Jesus rose.
And that was reason enough for my family and every family in my church to get new duds for Easter.
New clothes were a rarity in my house, unless my mother sewed them or they were hand-me-downs from someone in my parents’ card club, my aunt, or Grandma Mootsie. Yes, I wore my grandmother’s old clothes.
In those days, you could find three categories of clothes in my closet: play clothes; school clothes; and church clothes. School clothes were bought or sewn in August. They were always a little big so I could grow into them, and out of them. Play clothes were often school clothes that got tuckered out. Church clothes were velveteen or taffeta, with sashed skirts held aloft by scratchy petticoats. Church clothes never evolved into school or play clothes.
When you were a kid back then, you wore your clothes until they didn’t fit; style had nothing to do with it.
Despite my family’s frugal take on fashion, Easter was an occasion for new clothes. Dad and Steve got new shirts and ties (my brother’s was a clip-on), and sometimes even a new suit. I remember the year Mom bought my dad a blue suit that was iridescent (and matched his Mercury). “Look at that,” she marveled. “It is so subtle, it just glistens a bit.” I don’t know that my dad cared about that suit, or any other. He was used to Mom dressing him.
As for my brother, he hated everything Easter: the clothes; the early church service; even the candy. He would rather be poking a hook into a worm or loading BBs into a pistol. He was weird, I always thought, because I loved every unholy thing about this most holy of days.
Everything, and I mean everything, we gals wore on Easter was new: shoes; hat; pocketbook; dress; gloves; and underthings. Grandma Seilkop would often buy me a petticoat (or a slip, when I became a sophisticated teen) as a present to put in my Easter basket, along with an orange, a quarter in a plastic egg, and a little bunny cake from Graeters (which they still make a half century later).
Grandma Mootsie had no time to shop for my slip because she was so obsessed with buying hers. One year I remember she was driven to distraction because she couldn’t find a lavender slip to match her lavender suit. Rit Dye came to the rescue to transform her white slip into lavender. Her hands as well.
As much as I loved my Easter clothes, I can’t describe a single dress, and I couldn’t turn up a single photo.
But I remember the accessories. The hats were white and brimmed, often worn atop a fuzzy fresh Toni permanent. The purses were handled and straw, with gold fasteners that snapped.
The shoes were patent leather Mary Janes until, when I was about ten, I begged for shoes without straps. Mom cautioned, “You won’t be able to keep them on. You’ll get blisters.” I couldn’t and I did, but I sure didn’t complain.
When I was confirmed in seventh grade, I got two dresses for the many special services we were required to attend. One was white and one pale yellow, chosen because they wouldn’t show through my white robe. I also wore pearl studs in my newly minted pierced ears. It wasn’t in the Catechism, but there was an unwritten rule in our church that girls didn’t wear hose and heels until confirmation, and we couldn’t wait. The stockings were “suntan” and held up by garter belts with supporters that dug into and imprinted our thighs. The shoes were white with tiny heels, and all of us polished them before every Lenten service
As confirmands, we took turns as acolytes lighting the tapers on the altar with yard-long candlelighters. It was humiliating to be in front of the congregation struggling to get a short candle wick to catch fire.
A few confirmands fretted loudly that they might start their periods while walking down the aisle wearing white. They made me jealous (and that was their intention), because they had gotten their “friend” and I hadn’t. I only had to worry about spilling wine from the little bitty communion cups.
We went to bed early the night before Easter because Sunrise Service began at 6:30. I would lay out my clothes and carefully curated jewelry on my white vinyl vanity bench. It was harder to go to sleep that night than on Christmas Eve because I imagined myself in all my Easter finery, and because I was sleeping with prickly brush rollers impaling my scalp.
No matter how we all prepared for this special Sunday, our family was late leaving for church just like every other week. My dad would drive like a maniac from Finneytown to our church in Elmwood, God-damning all the way, especially if there was a train crossing in Carthage.
Mom was in the choir loft during both services, but Dad missed church to cook breakfast with the Brotherhood. The Seilkop grandparents sat
Grandpa Gil and Grandma Seilkop with my daughter on Easter
in a pew, the very same one every week, on the first floor, about five rows back from the pulpit, but I sat up in the balcony with Mootsie and Grandpa Gil. Mootsie let me twist the rings on her age-spotted hands, including the diamond-ringed opal that was as big as a gumball. I loved watching Grandpa Gil fall asleep and startle awake a dozen times during a service. During an awake cycle, he’d give me a Chicklet. And then he’d fall asleep again.
