Signs.
Sometimes they are just signs. Other times, they lead us to places, to action to awareness, to posts . . .
In a comment on my recent post about the passing of Tom Magliozzi of Car Talk, Debra, over at Breathlighter, wondered about my use of the term “filling station”. The very next day, walking west on Adams toward Union Station in downtown Chicago, I passed this sign. “Whoa, girl, slow down” said my inner self as the notorious Chicago wind whipped around the corner. “Go check out that sign”.
So there I was, whipping my camera out faster than you can say “windy city“, strains from a street musician echoing down the urban cavern of ell tracks, skyscrapers, and congestion. No one looked at me as I took the photo. Most were business attired with attaché cases walking with monetary purpose hurrying along the city’s financial district. I momentarily wondered how many even realized the sign was there. At any rate, tourists are always taking photos in the Loop, though I don’t think many capture this particular sign – or know the connection between this sign and a friend on the terminus end of the Route 66. Debra, who lives in California, regularly serves up enlightening posts about the history of California, water wars, tar pits, and more. the very same Debra who just asked, the previous day, a question about the term “filling stations.”
I wondered, right then, as I took a picture signifying the approximate location where the legendary Route 66 began, if Debra was motoring past a similar sign on the other end of Route 66.
With a train to catch in Union Station, I put my camera back in my purse and pushed once more against the wind. Once seated in my Metra carriage, homebound, I thought again about filling stations and writing a series of posts about filling stations, family, cookbooks and such, all related to how we used to travel. I would like to start today with filling stations.
As I mentioned to Debra, a filling station is an older term, probably centered in the midwestern states during the middle of the 20th century. It refers to places where drivers could fill their cars with gasoline. They are now most commonly called gas stations. Since so many of you are not only hugging both coasts of the United States, but, are also across the pond and down under, I’m hoping you will share what you call the place where you buy the fuel for your cars.
Why don’t you talk here amongst yourselves, sharing your gas related thoughts (no, not THAT kind of gas) while I compose another post about Tom’s father and uncles and their oil company, or, maybe a post about the Ford Motor Company and cookbooks and, well, we’ll see where the signs lead.
Postscript: See what you started, Debra, with your inquisitive mind? As I was writing this, ’round about 9 am on this Saturday morn, I realized that the sun was probably just rising along your end of Route 66. Here’s a tune to start your day.
“Filling stations” or gas stations, aka “service stations.” When “service” was actually the case.
The days when you pulled up adjacent to the pump and a friendly fellow (generally in a uniform, or at least a shirt with a logo and his name stitched above the pocket) walked up to the driver’s window and asked if he might help. He filled the tank, popped the hood to check the level of oil in the tank, even checked the tires and added air if needed. Usually, all the while this ensued, he kept up a cheerful banter with the driver and sometimes teased the kids in the back seat(s) — there were 6 kids in our family, so a station wagon (precursor to the minivan 🙂 was generally transport and seats were filled.
Isn’t it interesting what a simple query will dredge up? Fun post, Penny!
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. . . and he washed your windows clean! Oh, gosh I remember that dip stick, the attendant showing my dad the level, and then wiping it clean. The days of service stations seem like such a distant past, Karen. What a fun memory to share – and another name for gas station. Did you “swoon” when the attendant was a few years older and oh-so-cute? We had a Chevy station wagon and I thought we’d struck-it-rich, (we hadn’t) hoping for a car full of passengers so we could ride in the way back, years before seat belts.
It is interesting, Karen. Thank you.
Cold here today, 40’s, but, the sun is poking through.
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Growing up in Indiana, we called them Filling and Service stations. As a treat we would get to walk up town to the filling station to get a can of pop out of the machine!! It was usually Friday or Saturday night and the pop was mountain dew ~ whoa how did we ever go to sleep?!?!
While traveling we have came across a few stations that are once again offering service. One such place is Hemmings in Bennington Vt, not only do they fill your tank for but they wash your windows ~ I took pictures of this;-)
Thanks Penny, for the fum memories.
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I’m so glad you mentioned to soda machine, Melissa. I remember doing that here as well. I even remember when bottles came out of those machines. Mountain Dew wasn’t readily available where we lived at the time, but, Coca Cola sure was. Mountain is, I believe, the one with the most caffeine. A fun memory and another “service” at the service station.
