Boomer's Journal - Flying saucers

By Rachel Barduson

It was the winter of 1966 that dad brought home a flying saucer for my sister and I. It was the newest thing in “sliding” – as in sliding down our hill in the pasture. It was a round disc, made of shiny, sleek aluminum, and could go down a snow-covered hill faster than the ancient and traditional toboggan sled that stood next to the house. Maybe dad caught us using the shovel (not a snow shovel – just your one farm shovel of the era) as we tried to use it as a snow toy – (we would sit on the shovel and hold the handle in front of us). Whether it was because dad wanted us to forget about using a shovel for sliding, or he wanted to make sure we continued outdoor activities as we aged from childhood to pre-teen to teenagers who knew everything there was to know about everything, dad presented us with our flying saucer during the Christmas of 1965. He most likely purchased it at Ostrum’s in Evansville.

The key words for a flying saucer were “fast and faster.” It had no brakes or instructions on safety, no warnings of danger - except for dad who told us to slide off if we thought we might “run into the fence.” He instructed us on how to lean in and “steer the saucer” simply by left and right movements as we sat with our legs crossed (or on our knees) and held on to the leather straps attached to the saucer. The best part would be experimenting and trying to go around in circles, if there was any possible way, as you slid down the hill toward the barbed wire fence. What could possibly go wrong?

Whenever there is was enough snow, we were out sledding at the farm. Contributed photo

We were now living on the edge. The edge of fast and furious, lightning speed and the modern age of sliding down the ancestral hill in the pasture. Flying, or not flying, we slid over random rocks and hard snow drifts. The only way to stop at the bottom of the hill was by flying off and into the snow. Laughing and screaming and having the time of our lives. But, couldn’t we ride down together? Why would one of us wait at the top of the hill, while the other flew down in less than a minute?

After the first time, my sister and I found a way to face each other on a saucer meant to hold only one person. We would hang on for the ride of our lives. We flew down the hill, landed on either a rock or a hard pile of snow and had a nice dent on the bottom of our metal saucer where our butts had been firmly planted. I don’t recall feeling any pain. We didn’t really care if our saucer was dented. At least it didn’t sink into the snow like the toboggan seemed to. A few dents and bumps and bruises went with the territory. We were brave and braver. No time to waste. We had more hills to experiment with while we rode that saucer into oblivion.

I miss those times of absolutely no worry and just plain joy. We suddenly became Olympic-bound athletes. Our prowess on the flying saucer would exceed all expectations. Trudging back up the hill wasn’t even a deterrent as we went down and up and down and up for what possibly might have been hours. We didn’t have fancy snow suits or boots. We wore layers of pants and socks and mittens and hats and scarves. Skin might have been exposed as we slid off the saucer. But we didn’t care. We would come in at the end of the adventure snow covered and wet, with hardened chunks of snow sticking to whatever it was we were wearing, especially the wool scarves around our neck, usually touching our skin. But we didn’t care. We were living the best life. Once we finally couldn’t walk up that hill anymore, we trudged home, tired and sweating. Once we took the layers off, hung the clothes to dry and put the mittens and hats and scarves next the heat-register to dry.

Candace Erickson and Rachel have a “Toboggan Party” on the Farm in 1967. Contributed photos

What a fabulous winter recreation toy our flying saucer was. Sledding parties in 7th and 8th grade included the ever-ready flying saucer. I thought we had the best sliding hill in the county. This past fall, as my sister and I walked through the fields of our farm, we looked at that hill and reminisced. That hill doesn’t look so big anymore. But, my goodness – the memories we made on that infamous hill.

Of course, as a self-appointed historian of sorts, I decided to delve into the history of the “flying saucer” sled. Maybe I thought dad had something to do with the invention, given the use of our old shovel, but alas, it wasn’t my dad of Norwegian ancestry who invented the flying saucer. It was invented in Sweden by manufacturer Georg Gillmert at the JH factory in Savsjo, Sweden. Georg had seen how children and young people sledded down snowy slopes, often with a tray or something else as a seat. At the same time, the JH factory had a machine that had been used to make lids for garbage cans, which were no longer being manufactured. This brought the idea of producing saucer-shaped sled as children’s toys. Georg changed the machine so that the lids had a flange when pressed. The sheet metal lids were then painted and given a leather handle attached with two rivets. This was in the early 1950s and the space and science fiction interest of the time gave the creation the name ‘flying saucer’ (flygande tefat). *

Another source gives credit to the Aluminum Goods Manufacturing Company of Manitowoc, Wisconsin, the largest manufacturer of aluminum cookware in the United States. The source explains, “In 1954 designers, hoping to beef up the company’s line of toys, developed an aluminum saucer designed for speeding down snow-covered hills. They called it the Sno-Coaster, and it hit the market in the winter of 1954-55. Intentionally or not, the gleaming, space-age look appealed to America’s blooming fascination with flying saucers, and the toy became a hit.” 

Regardless who created the concept of the aluminum “flying saucer” (as we called it), one thing remains... on any given winter day, we created more fun and more memories, dents, bumps and wet scarves combined, than even we could imagine. One slippery slide at a time.