Delivering Milk for Delmar

 

In Memorium Alan Austin

 

I learned just the other day of the death of my brother-in-law Alan Austin. He was married to my sister Ruthanne, and they had three children before they divorced, my nieces and nephews.

He was at least three years older than I.  We went to the same high school and worked together at Western Electric in Lee’s Summit, Missouri before Uncle Sam interrupted my promising industrial career with a stint in the US Army.

Long before then, in an effort to provide an income for My sister’s family, The Old Man (Delmar O. Kauffman) decided that Alan should learn the milk delivery business.  The OM provided the truck and the contacts at Meyer’s Dairy and also provided me to show Alan the ropes.  Even at the tender age of 15 I was an experienced milkman.  The year was 1961 and Alan must have graduated in 1960.  

Now, working for the OM did have certain distinct advantages, but they were, in truth, few and far between.  You could stop at various coffee shops on the route and get coffee and a sweet roll and the OM would pay.  Stop, but only once, I may add.  They were greatly outranked by the disadvantages.  Firstly, my labor was not seen as a negotiable quality.  The pay was poor.  The working conditions were second-class. The early start was at a soul-destroying 0:500.  Finish time was when you finished, say about 14:00.   My task was to turn Alan into a cracker-jack milkman on a shoestring budget and in record time.  

Nevertheless, I attacked the job with my usual gusto.  At my young age, I did feel a certain pride in being selected for this responsible position.  After all, I loved my sister and I thought that Alan was an all-right guy.  I vowed to do my best.  

I was hampered by macro-economic factors of which  I was just too young and too disinterested to take any notice of.

“Recession of 1960-1961 (April 1960 to February 1961)

The 10-month recession saw the GDP drop by nearly 2% and unemployment peaked at 6.9%, while President John F. Kennedy spurred a rebound in 1961 with stimulus spending that included tax cuts and expanded unemployment and Social Security benefits.”

Perhaps this was not the most auspicious moment to start a new career (new, at least for Alan).

On the plus side, folks needed basic commodities like milk and in those days (I know this is hard to believe, you'll just have to take my word for it) most folks had their milk delivered by conscientious and hard-working men like me, the OM and Alan.

I believe home milk deliveries are now almost non-existent.

What Happened to The Milkman?

So why did home milk delivery start to decline?

There were also a few other factors: mainly, refrigeration and grocery stores.

By the 1930s and 1940s, almost every home had a refrigerator. Fridges replaced iceboxes- the first step in the decline of milk delivery.

The invention of refrigeration meant that people didn’t need milk delivered to their homes as often because they could keep it cold on their own.

It’s easy to see how home milk delivery went into decline. So why is it making a comeback now?

In a world where many things are processed and imported by big corporations, more people are becoming sceptical about where their food comes from. People have begun to focus more on buying local food.

One of the benefits of having milk delivered to your door is the comfort of knowing exactly where your milk is coming from.

You’re supporting your local dairy farmer, a valued community member just like you. When you spend money on local businesses, that money gets put back into your local economy instead of going to an out-of-state or out-of-country conglomerate.

Your milk hasn’t been sitting on a grocery store shelf for who knows how long. When you have milk delivered, it can go from the cow to your doorstep in as little as 24 hours!

 

What is for sure, there are now no milk deliveries in Kansas City or surrounding suburbs.

Damn, good old google has proved me wrong:

Shatto Home Delivery

Whether it is the simple fact that you have fresh products on your porch weekly, or it is the excitement that is gained when the kids wake in the morning and rush to get the fresh milk from the porch box, we are certain you will enjoy bringing the Milkman to your home.

 I regret that I don't know anyone who has milk delivered.

I seriously digress!

Let’s get back to 1961 and my efforts to see my brother-in-law prosper in the home milk delivery business.

A word about the home-milk delivery process. First you take your milk truck to Meyer’s Dairy (on South Dodgion in Independence - the building is still there and you can clearly see the loading area) You calculate the quantity and variety of milk or dairy products you require for the day’s round.  You fill out the paper-work and load the truck. Then you go to the local Ice-house. Ice was imperative in any weather but the dead of winter.  The Ice house was just off Noland Road.  I can see it in my dreams, but I suspect it’s not there any more.  The milk had to be kept fresh or it would spoil on the customer's doorstep.  

A word about the milk truck.  The OM was not in conscience going to splash out on a brand-new fancy truck for Alan and I to deliver milk in.  No way.  He did get us a truck from somewhere, who knows where?  It was just about serviceable, but did have one glaring defect.  The power steering did not work.  Now if you have ever successfully driven a large-ish heavily laden vehicle with no power steering then I say you are either Superman or a bodybuilder.  It took a lot of effort just to negotiate straight roads.  Turning was problematic.  A whole new method had to be employed if any progress was to be made.

I say this in my defence for reasons which will soon become apparent.

Now, also in my defence, I contended that then as I do now,  the best way to learn the milk business is to deliver milk to customers. That’s how I learned and if if it was good enough for me, well it would have to be good enough for Alan.  

We came to an arrangement.  I would drive the truck and he would deliver the milk, meeting the customers and learning the important parts of the job whilst on the job.  Simples!

Well, there were a few drawbacks.  Firstly, I was only 15 and had no driver’s licence.  At that time in Missouri this was not an insurmountable obstacle.  I had been driving cars for about two years and whilst helping the OM deliver milk he used to sit me on his lap (I was a skinny kid) and let me steer whilst he did the gears and pedals.  I learned to use a column shift by sitting in the driver’s seat on the odd occasion when the OK was actually outside talking to customers (usually because they owed him money) and practising my shifting.  I was good at it.  I was supremely confident in my ability to train Alan to deliver the milk whilst I the truck.

So befell it on that day . . . I paraphrase the Canterbury Tales . . . when it all went wrong, we were somewhere in the suburbs making our way from one stop to another whilst I was trying to man-handle that beast with no power steering around a tight right-hand corner when I made a fatal error.  Well, I say fatal, but actually no-one died or was even hurt!  

I got as far to the right as I thought I safely could.  I misjudged. I can see it again in my mind’s eye.  There was a car parked on the road and some lady was in her front yard watering her plants.  I was too far over and sideswiped the car in the road. I wrenched the beast around the turn, slammed it into third and shot off up the hill.  

Alan stopped me from compounding an already crappy situation and making it  into a tragic one.  We shuttered to a halt and rolled backwards down the hill, coming to rest by the parked car.  It was a fairly new 4 door Chevy as I recall.

The lady turned off the watering hose and told us to come inside whilst she rang Meyer’s dairy to confirm that the truck was insured and to report the damage.

Her phone was, fortunately as it turned out, up a small flight of stairs, perhaps in a bedroom, so she eventually called down to us, “What’s the driver’s name?”

I said a silent prayer and looked at Alan.

He said nothing, nor did his expression change.  “He just said,  Alan Austin”.  Since the injured party could not see us, and I suspect did not notice who was driving the milk truck any way, she returned downstairs satisfied that the company’s insurance would pay.  

There was little apparent damage to the milk wagon, but the car was going to need substantial repairs to the bodywork.

I, needless to say, never told the OM or Meyer’s Dairy who was really driving.  Neither did Alan, to my knowledge. OK, tell a lie, I did tell the OM  very many years after, when no harm could befall.

I was sad to hear of his passing.  I never remember having a cross word with him.  I saw him last at another nephew’s wedding and exchanged pleasantries.

I was glad I knew him and he was part of our family.