I know Hemmings. 🙂 We have pictures of Hemmings as well – and they are still washing your windows? How cool is that? I loved Bennington when we were in Vermont. There was a Grandma Moses exhibit at the museum there, with her actual cabin. So interesting.
You are welcome. It is such a delight to see what everyone has to share. Thank you.
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You found another great memory! Was ignorant that Route 66 began in Chicago so have learned something. Do you remember the TV show Route 66?
Filling stations were a dependable place as I recall. One could not only get gasoline but windshield wipers, emergency replacement parts, oil and snacks. In a pinch the restroom was available. The cleaner ones always made you get a key for the door first.
When I was growing up, my daddy worked for a Chevrolet dealer in Tennessee. We always had a new model car, a demonstrator, to use. On Sundays we would take “drives” to see the grandparents and countryside. The filling station was the last stop before we headed home. Being a thrifty type, Daddy kept a little notebook in the glove box and religiously recorded the amount of gas put in and the miles/gallon. He liked to announced how many miles we’d been each week/gallon. We NEVER ran out of gas!
One of my favorite commercials was the men from Texaco. We never missed the Dinah Shore Show and that Mwah kiss at the end!
The first credit card I owned was for Chevron gas. And it came in handy when my battery died.
I am sort of ashamed to admit that I have yet to pump my first gallon of gas. I may not have said this but I hate to drive, didn’t have my license until I was 24 and had to pay for lessons to learn. This comment sort of moved around to things other than filling stations but hope it gave you a laugh!
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Isn’t it fun to recall something that was so everyday in most of ours lives? I’m glad it brought yours about, Marilyn, and that you have taken the time to share them. Yes, I remember Route 66 – and those cute actors in what I think was a Corvette.
Right you are on all counts of what a service station provided. My dad (whom I also still call Daddy) kept a little notebook, too. Now that you mention it, I think my mom kept the last one he kept and I have it in a box somewhere. Hmmmm . . . I feel a dusty digging coming on. How fun that must have been for you, Marilyn, riding in the demo cars and your Sunday “drives”.
Yes, you gave me a chuckle, but one of some understanding. While I love to drive, I didn’t get my license until I was almost 20 – and that was because my father had died, we had a car that was paid for, and, being the oldest, I HAD to learn to use it. Only thing was, Marilyn, my mom and uncles wouldn’t let me drive it and keep it at college, which was about 120 miles away. I just needed to be able to drive it. All that to say, I was a late bloomer, too – and, while I do pump my own gas now, the story of how I finally learned to do is worthy of another post one day. I absolutely love where comments tend to roam, and that you helped me unearth some memories as well.
Maybe my friend Janet (Country Mouse) will see this and talk about Texaco Gas pumps and Halloween. (one of was was super, the other regular – hehe).
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Penny, you are on a roll, I can see that. Filling stations, I like that word. A place where you fill up on everything you need for the road. When I’m driving in NZ I’ve taken to stopping at a different kind of filling station: with my thermos of tea and my packed lunch, I find a spot beside trees or a river, I get out and take a walk, and I fill my soul. Do include soul filling stations as well as you drive on with these posts.
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I do, indeed, take in your type of filling station, Juliet. When traveling the long distance to Minnesota, some 400 miles, where one of our daughters lives, there are some scenic rest spots for stretching ones’ legs, eating a little something, and yes, filling my soul. I like how you’ve framed that and will be thinking of you when next I take a road trip – which will probably be this next week. Soul filling stations. Perfect in every way and I thank you.
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Penny, this was so fun to read! Thank you for crediting me with giving you the thought to further explore our terminologies! I have chuckled! I don’t really remember calling gas stations “filling stations” but I do recall “service stations.” I wouldn’t have remembered that, I don’t think, if I hadn’t read Karen’s comment. That came up to me. And I love the Sheryl Crow song. I was on that stretch of Santa Monica Blvd. just yesterday! How perfect! We have Route 66 signs all along the way, but none as grand as the one you shared in your photo. You have just delighted me with this post, my friend. 🙂
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It was fun to do, Debra, and it really was you who planted the thought in the first place. It is interesting where one word or phrase can sometimes lead us. Thank you for this one.
