime or clang of gongs to summon one to the wagon, cart or truck was a familiar sound.

Remember the guy with the small pony who came to take your picture?? He supplied the hat, chaps, and western gloves. lol


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