Summer of the Monsters

One of my brother Ray’s greatest contributions to my life was introducing me to the magazine Famous Monsters Of Filmland before I was even old to read it by myself (Ray used to read it to me.)  “Famous Monsters,” as we affectionately nicknamed it, was all about the great Universal Studios monster movies of the 1930s and 40s - Dracula, the Wolfman, the Mummy, and of course, Frankenstein. The magazine contained photos and articles about cinematic classics - a least in my eyes - featuring those monsters, as portrayed by Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, and Lon Chaney, Jr.

We also actually got to watch those classic monster movies on Nightmare Theater every Friday night at 11:30 on Channel 4. My mom used to sit up and “watch” - actually doze - with me while Bela Lugosi snuck into a victim’s bedroom in the original 1931 version of Dracula. I had to smack Mom’s leg and wake her up when that happened, because it gave me the creeps:

Our favorite place to buy Famous Monsters Of Filmland was Palace Drug on Main Street in Heber. Palace Drug had an awesome selection of magazines, comic books, and paperback books. Here’s a photo of it from 1968:

The old Palace Drug - before it was remodeled and expanded in 1974 - was long and narrow, with the magazines in front, a marble soda fountain running along one side, and the pharmacy in the back. There was a large window by the magazine area, an awning to block the sun shining through that window during the summer, and black and white tile on the outside of the store. There was also a large orange Rexall sign above the awning.

By the summer of 1972 Ray had outgrown Famous Monsters, but because he had me hooked, I started buying the magazine myself. I mowed my parents‘ lawn to earn the enormous sum of seventy-five cents that each issue cost.

One warm August evening I convinced my mother to take me to Palace Drug because I just knew the latest issue of Famous Monsters had to be there. I ran into the store, turned to my left toward the magazine rack, and this is what I saw:

I happily bounded back outside. Mom took one look at me and knew why I was so happy. She handed me seventy-five cents and said, in mock exasperation, "I was afraid it would be there."

She was teasing me of course. I knew that, because I knew that Mom was an avid reader of Batman and Superman comics back in the early 1940s when she was a kid. I was just grateful I had a mom and an older brother who broadened my horizons.

Not many eight-year-old boys could brag about that.

Thinking About Mom

Kind of a bittersweet anniversary today, one that I usually don’t think about much anymore. Today, however, it’s on my mind. Thirteen years ago today - February 16, 1998, Presidents' Day that year - we lost Mom. She’d been an invalid - wheelchair bound because of a stroke - for nearly two years previously, so it was a relief for her to go. I guess I'm thinking about her today because I would love to have a chat with her. I could use a dose of her common sense and wisdom. I’m mildly irritated that I can’t pick up the phone and call her. I thought T-Mobile had coverage everywhere.

My mom was well known for many things. She was the happy, friendly lady behind the counter at the Dairy Keen. She was the enthusiastic referee or line judge at LDS Young Women’s volleyball and basketball games. To the people who knew her, she was always Vera, never Mrs. Rasband or Sister Rasband. Her most famous creation - other than her children - were her chocolate chip cookies, otherwise known as “Veracookies” to friends, neighbors, and my college roommates. She always made sure there was a bag of cookies in the freezer for me to take back to Logan when I came home for the weekend. When I started teaching school in Heber, Mom’s sour cream sugar cookies were my students’ preferred treat for Halloween and Valentine’s Day school parties. I had students from miles around show up at our house on Halloween night just for a second (or third) cookie.

My mom was the yang to my dad’s yin; they brought out the best in each other. Mom was outgoing, friendly, and optimistic. My dad was quieter (until you got to know him), reserved, and more of a pessimist. I could take a road trip with Mom and have an interesting, entertaining conversation all the way to our final destination, even if the destination was seven hundred miles away. I could take a road trip with my dad and ride in comfortable silence with neither of us saying a word for hundreds of miles. It’s interesting to look at my brothers and sister and see who inherited which trait from my parents. I think I’m a weird mutation of some of their best and worst qualities; sometimes I can talk your ear off, other times you’re better off not bothering me.

My mom’s greatest attribute was her faith that things would always turn out all right. I remember after her stroke, when she was completely paralyzed on her left side, she tried to persuade me to take her out to the car and let her go for a drive, never mind that she couldn’t use her left arm or leg, and her peripheral vision was gone. Mom just knew that if she just had the chance, she could relearn to drive a car.

In many ways, Mom isn’t really gone. I see reminders of her everyday in my daughters; Susan’s athleticism, Caroline’s smile, and Grace’s small stature, funny personality, and penchant for waking us all up in the morning with her singing, all came from their grandma.

So that was my mom. I’m sorry my daughters never got to meet her in this life, but there are enough reminders of her in themselves - and me - that they know her anyway. I’m grateful for the legacy of kindness, happiness, and optimism that she left. If I can leave a legacy half as good when I depart this veil of tears - sorry for the cheesy language, but that phrase always makes me smile; it would have made Mom gag - I will have accomplished something.