I think Mom must have been truly afraid. Afraid that her entire way of living (“the life to which they had become accustomed,” as Dad often referred to their comfortable lifestyle) was in danger of disappearing forever. But not being one to let life just happen to her, Mom was determined to do something about it.
In early January, 1974, Dad explained to Susan and me that he would be starting a new job on February 1 at Miller Trailers in Bradenton, Florida. I looked at my tight-lipped mother hoping against hope that this wasn’t true. There was something in her eyes I had never seen before. It was fear. The same fear I, too, was feeling. But true to her nature, when I began to protest thinking I might have an ally in her, she was quick to wipe any notion of vulnerability from her face. In place of what I initially read as empathy, she, instead, girded herself with righteous resolve. “End of discussion, Debra,” she stated with that edge of anger in her voice that warned me to say no more on the subject.
The new job, Dad said, would mean that we’d have to “tighten our belts” for a while. “I'm going to be paid in sunshine,” he said brightly.
Within the month, the routine of our daily lives was upended with Dad’s departure to Florida. With her still highly honed stenographic skills, Mom signed up with Kelly Girl Services, and for the first time in my 16 years, I had a working mom. She was out the door with Susan and me in the morning, and we beat her home by a good half hour in the afternoon. The errands she had routinely run during the week were now crammed into Saturday. Household chores that had formerly been her day job were divided up between the three of us and carried out with drill sergeant precision. End of discussion. By Sunday night of the first week, we were exhausted, and Mom was in a full-on temper. Monday came, and we started the whole thing again.
Never particularly enamoured of cooking dinner even prior to her going back to work, Mom was in an even greater fury about preparing meals now. It was this fury that led to the three of us becoming TV dinner testers for Banquet.
The first shipment arrived packed in a very large cardboard carton with Styrofoam packaging and frozen bricks of some sort of gelatinous material that kept the TV dinners frozen during transport. The TV dinners were in plain white boxes. The white boxes were marked in black grease pencil with a large letter M, for Monday; T, for Tuesday; all the way through to F, for Friday. There were 15 boxes in the carton. There was also a large manila envelope filled with papers that corresponded to each day of the week, and, helpfully, identified what each meal contained.
- Salisbury Steak with Gravy, Mashed Potatoes, Carrots and Peas
- Macaroni & Cheese with Glazed Carrots and Peas
- Breaded Veal Patty, Beef Added, Mashed Potatoes and Green Beans
- Fried Chicken with Mashed Potatoes, Carrots and Peas
- Turkey with Cranberry Dressing, Mashed Potatoes, and Peas
Mom, it seemed, happily and methodically began her third week of work secure in the knowledge that she had a meal for every day of the week. And it was with a prideful tone that she boasted, “And it’s all free.” Preparation of these meals included turning the oven to the prescribed temperature, slitting the side of each of the three white boxes designated for the particular day, neatly folding back one corner on each aluminum tray, and turning the oven timer to 40 minutes. Then voila! the meals were ready, set down on the table before us, and the eating commenced.
But this could not be mindless eating. Mom carefully instructed ten-year-old Susan and me to pay attention to each bite. No gulping of food. Because when we were finished, she then handed out the survey forms.
I have no memory of what the questions were, but I imagine we were asked to rate taste, temperature, texture, and convenience and ease of preparation. I think we may also have been asked to choose a suitable price range, and possibly speculate as to how often we might purchase such a product. I only remember that it seemed like we tested TV dinners for weeks on end, and that the numerous Salisbury Steak meals were never completely heated all the way through.
After our move to Florida, Mom found that it wasn’t so bad getting paid in sunshine, and settled back into her old domestic routine with just one exception: she entirely gave up the notion of cooking regular daily meals. Instead, she took a page from the Banquet business plan, altering it slightly to suit her, and spent one day each week making large quantities of one kind of dish—chili, hearty soups, spaghetti and meatballs, meatloaf, and a variety of one pot meals. She then divided up what she’d made into plastic containers, and loaded up the freezer. Voila! Ready-to-thaw meals. End of discussion.
copyright DJ Anderson, 2015
