"Skimmed Milk," a story by M Sarki

"Skimmed Milk," a story by M Sarki

May 23, 2023|lifestyle, literary, memoir, social studies, writing

To illustrate a bit how much times have changed since the early sixties, our family would have its fresh cow’s milk hand-delivered to our back doorstep, at least until I reached the age of nine. You’ve probably seen pictures depicting this in vintage children’s books and old retail flyers and advertisements. But for some reason it escapes me what kind of cooling contraption our neighbor the milkman would leave those cold glass bottles in, but it was likely something insulated. What I do remember vividly is Ed Nelkie in his brilliant white uniform and hat, maybe a sort of jumpsuit or coverall, but likely rather a two-piece affair, and Mr. Nelkie hopping out of his little sprite but chalky delivery truck and marshaling out of the rearend the fresh bottled milk into a wire-handled cage contraption. Then he would dutifully convey that wire bottle carrier back to the side door next to my mother’s kitchen. And on that stoop just outside the storm door Ed Nelkie would then carefully either set the bottles down or place them inside what I certainly would have to think was a galvanized metal box, or maybe he didn’t, as there wasn’t really much room for anything on that porch. 

Typically, nothing was ever allowed to be placed on either of Mother’s porch stoops anyway except for the welcome mats. But the back porch was a little bit unique due to the weekly paper bag of homegrown vegetables Grandpa Charlie would secretly leave for one of us to find. And our mother Dorothy made sure that this occasional paper sack of carrots, green beans, and radishes never stayed long enough to clutter up her porch. And it is possible in light of my unreliable memory that we never even owned an insulated milk box. It is more likely that Mr. Nelkie just set the perspiring bottles down on the concrete stoop. Of course he would have to know just like everybody else who lived in the neighborhood that Dorothy would of course make haste and immediately scurry out to retrieve those two highly-prized, but now sweating, glass bottles and quickly arrange them into their proper place inside her Frigidaire. 

But as soon as powdered milk became advertised on the old black and white our mother began scheming to get more wise in her trickery and devised a plan to no longer require the services of our local family-owned Nelkie’s Dairy. It was then our thrifty mother tried mixing half real milk to this new-fangled powdered shit, serving it in authentic gallon milk jugs in which to fool us boys into believing we were drinking the real thing. But we didn’t buy her con for a second. And there was no way we would ever but one time pour that crappy sap into a bowl and ruin our delicious cereal. And by refusing to drink this fraudulent milk concoction she was forced to resort to purchasing the cheapest whole milk she could find at Hester’s IGA. Or perhaps it was the A&P. Whatever. Of course, whole milk for her soon became 2% and then she tried to renew her scheme again by mixing 2% with skim milk but none of us bought that ruse either. However, given that this first momentous powdered milk event occasioned the sad and bitter end of an iconic era, it also resulted in the abrupt dispensing of a previously indispensable man named Ed Nelkie.

typical milk truck in the 50's