As I was reading through the obits the other night….
What’s that you ask?
Of course I read the obits. It all began when I learned to read. I went from Miss Iverson’s alphabet flash cards to reading the adventures of Dick and Jane and Baby Sally and Tim the Teddy bear right on to Norfolk Daily News. Where I enjoyed the antics of big-eyed Little Lulu, Snoopy flying on the roof of his dog house (“Curse you, Red Baron!”) and the military adventures of Sad Sack. Then there were Hints for Heloise’s 1,000 uses for vinegar and Dear Ann Lander’s advice for the lovelorn. And, then, the obits.
It was a simple enough progression. Right up until last week when I read a notice for the daughter of Wisner baker, Paul Baehr. Anyone who grew up around Wisner—who may not have actually seen Mr. Baehr up to his elbows in flour—surely knew about the sweet rolls he produced. Those rectangular-shaped, sweet smelling, delicious tasting, fruit-filled rolls, wrapped in waxed paper and tied with an inch-wide band of white paper. On it was written the flavor.
My dad shopped, you see, at Millers’ Grocery Store in Pilger where Russ would slice off a piece of cold blood sausage for Dad’s absolute and solitary eating pleasure, and where my brothers and I would covet the candy bar that Bob tucked into our box of groceries.
But my mom shopped at Ralph’s IGA which is where she bought Wisner Bakery rolls, lined up in big cardboard boxes on the ice cream freezer near the checkout. My favorite memory of Ralph is when he bought me one year at what we called a slave auction put on by our high school pep club. I worked for an entire day at the IGA store where I helped Jim Schneider grind hamburger, and Viola Mewis took me to lunch at the café across the street, and I polished red delicious apples on a long white apron I wore throughout the day. When Ralph helped me into that apron he had to wrap the strings twice around my skinny, stick figure. I loved to hear that story every time he told it. Which was every time he saw me.
Where was I?
Oh yes, our favorite sweet rolls were prune, although there were surely other flavors. Cherry, I think, or maybe pineapple. The five of us each got our own sweet roll, packed six in a package as they were. My mom carefully divided the remaining roll for us to share. Sometimes, she heated the rolls in the oven until their edges were crusty warm and the prune filling hot and yummy.
The only thing better than eating Wisner Bakery rolls was hearing Ralph tell my apron story. Did I mention that he had to wrap the strings around me twice?
Memories. Perhaps we should write them all down, because as I understand it, Mr. Baehr took the recipe for Wisner Bakery rolls with him. We might record our memories before our kids and friends see our names at the top of an obituary one day. What was that story our mom used to tell about the Wisner Bakery? they’ll say. Do you recall dad talking about the grocery store? Didn’t mom used to tell us some story about a groceryman and an apron?
Oh, yes, my kids will remember that one. Because I may have told that one once before. Maybe twice.
LaRayne Topp
What’s that you ask?
Of course I read the obits. It all began when I learned to read. I went from Miss Iverson’s alphabet flash cards to reading the adventures of Dick and Jane and Baby Sally and Tim the Teddy bear right on to Norfolk Daily News. Where I enjoyed the antics of big-eyed Little Lulu, Snoopy flying on the roof of his dog house (“Curse you, Red Baron!”) and the military adventures of Sad Sack. Then there were Hints for Heloise’s 1,000 uses for vinegar and Dear Ann Lander’s advice for the lovelorn. And, then, the obits.
It was a simple enough progression. Right up until last week when I read a notice for the daughter of Wisner baker, Paul Baehr. Anyone who grew up around Wisner—who may not have actually seen Mr. Baehr up to his elbows in flour—surely knew about the sweet rolls he produced. Those rectangular-shaped, sweet smelling, delicious tasting, fruit-filled rolls, wrapped in waxed paper and tied with an inch-wide band of white paper. On it was written the flavor.
My dad shopped, you see, at Millers’ Grocery Store in Pilger where Russ would slice off a piece of cold blood sausage for Dad’s absolute and solitary eating pleasure, and where my brothers and I would covet the candy bar that Bob tucked into our box of groceries.
But my mom shopped at Ralph’s IGA which is where she bought Wisner Bakery rolls, lined up in big cardboard boxes on the ice cream freezer near the checkout. My favorite memory of Ralph is when he bought me one year at what we called a slave auction put on by our high school pep club. I worked for an entire day at the IGA store where I helped Jim Schneider grind hamburger, and Viola Mewis took me to lunch at the café across the street, and I polished red delicious apples on a long white apron I wore throughout the day. When Ralph helped me into that apron he had to wrap the strings twice around my skinny, stick figure. I loved to hear that story every time he told it. Which was every time he saw me.
Where was I?
Oh yes, our favorite sweet rolls were prune, although there were surely other flavors. Cherry, I think, or maybe pineapple. The five of us each got our own sweet roll, packed six in a package as they were. My mom carefully divided the remaining roll for us to share. Sometimes, she heated the rolls in the oven until their edges were crusty warm and the prune filling hot and yummy.
The only thing better than eating Wisner Bakery rolls was hearing Ralph tell my apron story. Did I mention that he had to wrap the strings around me twice?
Memories. Perhaps we should write them all down, because as I understand it, Mr. Baehr took the recipe for Wisner Bakery rolls with him. We might record our memories before our kids and friends see our names at the top of an obituary one day. What was that story our mom used to tell about the Wisner Bakery? they’ll say. Do you recall dad talking about the grocery store? Didn’t mom used to tell us some story about a groceryman and an apron?
Oh, yes, my kids will remember that one. Because I may have told that one once before. Maybe twice.
LaRayne Topp
RSS Feed
