The Saturday Evening Post September/October 2022

What scared you as a kid? For me, it was the low-budget, black-and-white horror flicks that all my friends told me were “really cool,” but which would later haunt my dreams. I will never forget being taken to The Man from Planet X at age seven and being scared and thrilled in equal measure. (Why did the victims walk slowly backward when the lumbering monster came toward them? Why didn’t they just run for their lives?) There’s something about human nature that loves a good scare. And if you can enjoy the scare and laugh about it at the same time, all the better. Enter TV’s horror hosts, the folks (nearly all men, but with a few notable exceptions) who introduced, commented on, and frequently mocked the low-budget, B&W “Creature Features”…

It was the summer of 1850, and Frederick Law Olmested found himself transfixed. Before him lay Birkenhead Park in Liverpool, English – 100 acres of greenery embellished with rock gardens, pools, and grassy knolls. Tidy lawns were busy with playful working, class children, gentleman cricketers, and members of the gentry out for a bit of fresh air. Winding partways led across graceful briges to ornamental cottages, flowering shrubs lined carriage roads, and a flock of sheep grazed in a nearby meadow. Most remarkable of all, the idyllic park was open to the public. “The poorest British peasant is as free to enjoy [the park] in all its parts as the British queen.” wrote Olmsted with astonishment in his 1852 chronicle Walks and Talks of an American Farmer in England. “Five minutes…

Parks for All People If Amy Eckert’s article “A Breath of Fresh Air” (July/Aug), on the legacy of Frederick L. Olmsted, can convert just one person into a nature lover in this time of inside and inwardness, the Post has made the world a little greener. I encourage every subscriber to discover their little bit of Olmsted found across the country. Steve Friedman, Plains, Pennsylvania “A Breath of Fresh Air” was a great story on Olmsted and his genius. My son and I visited Volunteer Park in Seattle, Washington, and I could not believe how beautiful and well laid out the grounds were John Sanchez, Hanford, California Thanks for the Ride “On the Level” (Lighter Side, July/ Aug) was oh, so funny! Lightheartedly earnest, self-deprecating, bolstered by solid arguments in favor of acquiring an electric bike. Frances…

At the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic I received a text from a high school friend: “Just FYI, my mother is in the hospital in NYC with a positive virus diagnosis. Not doing especially well but not unexpected at 87 years old.” What he meant was this: She’s dying. I asked if I could call her, since she had been best friends with my mother for a lifetime, “She’s pretty weak, but I’m sure she would find talking with you heartening,” he replied. One minute later I called his mother, who coughed her way through a 90-second conversation, her lungs and airways choking with mucus, while I listened. Then I spoke. After, I texted my friend back: “I had a beautiful conversation with your mom. She said goodbye. I said goodbye.…

For better or worse, we live in a mercurial, manic, hyper-consumerist society. Things come and things go. Take, for instance, paper napkins. As recently as 20 years back, 60 percent of American households regularly purchased napkins. No more. Napkins have largely been replaced by paper towels. Mainly, it’s thought, because they’re more versatile. They can wipe your chin, then just as effectively wipe clean the litter box. (Always in that sequence, I recommend.) So, in the year 2022, the napkin finds itself in an existential crisis. Not yet gone, but fading fast. The company that owns rights to the King’s legacy is threatening to shut down any Vegas chapels that rely on Elvis impersonators. Do not be sad for the huge napkinmaking companies. As Nobel Laureate Bob Dylan famously wrote, “the times…

Today, youngsters return to school in early August, but when I was a kid our school year began the Tuesday after Labor Day, as God ordained. My childhood summers were so idyllic, I believed every aspect was planned by a benevolent deity, etched in the heavens since the dawn of time. Then September would arrive, heralding our return to school, and I was back to believing ill a god of wrath, who slew the firstborn and filled the rivers with blood. If God ever launches an apocalypse, I’m certain it will commence on the Tuesday after Labor Day. September finds me in a grim mood. Summer is winding down, and a long line of gray Indiana days are lumbering into view In mid-autumn, Indian summer revives my spirits, but it’s the…