Since we had cats and dogs, we also had litter boxes and playpens full of puppies. In other words, our house had a tendency to stink. So the Fresh Air Machine seemed like a great idea to me. I decided to get Mom one for Mother's Day. I saved up money from my little dog grooming business, and while Mom was busy buying nonpareils and milk chocolate drops from the candy counter at Sears, I headed over to the small appliance area and bought one.
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| We always had puppies and kittens in the living room in the 70's |
Mom was amused when she opened the gift. She set it up and placed the device on the mantel above the fireplace, next to the anniversary clock. Then she and I sat and waited to see what would happen. The little gadget worked as advertised. Every 15 minutes, the white box would suddenly make itself known with a pronounced, "Psstt," as it expelled its scented aerosolized droplets about two feet out. For us kids, it was a funny little toy that was sort of like a Jack-in-the-Box. We would stare at it in anticipation and then jump and squeal with delight when the "Psstt" happened.
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| The Fresh Air Machine lived on the mantel, near the Anniversary clock. Mom is standing in front of it. |
A hand-carved antique cuckoo clock hung on the wall in the adjacent dining room and had been noisily teaching us how to tell time for years. The old German clock now had a new noise-making partner. They worked together as a team to make our house seem like a living, breathing thing.
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| The old cuckoo clock, when it lived in another house. I don't know if the women is related to Mom or to Dad. |
Mom never synchronized the two of them to do their thing simultaneously. So at the top of the hour, the cuckoo would pop out of the clock to let us know what time it was: "Ding, Cuckoo! Ding, Cuckoo! Ding, Cuckoo!" Not long after the cuckoo went back into the clock, the Fresh Air Machine would reply from the living room with a perfumed little sneeze, "Psstt!"
Every month, Mom would replace the canister with a new one, changing up the scents so we would enjoy some variety of fresh air. The living room would smell either "Spring Air," "Lemon-Lime," or "Garden Air" fresh. After a few months, the novelty wore off, and soon my siblings and I no longer paid much attention to the little machine on the fireplace mantel.
One quiet Sunday afternoon, Mom, my two little siblings and I were in the living room. There was a small wooden portacrib full of playful Poodle puppies near the loveseat. I was ripping the Sunday newspaper into shreds and dropping handfuls of it into their enclosure. The little kids were sitting on the oval rag rug that took up a good part of the floorspace. They liked to pretend that the stripes on the rug were roads and they pushed their Hot Wheels around and around on it. Mom was writing a letter. Everything was calm.
Suddenly, there came a powerful knock on the door. I had heard that knock before. It was the knock of authority. Mom got up and cautiously peaked through the old yellowing curtain. "Oh great, it's the cops," she announced. She opened the door and sure enough, there were two police officers standing on the other side of the screen door. One was older and very tall. The other one was younger and a lot shorter. We kids gathered behind Mom in order to take a closer look. There they were, complete with their holsters, guns, and nightsticks. They were an intimidating pair. Mom told us to move back, and we all jumped onto the love seat and stayed quiet, waiting to see what would happen next.
"Are you Mrs. Warriner," asked the tall cop.
Mom nodded, "What do you want with me," she snapped at them.
"We are looking for your son," he said. "Would you let us come in and ask you a few questions?"
Mom shrugged and unlocked the screen door and the two cops strode into our living room. It seemed very weird and scary to have them there. They stepped around the toys on the rug. Their eyes scanned every corner of the living room. Then they looked towards the dining room and the hallway.
"We have not seen him. He hasn't come around for a long time," Mom told them.
They didn't believe her, and decided to apply a bit of pressure. "We know you are hiding him. You don't want to get into trouble for hiding him, do you," the tall cop asked.
Our older brother was a thief, a burglar, and a drug abuser. He was a criminal, we knew that. But we also hadn't seen him in weeks.
"What did he do this time," Mom asked.
"You don't need to know that. What you need to know is that there is a warrant out for his arrest," the tall one answered.
Mom got a bit annoyed. She puffed up her chest and said, "How many times am I going to have to tell you guys..." She was cut off by the shorter cop, who applied his own tactics.
"How many times," the short cop asked as he started pacing like an agitated wolf in front of the fireplace. Back and forth. Back and forth. As he paced, he said, "How many times?" Well, let's see, we have all the time in the world. We can stay here for as long as we need to, until you tell us where he is."
We kids sat spellbound on the loveseat and watched Mom stand her ground with our two formidable visitors. The living room no longer felt comfortable and safe. It felt more like the Principal's office, where we were sent to get paddled when we got into trouble at school. There was a thick tension in the air. Every sound seemed louder. Time stood still. And then from the dining room:
"Ding, Cuckoo! Ding, Cuckoo! Ding, Cuckoo! Ding, Cuckoo! Ding,Cuckoo!"
The short cop continued in his threatening tone as he paced near the fireplace. He stopped and looked at the anniversary clock, with its hypnotically rotating pendulum, then turned to face Mom and said, "If you don't cooperate with us and tell us where to find him, we may have to take you..." and at that moment, from its spot next to the anniversary clock:
"PSSTT!"
Our Schick Fresh Air machine spritzed right on schedule, and right into the short cop's ear.
The cop grabbed his ear, jumped into the air, and turned to face the mantle. "What the hell was that," he screamed.
The littlest sibling shouted out, " It's our Schick Fresh Air Machine!"
