It's lurching toward the conclusion to a beautiful summer weekend here in the Twin Cities. We've had enough sweltering weather, however, to make me recall, with a mix of pleasure and wonder, the days before air conditioning. Wonder because sometimes the sensation, upon entering a building (such as your own house), of cool dry air rushing to greet you elicits surprise at the evident fact that in former times people survived without ever experiencing this relief. Pleasure because the next thought is of pleasant memories of the coping methods that, being no longer necessary, are a little sad-sweet.
Frequently it would be just too hot to sleep. You could keep a house tolerably cool through one or two oppressive days but a half week or more of 90+, with humidity, overwhelmed the fans. Instead of putting us to bed, where we'd lie miserably, sheets sticking to sweaty skin, my parents would get my sister and me into our pajamas and we'd go to the drive-in. For some reason, I still remember some of the movies I saw that way. Love Bug. Paper Lion (probably not appropriate for however old I was, but what were mom and dad to do?) We'd eat pop corn and drink cold drinks and eventually my sister and I fell asleep. That's probably when we headed home, even if the second show hadn't ended yet. There were double features at the drive-in. Paper Lion was likely the second show.
All that is just prologue to something I enjoyed today on The New Yorker website. Link. Excerpt:
Air-conditioning has reversed the polarity of summer: it has us fleeing inside during hot weather, while we used to flee outside, which might have been more fun, and was certainly more social. Arthur Miller’s “Before Air-Conditioning,” from June 22, 1998—probably the definitive New Yorker essay on this subject—describes the way New Yorkers would flock together out-of-doors. During his childhood, Miller writes, in the twenties, “There were still elevated trains … along Second, Third, Sixth, and Ninth Avenues, and many of the cars were wooden, with windows that opened. … [D]esperate people, unable to endure their apartments, would simply pay a nickel and ride around aimlessly for a couple of hours to cool off.” At night, Central Park was full of “hundreds of people, singles and families, who slept on the grass, next to their big alarm clocks, which set up a mild cacophony of the seconds passing, one clock’s ticks syncopating with another’s. Babies cried in the darkness, men’s deep voices murmured, and a woman let out an occasional high laugh beside the lake.” It was still hot in the park, and it was crowded, but the openness of the space made the heat easier to bear.
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