The Ticket to Acceptance
I was so terribly poor in my childhood, shamed, teased by the kids on the school bus and forever scarred. I silently studied the patterns of all my friends’ parents when I went to their homes. Most of my mom's Dutch relatives were hitting the gold and built and remodeled houses. The standard was always quality that merits envy. The huge majority of wealthy had Frigidaire. The chrome, design features, heft and absolute array of intimidating controls and features made on slack jawed. I begin to work for money in the fields of neighbor and as soon as I was old enough to get a work permit went to work in restaurants. I painted houses, babysat, cut asparagus before school and worked anywhere I could for money and an escape from my father's cruelty. Every cent earned had a goal that either, Sunbeam, Frigidaire, Electrolux, Farberware, Corning Ware, and all the products I saw successful people using. It becomes a faith based love affair. There is nothing as elegant, musical or comforting that cooking on a Custom Imperial range. The gentle swish of the water filled dishwasher turned crystal clean results. People would gasp and marvel as I loaded gunk covered plates and vessels into my Custom Imperial dishwasher with pushbutton cycle operation. The beautiful grand refrigerator with enough lights to run a high security prison, gleaming sliver shelves that rolled out, the hydrator door that folded down like a table and the lid opined to give full access to the crisp and fresh garden produce. Casually step on the pedal that opened the freezer and roll out the shelves or grasp a handful of cubes from the bin that was on the door. Pressing the GM medallion let the door swing open with a whirr and whoosh. Year after year, the stunning glory of dazzling porcelain, reflective chrome and glamour of lights and glass made say to myself, "I have arrived". I was finally one of the monied, the elite, the ones who draped themselves in shades of casual elegance. My kitchen was the object of everyone's desire amazed meals for 12 or 50 or even 2000 rolled effortlessly from those iconic machines. I didn’t clean them; I gave then a massage and finished with caress. I spoke to them in supportive and nurturing tones and was so grateful that which I had desired so long became manifest in the flesh.
I had one Frigidaire washer and dryer, a matched Sandalwood Custom Imperial from 1964. The washer cleaned well and rinsed well, though I was more impressed with the Flowing-Heat dryer. It turned permanent press perfectly and the auto dry was spot on without getting too hot. Frigidaire held less than Maytag so smaller loads in the dryer played a part in wrinkle free operation.
My first frigidaire range purchased for mom in 1967. I was a sophmore.