The tense intimidation immediately disappeared. We kids covered our mouths to suppress our giggles. The tall cop started to laugh, then Mom started to laugh. The shorter and now red-faced cop, in an attempt to redirect, said, " I guess he isn't here, but if you see him, you must turn him in, do you understand?" Mom didn't have time to answer, because he and his tall partner hurried sheepishly to the front door and departed without saying another word. Mom quickly closed the door behind them and we all exploded in rollicking laughter.
I don't know what ultimately happened to our little air freshening device. After a while it became difficult to find replacement canisters, and like so many trendy gadgets, it fell by the wayside. It may be long gone, but every time I see a commercial for air freshener, I remember our dependable and mighty Schick Fresh Air Machine. I will never forget that with one little "Psstt," it was able to not only give us fresh air, but it also de-escalated a scary situation that happened in our living room a long time ago on Eagle Street.
Every month, Mom would replace the canister with a new one, changing up the scents so we would enjoy some variety of fresh air. The living room would smell either "Spring Air," "Lemon-Lime," or "Garden Air" fresh. After a few months, the novelty wore off, and soon my siblings and I no longer paid much attention to the little machine on the fireplace mantel.
One quiet Sunday afternoon, Mom, my two little siblings and I were in the living room. There was a small wooden portacrib full of playful Poodle puppies near the loveseat. I was ripping the Sunday newspaper into shreds and dropping handfuls of it into their enclosure. The little kids were sitting on the oval rag rug that took up a good part of the floorspace. They liked to pretend that the stripes on the rug were roads and they pushed their Hot Wheels around and around on it. Mom was writing a letter. Everything was calm.
Suddenly, there came a powerful knock on the door. I had heard that knock before. It was the knock of authority. Mom got up and cautiously peaked through the old yellowing curtain. "Oh great, it's the cops," she announced. She opened the door and sure enough, there were two police officers standing on the other side of the screen door. One was older and very tall. The other one was younger and a lot shorter. We kids gathered behind Mom in order to take a closer look. There they were, complete with their holsters, guns, and nightsticks. They were an intimidating pair. Mom told us to move back, and we all jumped onto the love seat and stayed quiet, waiting to see what would happen next.
"Are you Mrs. Warriner," asked the tall cop.
Mom nodded, "What do you want with me," she snapped at them.
"We are looking for your son," he said. "Would you let us come in and ask you a few questions?"
Mom shrugged and unlocked the screen door and the two cops strode into our living room. It seemed very weird and scary to have them there. They stepped around the toys on the rug. Their eyes scanned every corner of the living room. Then they looked towards the dining room and the hallway.
"We have not seen him. He hasn't come around for a long time," Mom told them.
They didn't believe her, and decided to apply a bit of pressure. "We know you are hiding him. You don't want to get into trouble for hiding him, do you," the tall cop asked.
Our older brother was a thief, a burglar, and a drug abuser. He was a criminal, we knew that. But we also hadn't seen him in weeks.
"What did he do this time," Mom asked.
"You don't need to know that. What you need to know is that there is a warrant out for his arrest," the tall one answered.
Mom got a bit annoyed. She puffed up her chest and said, "How many times am I going to have to tell you guys..." She was cut off by the shorter cop, who applied his own tactics.
"How many times," the short cop asked as he started pacing like an agitated wolf in front of the fireplace. Back and forth. Back and forth. As he paced, he said, "How many times?" Well, let's see, we have all the time in the world. We can stay here for as long as we need to, until you tell us where he is."
We kids sat spellbound on the loveseat and watched Mom stand her ground with our two formidable visitors. The living room no longer felt comfortable and safe. It felt more like the Principal's office, where we were sent to get paddled when we got into trouble at school. There was a thick tension in the air. Every sound seemed louder. Time stood still. And then from the dining room:
"Ding, Cuckoo! Ding, Cuckoo! Ding, Cuckoo! Ding, Cuckoo! Ding,Cuckoo!"
The short cop continued in his threatening tone as he paced near the fireplace. He stopped and looked at the anniversary clock, with its hypnotically rotating pendulum, then turned to face Mom and said, "If you don't cooperate with us and tell us where to find him, we may have to take you..." and at that moment, from its spot next to the anniversary clock:
"PSSTT!"
Our Schick Fresh Air machine spritzed right on schedule, and right into the short cop's ear.
The cop grabbed his ear, jumped into the air, and turned to face the mantle. "What the hell was that," he screamed.
The littlest sibling shouted out, " It's our Schick Fresh Air Machine!"
The tense intimidation immediately disappeared. We kids covered our mouths to suppress our giggles. The tall cop started to laugh, then Mom started to laugh. The shorter and now red-faced cop, in an attempt to redirect, said, " I guess he isn't here, but if you see him, you must turn him in, do you understand?" Mom didn't have time to answer, because he and his tall partner hurried sheepishly to the front door and departed without saying another word. Mom quickly closed the door behind them and we all exploded in rollicking laughter.
I don't know what ultimately happened to our little air freshening device. After a while it became difficult to find replacement canisters, and like so many trendy gadgets, it fell by the wayside. It may be long gone, but every time I see a commercial for air freshener, I remember our dependable and mighty Schick Fresh Air Machine. I will never forget that with one little "Psstt," it was able to not only give us fresh air, but it also de-escalated a scary situation that happened in our living room a long time ago on Eagle Street.
