My folks had a penchant for soft drinks. In the 1960s, when new vices were appearing every week, mom looked to score an eight pack of cola in a red and white carboard carrier from the man in the apron at the A & P. I couldn't read but I recognized the logo. It said Coca-Cola.
My parents gave me Coca-Cola in my baby bottle. I wasn't a big napper. I was too spun out on caffeine. As a toddler in the throes of widthdrawl, I once grabbed my father's cheeks and commanded him to "get the baby some coke".
We called all soft drinks 'coke'. If we were riding in the station wagon on a country drive, Mom might say, "I'm thirsty, y'all. Stop the car and let's get a coke, big Daddy." Those weren't her exact words, but I like the way it reads so I'll leave it in for dramatic effect.
Mom spent time along the mason dixon line near Caruthersville, Missouri. For her, all soft drinks were 'cokes'. If we pulled over at the next full-service gas station and wanted an Orange Crush, we got an Orange Crush instead. We were under no obligation to drink a Coke. Some of those places carried Royal Crown Cola anyway. Mama said Elvis liked Royal Crown cola, y'all. (Now I'm doing it.)
In the those days if you ordered a Coke and they carried Pepsi, they brought you that instead. Waitresses who cleared the substitution with you ahead of time were an exception. Nobody cared as long as it wasn't flat.
When we visited Grandpa's farm in McClure, Illinois, he gave us mini Cokes in the eight ounce bottle. It always tasted better in the little bottle. Grandpa suprised us with many things, but none were quite as popular as the mini-coke. He once gave me spumoni ice-cream and I thought it was a practical joke with all the nuts and cherry bits. No thanks.
Dad followed mom's lead and called all soft drinks 'coke' unless we were talking about Dr. Pepper. Dad liked those big bottles of Dr. Pepper. Drink it at 10, 2, and 4. That's what the label said. It tasted good and helped me learn to tell time. I won't say the same about Schlitz. It did not taste good and if Dad drank too many, he didn't give a cuss about the time. I'm kidding. Dad didn't drink much beer, but I like the way it reads so I'll keep it in.
I drank 7-Up at home on sick days. The sparkling lemon-lime bubbles helped me keep my fluid intake high as I lay on the couch watching "Dark Shadows" and "Truth or Consequences". Our sick-day routine included a trip to Dr. Kimura's office at 80th and Mission road and a stop at Safeway in the Prairie Village shopping center for 7-Up. This was the only time I drank soft drinks before lunch.
Friday night meant going to Shakey's for pizza. When we moved to the Kansas City from Columbia, Missouri in 1969, they were the preeminent pizza chain in the midwest. The old-time piano music and Laurel and Hardy films flickering overhead made me thirsty for Root Beer.
Mom went to the beauty salon in the Fairway shops once a week. A row of googie-style bee-hive hair dryers warmed us with hot air blowing perm solution fumes down faces, across shoulders and into laps holding old magazines. The soda machine was a mechanical curiosity and a welcome diversion from the curlers and Dippity-Do. I deposited change, opened the tall, skinny door and yanked a bottle out by the neck, planting my foot on the facade for extra leverage. It sold Fanta orange, Fanta grape, Diet-Rite, Fresca and Tab. Soon I ventured to the soda counter at the corner pharmacy. I got a real fountain Coke and lemon candy too.
Bargain-minded parents brought soda coolers to our sporting events. This exposed me to several cheaper soft drink lines like Craigmont, Vess, and Shasta. We clamored for the soda chest as soon as they unlatched it, lest we be saddled with the dregs: a lowly cream soda.
The original Dickinson theatre on Johnson Drive featured an unusual permutation of soft drink sales. The concession stand sold only popcorn and candy. There was a ten cent mechanical fountain dispensary at the far end of the lobby. The soda water and syrup mixed on the fly for a unique taste in every paper cup.
Some people in Kansas City call soft drinks 'pop'. It's a northern Midwest habit and it often comes out of their mouths as 'pap'. This bugs me. I'll stick with coke. But don't be surprised if I'm drinking a Dr. Pepper, especially if it's 10, 2, or 4.
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