Dozens of potted lilies were arranged in the shape of a cross in front of the alter, and I loved the scent which now I find cloying. I used my finger to follow the words, all five verses, of “Christ the Lord is Risen Today,” a hymn that I can now sing almost by heart.
Reverand Eckardt would recount the Easter story, and it’s probably my imagination, but when Jesus rose, so did the sun, illuminating the stained glass windows which were imported from Germany a half century before.
I sat in the pew, smoothing my skirt over my petticoat, hoping that everyone was noticing how adorable I was. I tugged on my ruffled white gloves to place my dime in the offering plate.
It was after church that I had a chance to flaunt my shiny Easter self. As we walked down two flights of steps to the Fellowship Hall, the smell of bacon wafted up to greet us. The tables were decorated with Easter baskets brimming with cellophane grass, dark chocolate-covered marshmallow eggs, and jelly beans. Oh, to be fetching and to be eating candy with breakfast!
When I was old enough to be in Youth Group, I got to serve the breakfast. A lady in the Women’s Guild tied a too-big apron over our new Easter outfits, and we carried plates of eggs and bacon to the hundreds of people. Some of those people are still alive today, and on Easter Sunday they still compliment me on my clothes, as they did way back then. And they still call me “Sandy Sue.” They don’t tell me “how big you’re getting!” as they did then, though it is still true.
Sometimes, the Sunday School Superintendent was able to get ahold of a movie of the Easter story. I don’t know where the church got the film projector that went click-click-click as it fed the film. The dialogue was garbled and out of sync with the film, but I didn’t care; I was sitting among all the kids and adults in Sunday School, which was an opportunity for me to see and be seen. I am not sure this is true, but I imagine I was the kind of little girl who would find the need to go get a drink or go to the bathroom a few times during the movie just to make sure everyone noticed me.
I usually return to my parents’ church on Easter . It really isn’t the St. Matthew United Church of Christ that my family helped found over a century ago. As time went on, Elmwood was no longer the place for “our kind” of families, and most people were moving to the suburbs. When membership dwindled, we had to merge with another church in Wyoming, as did Carthage United Church of Christ. Even after these mergers there are less than a hundred people in the pews.
There is still a breakfast. My dad cooked the breakfast until the Easter before he died . My uncle is in charge of the eggs now, which come already beaten in a bag, and there are heat-to-serve sausage links instead of fried bacon. Sadly, there aren’t many young people in the church anymore, so the breakfast is mostly served by adults.
The church children still dress up on Easter, but not to such a grand degree. I am pretty sure there are no petticoats, and probably no slips, either. Some adults seem to dress up a bit, but few men wear ties, much less suits (and certainly no iridescent ones).
It is bittersweet to return to this replacement of the place of my religious roots, yet there are still people there who have known me all of my 66 years, six years longer than my mom and two years longer than my dad.
When the old church was sold, my parents paid to remove the gorgeous stained glass windows and have them installed in the new church.
They are still beautiful, but because of the orientation of the building, most of them remain fairly dark throughout the service, except for the one over the altar, which was sunlit last year as the minister recounted the resurrection.
Maybe it’s wrong or sacrilegious that I remember all those Easters for the clothes.
But church was where I went to be loved and noticed and valued. And Easter was when my very prettiest self showed up for my most important people.
I couldn’t find any Easter photos of me, so I am sharing some of my own children. (They’re cuter anyway!)
We always colored eggs the Saturday before with friends.
The girls and their husbands coloring eggs tonight.
My experiences as a child were similar to yours…I got a new dress for Easter and a new dress at Christmas. But my Easter outfit was always more spectacular due to the assessories – like a hat, gloves, purse and white shoes or sandals. I remember several Easters where snow covered the ground and I was not allowed to wear my new shoes and I was so disappointed. Thanks Sandy for the memories…such wonderful, sweet family traditions flooding back into my memory due to the rich imagery you have illustrated through your written words. Happy Easter! I’m sure Miss Danielle will be in her Easter finery tomorrow next to her Libby.
