Growing up in the 1940s and ‘50s in Iron River, in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, company was rare and a stranger at the door was reason to be cautious. Unless it was the Jewel Tea man or the local grocery store delivering an order, the door was left hooked or was opened with caution.
Usually if it was a stranger, he was trying to find a neighbor's house. Houses weren't numbered in those days. In fact, some streets didn't even have official names. The “address” might be “the
