An antique drinking fountain, also known as a bubbler.
You may have noticed the installation of three new water fountains on our main street here in Preston. Placed in the same location as the stone edifices of my childhood. Any of us now in our 4th decade or older should remember those old structures or “bubblers.” A spigot with a metal ball on top for the water to “bubble” out in a constant flow. I can recall two others, one in the Nielsen Gym and one on the northwest corner of 1st west and 2nd north by the baseball diamonds. I remember riding my bike down the sidewalk (illegal I realize) and pulling right up next to the fountain to bend over and take a gulp without having to get off my bike. A generation older than me can recall a public restroom subterranean, at the entrance of the Rotary Club at mid block.
These were the days of bell bottoms, gasoline being less than $1.00 a gallon, Pee Chee portfolios in school, Instamatic cameras with that cube flashbulb on top that would spin in preparation for the next picture. And let’s not leave out those glass grape clusters made at Relief Society workday placed on the dining room table as decoration.
Mischief abounded among our group of guys. It could be assumed that we were at least partially responsible for a group of concerned citizens rising up and organizing Preston’s first official Neighborhood Watch Program that included the faded signs still visible in parts of town. I wonder if the sudden, overnight appearance of a “Tanks for Sale” sign in front of the National Guard Armory (instead of at the V-1 propane store) had anything to do with that? We even had our own version of DoorDash (nothing to do with food delivery) that never generated a profit but sure was fun.
Dragging main street was a summer night ritual. Stops at the Polar Bear, A & W, or Arctic Circle for not just food but to check out the girls in town for the evening. Keller’s Husky gas station was a common pullover spot to chat with friends. There may or may not have been a not so friendly “discussion” over attention being paid to “my girl, not yours” sort of topic at that location in the summer of 1980. I won’t divulge who the participants were.
Will-O Way was the northern end of the line. I pulled in there more than once to put in gas with whatever loose change I could conjure up. I call that coinage “fumunda” because it came “from under the seat” of the car! For less than that dollar a gallon, we could make several more trips back and forth before reluctantly returning home.
One close friend would be given a mileage allowance on the family sedan. As we drew close, we had to strategically plan the route of dropping off riders to avoid exceeding the odometer numbers. Driving backwards to turn back the numbers proved way too laborious and ineffective. We even had a special name for the road now known as 8th east, between Oneida and the highway. I won’t say it in mixed company, but you might catch the drift.
Another dear friend always insisted on multiple excursions on a then gravel surface road past his love interest’s house, just to see if she was outside. Three of us crammed into the cab of his dad’s pickup truck. As we got even with the gal’s home, the guy in the far passenger door seat, usually me for the leg room, would quickly duck down to give the appearance that the remaining two young males were sitting oh so closely together; a juvenile attempt to embarrass our good love struck friend in the driver’s seat!
Thinking about the “bubblers” carried my mind to other memories of the same period of life. A nostalgic trip down memory main street you could say. Does remembering these times gone past make me old? Probably so, yet I remain Preston’s “oldest teenager” in my mind and sometimes actions. The water fountains, albeit more modern, are back. I do not expect cheap gas, snap and shoot cameras, or cruising main street to reappear. However, Polar Bear is on the horizon…let’s keep our fingers crossed for a return to simpler times!