I waved to my buddy Alner as I spotted him putting out bundles of newspapers for recycling day.
He�??s a good environmentalist, but what he said next started me thinking.
�??If people had begun doing this 100 years ago we wouldn�??t be in such dire straits,�?� he said.�?�
I nodded and smiled. �??Alner, old friend, it�??s great that you�??re recycling, but we folks of 2012 can still learn a few things.�?�
�??Yeah?�?� he said.
Well, to make a long story short, within a few moments we were taking a little walk down a street in Wyoming Valley back in 1948, courtesy of my powers of metaphysical travel.
It�??s a handy thing to have. We no sooner arrived when a small truck pulled up to the curb next to us and out jumped a uniformed man with two wire carriers holding glass bottles of milk. Alner watched, transfixed, as the milkman went up to one porch after another, dropping off a quart or two, and picking up the empties.
�??I can�??t believe it,�?� said Alner. �??We toss cardboard cartons in the trash.�?�
I flashed him a knowing grin. �??That�??s how they manage free garbage collection. Their soda�??s in glass bottles too. Just think, everybody recycles and the word hasn�??t even been invented yet.�?�
�??Beep beep,�?� came a youthful voice.
�??Hush, Bobby, you mustn�??t be so rude,�?� said a mother to her child as they walked past us, pulling a coaster wagon containing two cardboard boxes of groceries.
Waiting until the folks were out of earshot (mustn�??t betray us as time travelers), I said �??There�??s shopping day, 1948 style. Folks go down to the neighborhood market and load up the week�??s order in the kid�??s wagon. Not a teaspoon of gasoline is used.�?�
Alner couldn�??t take his eyes off them. �??Where do they get the boxes?�?� he asked.
�??Stores hang onto them when their stock comes in,�?� I replied. �??The plastic bag that takes forever to disintegrate is a couple of decades in the �??enlightened�?? future.�?�
A passerby carrying a black device strapped to his back nodded to us.
�??What�??s that contraption?�?� asked Alner.
The man walked onto a nearby front porch, where a woman holding a scissors and some knives beckoned to him. Unstrapping the device from his back, he turned a crank and a raspy sound came from the machine.
�??That�??s the scissors grinder,�?� I said. �??He�??ll sharpen your knives, scissors �?? anything you need to cut with, so �?? you don�??t have to throw them out.�?�
Alner sighed. �??OK, I get it. That�??s how my grandmother always kept the cutlery she was given as a wedding present.�?�
I nodded. �??You�??re catching on. You know, if we were here in the winter we�??d see a guy coming around to pick up tubs of ashes from the coal furnaces. They�??re thrown on icy roads.�?�
Just then a horn sounded.
�??Look, down the street,�?� I said. �??That guy in the horse-drawn wagon is the ragman. He�??ll take any old fabric you�??ll give him and turn it into cleaning cloths or who knows what else. He announces he�??s here by blowing a little paper horn, a neat tradition.�?�
�??I�??ve been tossing my old shirts in the trash,�?� said Alner in a subdued voice.
Alner looked at the guy in the wagon and gave a thumbs-up. The ragman answered back �?? with a little toot on his horn.