Now THIS is nostalgia….
One thing daddy insisted on was red meat once or twice a week (like the king of beasts), which was due to being a dirt poor child. The corner store was not an option, his meat was overpriced and tough as horsehide (any missing cats in the neighborhood?). Grocery store meat was always hit or miss. But somehow, mom heard about some little store in the next town.
Literally, it was the middle of a suburban block. It looked like a converted garage. But this guy knew his stuff! Huge walk in fridge; sides of beef hanging like in Rocky movie. Meat was never brown. He had a small display case and a chopping block three feet thick. He could walk in the fridge, show what you were getting, then pull out a knife that could cut through a car, slice it and wrap it (His bone-cutting cleaver was vaguely unsettling). He was always eager to discuss cuts of beef to mom or I. All those huge knives were fascinating–shiny steel, wooden handles–the only time I ever saw a knife sharpened with a strop.
His steaks were great–paid more, but the quality never sagged. Without warning, he closed after 15 years with a simple sign on the window. No one ever heard what happened to him.
The baker was 20 minutes away. Smells that transported you Two miles from heaven. He made these seven inch wide thin sugar cookies; I would be willing to fetch a stick for one. Also, he made great dinner rolls with a little hard salt on them. His specialty was cakes, pies, and cookies. I don’t think he ever made bread. Dad loved him cause he was open one Christmas Eve in an apocalyptic snowfall. Like the butcher, he closed without warning. I remember driving past and I told mom there was a sign in the window; she almost totaled the car.
And the pharmacist. His first place was a small store two towns away, beside train tracks. Often, I’d watch trains while mom was inside. Eventually, he became a family friend. A neighbor’s dad worked for him. He was a great, sociable guy–loved to entertain at his house. His timing was perfect–he soon built a new store two blocks away on a main street, with extra room to rent. Now he could have aisles of greeting cards, small gifts, and room for new over the counter drugs that proliferated as the sixties melted to the seventies, like sun tan lotions and indigestion medicines. And he was able to get into the wheelchair/medical supply business. He even opened a second store.
Then it happened. He came home, announcing that he had fallen in love with a younger woman. Rumors said he gave the wife the house and cars, and moved in with the new wife. His teenage children disowned him and overnight, his friends vanished. Dad loved the guy, but he never set foot in the shop again. The business kept rolling, though–there literally was nowhere else nearby. Mom did speak with him once, when he walked over. He was very hurt and complained about being friendless. Mom just kind of shrugged and reminded him that he brought it on himself.
As the chain pharmacies crept in, his fortunes sank. The second store closed, he sold his rental properties, then sold half the store. Finally, by the 90’s, he was finished. I hadn’t been in the store since I saw he had hired a girl I hated in high school. I wonder how many people cared about his downfall.