Oh, yes! The weather! You’d have this delicate pastel dress and fancy shoes, and then you’d have to wear a winter coat and gloves. Thanks as always for reading and supporting me.
My aunt was a hat maker at Pogues, so we always got a beautiful Easter hat! I’m sure there are no hat makers in any department store now!
This was pretty much my Easter, also. There was always a dress and shoes. Oh, I often would get a corsage. Oh, I had forgotten the white gloves.
I have no idea what we ate I remember the cream pies for dessert.
I would get a large egg . However, I had to peel the chocolate before eating as I was allergic to chocolate. The egg was in the same basket each year with the same grass. Scattered in the grass would be jelly beans.
Going to Church was the highlight of the day.
I remember the flowers in the church and the colored windows. It was the day to dress up.
Thanks once again for the trip down memory lane.
Sounds like we had very similar experiences. Back then, nearly all kids went to church, and a lot of coming-of-age benchmarks happened there. It was a great community that shared in guiding young people. Thanks for reading.
I loved reading rhat and remembering your family.
I remember all of this and I was about a mile south of you at St. Clement church in Saint Bernard on Vine Street , just like Saint Matthews. Hat, gloves, shoes, dress, underwear, all brand new. I remember getting a new Spring coat??? What was that about, I wore it over my new Easter dress. And yes 3 categories of clothing. Thanks for the trip down memory lane.
Isn’t it funny that the two of us were aging at our respective churches at the same time just a mile away? Having trouble picturing you in a frilly dress. Thanks for reading and responding.
I loved my Easter outfits too, especially the lavender one. I was so proud of how I looked, gloves and all. I joined the choir when I was ten and loving singing in the church loft on holidays. Great walk down memory lane.
I liked being in the youth choir, too, because we got to wear robes and be on display, but I hated having to be quiet. There was always a box of Cepacol cough drops in the choir room which we ate (during the service) like candy. Did you have a beautiful voice then, too? Thanks, as always, for your support.
Oh, the Toni perm. And the new shoes and a new dress. My poor mother never got the hang of giving me a perm. I credit her now for trying. I would not have been so brave.
Thanks, Sandy, this post brought it all back. How I miss it all!
Oh, Jenny! Those horrible home permanents! I remember some horrifying day-after nightmares where no room was big enough for my hair. My mother always talked me into one by saying it was a “body permanent.” Whose body?! Thanks for reading and responding.
That takes me back. One year I got a bright orangey red coat with matching purse. It was shiny like taffeta. And a white hat and white gloves and black patent leather Mary Janes with white socks with a ruffle on the top.
Taffeta was such an unforgiving fabric. I wrinkled, it itched, it confined. I think there was a period of time when shiny fabric, like my dad’s suit, were all the rage. As always, thank you for reading and writing.
You’ve taken me back to my childhood, Sandy. I always got a new Easter outfit. Growing up in northern Maine, there was always a chance I’d have to wear my snowsuit covering up my spring finery, but it was still so fun to wear that new dress, hat, and patent leather shoes. I still have my white straw purse with the gold snap. Inside? A pair of white gloves. Those were the days!
Thanks, Molly, for reading, and for reminding me about the fickle weather around that time. You have this pretty, delicate dress with white patent leather shoes and have to wear your winter coat on top! I do remember some Easters when we got a “spring coat” which was like a parka light.
I love so many lines in this, Sandy, but really felt the punch when you wrote “there are still people there who have known me all of my 66 years, six years longer than my mom and two years longer than my dad.”
And, as a kid who sat through a lot of very, very long church services, I was always grateful for anyone who found “the need to go get a drink or go to the bathroom a few times…just to make sure everyone noticed me.” It was such a relief to have something pretty and interesting to look at! 🙂 🙂
I am glad you “got” that line. Another reader didn’t, and I thought, not for the first time, if I had read this to our wonderful small group that I could have cleaned up that line to make it clearer. As always, thanks for reading and responding. I am honored.