The sign is great, but, I’ve never, ever seen it and probably wouldn’t had I not been walking past. It is actually under the El tracks and there was scaffolding around it to boot! 🙂 I’m thinking that there is one at your end that matches it. You’ll find it, one day, just when you’re not looking for it. tee hee When you do, you can post Frank Sinatra and Chicago, Chicago.
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Route 66! Now there’s a name which resonates even here across the pond and I too didn’t know it began in Chicago, Penny. Here we often use the word garage, both for the place where you get your car serviced and where you fill it with fuel, but the terms filling station and petrol station are also still used.
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Just what I was hoping for, Perpetua; a word or phrase from your fair Isle. Garage. It’s interesting that a garage is for both service and fuel. Here, a garage would be for oil changes, tune ups and such. I was thinking petrol might apply, and it seems it does, too. Thank you for sharing.
Yes, indeed, it began in Chicago, wound through most of the State of Illinois and on and on through many others, heading west to California. We have a brown and whitish sign but a few miles from our house which indicates the road was part of Route 66, and a few others not too far, but, I’d not seen this particular sign until my brisk walk in downtown Chicago the other day, marking the beginning of the “Mother Road”. I think a lot of folks think it started in New York, but, it is right here.
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I didn’t give ‘filling station’ a second thought as it is (now that I think of it) exactly what we used to say in our family when I was a child (in Eastern Washington State). But now I only ever hear (or say) gas station. Actually, in our house (unless we’re in Oregon where it is illegal to pump your own) what I most often say is “honey will you fill the tank while you’re out>it’s almost empty.”)
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There you go, Sallie; a perfectly fine solution to filling the tank. A “honey do” request. I was chided into filling my own by my then teenage younger daughter and her friend. It is worth a blog of its own one day. 🙂 I didn’t give it a second thought either, then just used filling station in my comment and see where it lead (thank you to Debra as it’s been fun)?
I didn’t know it was illegal to pump your own gas in Oregon. That’s interesting.
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Filling stations, service stations, oil checks, windows washed…..all very familiar to a seventy-something from Virginia. I guess those were the good ole days! I always enjoy your blog from Chicago land. Thanks.
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Thank you for commenting and your kind words. This is one Chicagoan who loves to hear from a Virginian . 🙂 I’m thrilled you took the time to comment. How we all seem to remember those services – and the jobs they provided, often for young folks.
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Sorry I’m late on here. The local filling or service station was a place we were all familiar with. We usually were on a first name basis with the attendant. He was a fixture in the neighborhood and would help us fill our bicycle tires with air and for 75 cents he would patch a hole in the tube. We loved being allowed to buy a Coke from the machine, but any kind of soft drink was called Coke. I remember getting a Bubble-Up in a green bottle with pictures of bubbles on it. Going to an unfamiliar filling station was an adventure and sometimes the start of an adventure on Route 66.
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You are never late, Janet. I was waiting for you, my Texaco gas pump partner of old. 🙂
Oh, gosh, yes. So many of us knew the names of the attendants. Isn’t it funny how everyone called a soft drink Coke, though I do remember some of ISU friends from further south calling it soda. Now, that would be another post. tee hee “What do you call your carbonated beverage?” Now, I will imagine you and your family, off on an adventure after filling up, on Route 66.
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I must have just missed “filling stations” because we always just said “gas station” – and of course in Ireland, Declan goes for “petrol” though I can’t remember if they call it a “petrol station” or not… I’ll have to ask him!
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I would love to learn what Declan reports. Petrol is such a British word for gas. I love to hear or read it.
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Here in Australia we call them “Petrol Stations” because we call our fuel “Petrol” instead of “Gas”. They are also known as “Service Stations” however due to the wonderful Aussie slang, it has become “Servo” instead.
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It is always so nice to see a comment from you. 🙂
Servo. I love it. It has been interesting reading what everyone calls the place where they get their fuel.
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Aw, thanks! I am sorry my reading and commenting is all over the place! I’m still trying to catch up from when we went away. I have around 1800 emails to go through :s
And it is funny how even though we can speak the same language, we have different names for things!
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Please don’t apologize, Laura. It’s really fun to get comments on older posts. I love it and do it myself. This post was, and still is, particularly fun as there are so many different names for the same things, even those who live only a few hundred miles away.
Snowing here, again, this morning. Ugh. I’m tiring of winter.
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