Ms. Johnson is the author of two other books, one on Librarians and the other on obituary writers. I call her three books her AOL trilogy.
Like any good writer, Ms. Johnson inserted herself in a dig that was unearthing Revolutionary War artifacts in researching her book. This is a period that is hardly digging where the pharaohs slept, but then again, I would suspect you've got to start somewhere in the "dig" minors before making it to the big show.
In keeping with the phenomena of everything reminding me of something else, an array of pop-tops makes me think of a church key.
No, not just a key that opens the door to church, but a church key that opens beer cans. There are undoubtedly a few ways to get to heaven, and popping open a frosty one (or six) on a hot day is surely on the list.
My impressionable ears of growing up in the '50s remember my father and our neighbor Frank, two houses away, asking each other if either of them had the church key. As a kid, I quickly deduced they were referring to a can opener to get the beer they brought out to the backyard open.
Beer cans of the '50s were made of reinforced steel and were as rigid as howitzer shells. You really were showing off your hand strength if you could crush one. Frank was a great neighbor and I played with his son Billy. Frank made corrugated doors at a family business in the Bronx and drove a car and a pickup truck. He once took us to see the tree at Rockefeller Center with Billy and I riding in the road bed of the truck, winging it into Manhattan—the City.
Since this is the 1950s, childhood safety is hardly on anyone's minds as seat belts and car seats were not even on the drawing boards. Billy and I happily bounced around in the back of that truck because even then New York City streets were barely paved.
Opening a beer can of the era required two punctures, a small one that allowed air to escape, as the larger puncture was made to pour the beer from. There was an art to making the small hole, then the larger hole. The contents were then poured into a glass, or slugged straight from the can.
According to Wikipedia the term "church key" evolved in the '50s because some of these can openers had the look of a medieval key used to unlock church doors. Not all that many years ago when as parents we were assembled outside the church in Whitestone to get in and rehearse, I think a communion. the church doors were found to be locked.
One of the parents went over to the rectory and got the key. On returning, I remarked that, "hey, there really is a church key." No one laughed, I suppose because it was an Italian neighborhood and everyone's parents were opening wine bottles in the backyard instead.
New York in those days boasted eight newspapers, and perhaps as many breweries. One of these breweries was Schaefer, a beer brewed in Brooklyn. I will forever remember the cans of Schaefer that once drained of their contents and their lids removed, doubled as holders for the nails my father kept in the cellar. Even without the nails, which gave the cans a pipe bomb look, these things were heavy as hell.
Cans of that era were tough to open. I remember the coffee cans that required you to take your life into your hands and risk slicing an artery, where you had to spin this thin metal strip around the circumference of the can with a metal key at was found on the bottom of the can. The metal strip was sharp as hell and I remember my mother once cutting herself somewhat badly.
And then there was Carnation evaporated milk. Why wasn't there a rim to hook the can opener onto with that can? I swear, manufacturers were out to do the American housewife in,.
Beer cans of course eventually evolved into aluminum containers. In fact, I think the guy who promoted that might have just died. The beer got colder faster, and there on the top was a pop-top that you peeled back that created the small and larger opening at the same time that allowed you to pour the contents, or let the macho guys drink straight from the can. What will they think of next? Just wait.
These pop-tops became the plastic bags of the era. Bad for the environment. Perhaps they weren't showing up in the autopsies of the whales off the coast of Italy, but they were creating a litter problem. The pop-tops were being dropped onto he ground or sand like cigarette butts. They were annoying.
And certainly annoying to that breed of scavengers with metal detectors who kept getting false positives about what was embedded, usually in the sand. Something had to be done. And it was.
The solution made its appearance is what we have today. The pop-top that remains attached to the can. Chug-a-lug, or pour, the pop-top stays with the can.We are a nation of problem solvers. Coffee cans no longer require risking a tetanus shot update, and opening cat food cans no longer require a spin on the electric can opener. Pop the lid. I think even a can of Carnation evaporated milk can now be opened without putting it under a drill press.
I wish I still had that Schaefer beer can full of nails.
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