I was born in 1938; about half the time, until I graduated from high school in 1956, we lived in a house that either had no running water, (2) had no hot water, (3) was heated either by a pot belly wood stove or a kerosene stove, and Mom cooked on a kerosene or wood stove. She heated water for wash day in a huge cast iron kettle, with wood as fuel. She had an old wringer style washing machine, and hung the clothes out on the line. It a whole day to do the washing, and then there was the ironing.
You bathed in a galvanized wash tub, in water heated over the kitchen stove. I pumped the water by hand myself from a well in the front yard, and carried the bucket into the kitchen. We had a water dipper to drink from, and a pan to wash our hands in. I have seen ice floating on the bucket on a cold winter morning, to give you an idea how cold it got at night. For years, I had a quarter sized scar on my stomach where I got too close to the pot bellied stove after a bath on a cold winter night. A trip to the bathroom was a trip to the outhouse.
But our attitude was good; my Dad and Mom were scrupulously honest, and it stuck with me. They were also proud, such that they would have had to be sick or disabled to take any kind of welfare or hand out. My Dad was a tough man, sometimes cruel, but he could do darn near anything, fix darn near anything and drive or operate any piece of equipment made by mankind. They instilled self reliance and the value of an education. We were terribly poor at times, but people were mostly good and we enjoyed life...and I think it was enhanced by the struggle.
Then there were the cars...they symbolized a lot more then than they do now; I'll never forget the thrill of seeing my first '55 Bel Air...and the thrill of getting one of my own...but "cars" is a whole 'nother story.