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The Way We Were: A look back at Lemon Grove 68 years ago. History is repeating itself as it often does.
By Helen Ofield (photo, left), Board member and Historian, Lemon Grove Historical Society
April 7, 2020 (Lemon Grove) – First, a Couple of Songs
The hills are alive with the sound of spraying
the germs that will live for a thousand years;
The hills fill our lungs with corona virus and
We yearn to spray every germ that we fear(s).
Our hearts want to beat like the wings of a bat,
But we don’t want to eat every dog, pig or cat;
Our hearts beat and sigh like a virus that flies
And lands on a door handle and a door mat;
We go to the hills whenever we’re sneezing;
We know we will hear what we’ve heard before,
Folks trying to escape from the sound of spraying
As we promise ourselves we will sing once more!
A kiss on the hand is strictly verboten,
Corona’s not a girl’s best friend;
A kiss may be grand but will give you a virus,
You’ll lose your charms that once were priceless —
Spikey or weird shaped,
Those germs don’t lose their shape—
Clorox is a, Clorox is a
Girl’s Best Friend!
Polio in The Big Lemon: In 1952 the polio epidemic was the worst outbreak in the nation's history. It heightened parents’ terror of the disease and focused government and the public on the need for a vaccine. That year there were 57,628 cases, mostly children to 30 somethings; 3,145 died and 21,269 were left with mild to disabling paralysis. Polio typically struck in the spring and lingered into summer.
Grovians to the Ramparts: Mrs. Wayne Johnson led the charge at the Lemon Grove Business Women’s League with their annual fried chicken dinner held in the 1922 Women’s Club (still standing on Main Street) at $5 a head, all proceeds going to the March of Dimes. The latter was founded in 1938 by FDR, a famous polio victim.
Photo: Christmas 1952 at Main and Broadway Lemon Grove Business Women's League tree planting (courtesy Lemon Grove Historical Society)
Easter Seals: In 1952 Easter Seals, founded in 1919, unveiled its famous lily logo and Lemon Grove was among the first communities to display the symbol. The Business Women’s League showed the lily in its table decorations. Lemon Grove Kiwanis showed it on a banner at one of its famous auctions, while the Lions Club featured a member dressed as a lion, who handed out lily buttons during a paid luncheon, with proceeds from the two clubs going to Easter Seals.
Dr. Easter Bunny: In 1952 the 5th Annual Kids’ Easter Party at the Grove Theatre emphasized more than chocolate eggs. The event took on polio, too. Starting with the 9 a.m. screening of cartoons, kids and parents could donate to Easter Seals and receive coupons from local stores. If you gave $5 you got five coupons worth $1 each. Gas station magnate “Molly” Mouilleseaux, local coordinator for the San Diego Society for Crippled Children, got a zillion Easter bonbons donated for the moppets.
The Polio Plague: The first U. S. outbreak in 1894 felled some 132 people. It returned in 1910-1916, then regularly every summer in different parts of the country. In the 1940s and 1950s it spread world-wide. In 1949, 2,720 died of polio in the U.S. and thousands more around the globe. The beautiful dancer, Tanaquil LeClercq (photo, left, original source: Walter E. Owen "Dance Magazine" April 1954) contracted polio in Europe while on tour with the New York City Ballet. She lived, but never walked (or danced) again.
The V word: Like corona virus, polio (poliomyelitus) is caused by a virus, which has been tracked in history at least since the Egyptians, whose tomb paintings show people with withered limbs on crutches, but likely began in prehistory. Two geniuses, Dr. Jonas Salk in 1955 and Dr. Albert Sabin in 1961, each developed polio vaccines, now used world-wide and termed “essential medicines.”
But it was Dr. Hilary Koprowski in 1950, a Polish virologist and immunologist, who first demonstrated the first effective live polio vaccine, His fascinating story is beyond the scope of this column, but do look up Dr. Koprowski, dear friends.
Photo: Itzhak Perlman, violinist and polio survivor, CC by SA-NC
From the Polio Trenches, a Great Artist: Itzhak Perlman, the great Israeli violinist, was booked to perform in San Diego’s Civic Theatre in 1989. Your correspondent was then director of Public Relations & Marketing for the sponsor, the La Jolla Chamber Music Society (the name is now minus “Chamber”). Fancy title for “sell 3,000 seats and 84 standing-room spaces.”
Perlman got polio at age four. With permanently paralyzed legs, he wears heavy braces and walks with the aid of crutches. At 74, he performed as recently as January, 2020 at the UN.
The day of the concert, he came down in a limo from the Bob Hope Center in Rancho Mirage. He had the flu and a 101-degree temperature. The house was sold out. In the balcony were some 60 little bald-headed leukemia patients whose seats had been underwritten by kind donors.
I put Perlman’s name and a star on the dressing room door, found a teapot, cup, honey, lemon, choice of tea, a kettle to boil backstage, and put towels and wash cloths in the dressing room bathroom. Perlman arrived pale and sweating. Tea and two Tylenol. Could he perform while so ill? Does the Parthenon have pillars?
Guggenheim flexed her fingers and played the opening bars of Saint-Saens’ Rondo Capriccioso. It would be a spectacular evening of great violin solos.
His accompanist, the superb Janet Guggenheim, arrived in her trademark long, plain dress, baggy sweater and comfy shoes, carrying an armload of music. “Itzhak doesn’t feel so good. Do something,” she directed. She walked to the piano and spread out whatever music would be needed (the duo often decided the repertoire on the spot) and began warming up.
Anxious and alarmed, I asked the virtuoso if he wanted to go on. “Shut up,” he said. I shut up and poured more tea. “Hold my Strad,” he said. On braces, he walked to the wings. Curtain up. He walked out and I followed holding the fabled Stradivarius. The audience stood up and screamed and clapped. The bald babes in the balcony cheered. I thought I would faint. But Perlman had been there before. He sat down on the chair placed earlier by stagehands and laid down his braces, I handed over the Strad and hastened to the wings. Guggenheim flexed her fingers and played the opening bars of Saint-Saens’ Rondo Capriccioso. It would be a spectacular evening of great violin solos.
After multiple curtain calls in which Perlman waved to the adorable baldies in the balcony while they screamed, “Maestro! Maestro!”, to my amazement, Perlman attended the party upstairs in the U. S. Grant Hotel next door to the Civic Theater. In the dressing room he got tidied up, downed two more Tylenol, sat in his wheelchair holding the Strad, and I wheeled him to the stage door, a tall rolling panel. It rolled up to reveal a line of people. Instinctively, I threw an arm over the maestro, who was irritated and said, “Vat are you doing?”
“I don’t know who they are. I must get you to the party safely,” I babbled. “Zey are ze fans. Geef me a pen and hold my Strad,” he directed. I thought I would faint, but found a pen in my handbag. Then he autographed programs for some 30 fans while I clutched the $45 million Strad in its case with the $7K bow. The fans were quiet, respectful, even worshipful.
The party of big whigs applauded as we wheeled into the hall. “Hold my Strad,” said Perlman. By now we had this down to a science. I didn’t faint, but stood next to him holding the case with the Strad for the rest of the evening. By 11:30 p.m., exhausted, I found a board member and said I must depart. “Who’s going to hold the Strad?” he asked. “You’re the president—the perfect person!” I babbled. He took the Strad and I bid farewell to the maestro. “You are goot and should go far-r-r- een life,” he said. I thought I would faint.
And so it went in the land of The Big Lemon and the concert hall all those years ago when a scourge laid waste thousands, but elevated the human spirit into a new dimension. Stay home and wash your hands. We can do this.
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