Love this! I know that somewhere in this house is a picture of me at 5 years old, in my Easter finery, purchased at Elder Beerman’s in Dayton. I remember that shopping trip with my Mom with such clarity – more than I remember the church services. I think it was feeling so special, getting the whole “head to toe” assemblage of new clothes – and accessories! The hat was over-the-top adorable, even though I suffered with that elastic strap pinching and rubbing under my chin. Thanks for this, Sandy!
We shopeed a lot at Elder Beerman in Swifton. I wish I could remember us shopping together–I don’t know if we did or if Mom just bought what I wore. And, yes, the strap!!! Thanks, as always, for your support.
In our family, Easter Mass on Sunday morning was replaced at Age 12 by Midnight Mass. A true rite of passage to get dressed up when my younger siblings were in pajamas and in bed. My first perm was in second grade–a Tonette ( “the home permanent made with the younger woman in mind.” according to the TV commercial ). I hated result and swore off perms until my thirties.
I have never heard of that tradition! I love that back then so many coming-of-age benchmarks were associated with our church affiliation. I originally had “Tonette” instead of “Toni” in my draft, but some of my writing group didn’t know what that was! Sounds like we had a lot in common. I had some very horrible day-after-permanent embarrassment.
I loved reading this, Sandy. The details are exquisite. It brought back memories of similar experiences I had as a child. Thank you for the pleasure of reading it!
So great to see your name in my feed! Thanks so much for reading and responding. I miss having your in-process feedback. Hope you are well.
I loved every detail of your Easter stories, Sandy, and I identified with so many of them. We were four girls, with a mother who had four sisters, and Easter was what was referred to in our house as getting “all dolled up,” and that included hats. I do have lots of pictures, which have been culled from my father’s 16mm home movies, where we walk down the front walk, waving our white-gloved hands, clomping unsteadily on our high-heeled pumps, and looking slightly embarrassed. I like our Easters today much better.
Kathy, first, thank you for reading and writing. I am very honored. I remember teetering on those heels and my mother insisting I practice on them before parading in front of the whole congregation as an acolyte. I love that church was associated with these coming-of-age benchmarks–that church was such an important part of our growing up and that young people were proud of their church affiliation. At church this Easter Sunday, almost nobody was dressed up. One of the acolytes was wearing tight short-shorts. I defaulted to that old person “back in my day,” but stopped myself. God doesn’t care about this teen’s shorts. God cares that she came to church!
I also enjoyed every detail of your Easter stories and they took me back to a time I’d mostly forgotten. Thank you for bringing back so many fond memories!
As always, thank you for reading and writing. I am glad it resonated with you. People have reminded me of other Easter clothes details–like corsages! I had forgotten that my mom and sometimes I got a corsage for Easter. Wonder if my mom or dad ordered it.
Sandy – this is priceless. For many details I was also right in there with you in the 50s! But also provokes a sadness to two particular elements of truth you wove into it. (I think the two are related…. the health of the church body has nothing to do with appearances!) I appreciate how you brought it forward with your own children and now we can’t help but carry on the cultural traditions also with our grands.
My brother and i are twins and when we were 7 years old we both made our First Holy Communions in 1968.Bro wore a suit and ty and mom dressed me in a cute,poofy,short sleeve,above the knees communion dress and veil with the lace anklets and white mary jane shoes and under my dress a white undershirt with the traditional first communion cloth diaper and Playtex toddler extra large size rubberpants.They were the most popular and best fitting rubberpants the moms bought for their daughters to wear over their communion diaper at the time.Our ceremony was held two weeks before Easter and mom put the diaper and playtex rubberpants in my drawer.Like the previous years,she got me a new,poofy,pink and white easter dress and a new bonnet to match and on Easter morning,she put my first communion diaper and the rubberpants on me with a new undershirt and then my dress,bonnet,lace anklets and my white mary janes.We went to mass,and several of the girls in my class were dressed up in their easter outfits and had their communion diaper and rubberpants on under their dresses also.As i got older,mom always got me a new easter dress and bonnet and shoes and she had me wear my diaper and rubberpants under my dresses.She kept on dressing me up for easter untill i was 14 and remember sitting there on easter sunday at mass in my pink easter dress and bonnet,with my communion diaper and rubberpants on under it,and looking around and seeing other girls around my age and wondering if they had a diaper and rubberpants under their dresses as well.That easter was the last time i wore the diaper and rubberpants for easter.