MY TURN: The good old days

I was shopping in a local store a couple of weeks ago when I overheard two women talking about how they wish we could go back to “the good old days” when things were so much better. I have heard that same mantra expressed many times over recent years. And I have always had the same internal reaction … good old days? For whom?

I am an older, white female born in 1951 who grew up in the '50s and '60s. I recall having some wonderfully happy times in my developing years, so I get where this belief that those were the “good old days” comes from. However, I also remember other things about those days, clues that those days weren’t so great for everyone.

First, I recall my 12-year-old sister being chased by a gang of white male bullies who were bold enough to come to our front door and demand that our parents send her outside where they waited with chains, intending to beat her. I never understood what that was all about until later when I realized that our last name didn’t measure up to what they considered proper for a white middle class family. You see, our name derived from Portuguese heritage even though our ancestors had been in England for generations. Hence, my sister obviously deserved to be beaten. 

I also recall hearing that “Blacks should make sure they were off the streets of our dear, decent, white middle class town by sundown or suffer the consequences." In fact, Black people were only allowed to live in one area of town over by the railroad tracks and industrial area. This persisted well into the 1970s. I know, because my brilliant and highly educated vocal music professor at the local college couldn’t find any housing for his young family because white people refused to rent or sell to him when he came to town. Finally, and thankfully, a very kind and decent farmer rented a house to him out in the country. 

And we have other populations that didn’t have such a wonderfully happy existence to reminisce about, such as Native American people who were threatened with imprisonment if they participated in their own cultural and spiritual practices, or the children who were still being put in boarding schools where they were punished and beaten if they spoke their own language. Some never made it out.

Then we have the women who were unable to get credit without their husband or a parent cosigning, even though they were earning their own living, paying their bills and maintaining appropriate finances. This persisted into the 1970s as well. I was one of those women who stared aghast at the banker who informed me of this bank's policy, telling me to have my husband or parents come in with me at the next appointment. 

And later, I found out about our mental health system and some of the travesties that led to many of our psychiatric institutions being closed. As a mental health therapist, I even met up with some of the victims of those “good old days,” women and children who had been involuntarily hospitalized and drugged against their will for years because they had been trying to run from domestic violence and sexual abuse. And sometimes, just because they wanted out of a bad marriage from a controlling man. 

Then, let’s talk about women in the workplace and the sexual harassment that we contended with …with no avenue for recourse. Do I know anything about that? Yes, yes, I do. I was there being backed into the closet by the hot water heater and then being punished for not being “cooperative.” I also remember being interviewed for jobs and being required to guarantee I wasn’t going to get pregnant or have children. And then the fact that in the town I lived and worked in, there was a huge uproar in the 1980s over a woman who dared to open a law practice and later even dared to become a judge! Let me tell you how almost all the male attorneys in town refused to have their cases heard by her! They instead continuously requested changes of venue to a town 45 miles away rather than go before a female judge!

And last, but not least, let’s talk about our many friends and relatives who lived lives in quiet despair over not being able to openly have a loving relationship with their partner because their partner didn’t fit the white middle class definition of “appropriate.” Interracial marriages and LGBTQ+ relationships were not allowed, were even illegal and could lead to imprisonment not that many years ago. I remember going out dancing in the 1980s with a group of fellow professionals, some of whom were gay, and realizing that only some of us were able to fully enjoy the evening. Others had to pretend, so they wouldn’t lose their hard-earned and well-deserved professional positions.

So … whenever I hear those old wistful sighs about “the good old days,” forgive me if I don’t wistfully sigh along with you. Instead, I glory in the fact that we have moved forward. And let me also tell you that I shudder when I consider the ramifications of current efforts afoot to try to move us back to the past. It worries me that those who are driving those efforts play on the wistful ones who believe the past was so perfect.

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Susan L. Crowe is a Coeur d'Alene resident.