The Saturday Journal: Store Keepers

I’ve been pondering this childhood memory on and off for a while–maybe it’s because we are in the season of gratefulness. Maybe it’s the reminiscing and the missing of a simpler time–maybe it’s part of growing older--looking back through open windows--broken panes, and holding memories just a little tighter...

The road I grew up on–it was a dirt road–so dry and dusty the state would come in the summer and sprinkle oil to keep the dust down.  Another thing about our road–it wasn’t a mile long–close to a mile, but not close enough to make exceptions to the rule. The rule that stated the road had to be one mile in length for the school bus to travel down. 

So the kids who lived on this–my road, we had to catch a ride to school at the bus stop at the top of our road–and that bus stop was Alexander’s Grocery, located on the Rock Creek Road.  Alexander’s Grocery–known more fondly as Earl’s.  

Now, me and my brothers, we never walked to the bus stop. We were too young to cross the highway. So my Grandma Lackey would pick us up at home when Mama and Daddy were working and she would drive us to the store and drop us off.  And, Earl, a humble man–a devoted man of the Lord, owner of the store--he greeted us with a smile every morning–the AM radio blasting–Amazing Grace and I’ll Fly Away.

Sometimes there would be as many as ten kids waiting for old snub nose 34–and during cold and rainy mornings, we would wait inside the store. Warm and sunny–we would wait outside. And if the bus was late or we got there early, we had a little fun in the parking lot–like the one time the bus had to wait until the final throw was in the air–touchdown!  My team won!

Never once do I remember Earl ever scolding us or telling us to quiet down–to sit down or not play in the parking lot.  I know for certain on some days we deserved it--much more.  And I’m sure he breathed a long sigh of relief on more days than one when the bus door shut and us kids were on our way. 

There were rocking chairs and old men in overalls and work clothes that would come and rock awhile–talk to Earl while he was at the register. And they were good bird dogs when Earl would step outside to pump a customer’s gas.  Country store owners and workers did that back then–even washed windshields–carried brown paper grocery bags filled to the brim for the elderly–carefully placing the bags in trunks and backseats.  

After school the bus would drop us off at the store and in the parking lot–there it was–you could depend on it. The ole brown “bigger than life” Dodge Monaco–my Grandma or Grandpa sitting in the driver’s seat.  Me and my brothers would run to the car and my Grandma would hand me a quarter and a nickel–sometimes three dimes–ten cents each–for an afternoon snack.  We would buy candy or a soda pop, ice cream, or a bag of chips.  And as we got a little older, inflation hit more and we were given a quarter each–every afternoon. 

Then we, my brothers and I learned what a “tab” was.  See Earl ran credit at the store–a ledger book–each page heading had a name and under it were columns of charges–to be paid when a person would get their weekly or monthly check.  My Grandma and Grandpa gave me and my brothers permission to charge on their tab for when we “needed” something–like paper or a pencil or when we didn’t have any snack money.  Needless to say, the tab was cut off when my Grandpa learned one day we had charged things like ‘little toys and trinkets’ and too many Brownie Pops and ice cream sandwiches and Push-Ups and the bill–well let’s just say, the total was more than four twenty dollar bills. 

I can’t remember how old I was or what grade I was in school, but Earl sold the store to a man named David. We were sad but soon learned this man–he was a funny man–younger with blond hair and a jolly laugh–even early in the morning. He liked to fish and his wife was nice.  And like Earl, he welcomed us to the store–every day.  I guess we came as a "package-deal"--with the sale.

And on any given morning a family of loggers would pull into the store’s parking lot– the logging truck was weathered and worn–almost as much as the brothers who rode inside. They stopped at Earl’s for snacks–lunch. Cans of beanie–weenies, honey buns, Vienna Sausage, peanuts, nabs, and bologna cut so thick knives had to be replaced every other month. And glass bottles of pop–Coke, RC, and Pepsi. 

This particular morning it was raining outside and one of the loggers was in too big of a hurry and as soon as he ran through the door and turned down the Vienna Sausage aisle–he slipped and did the perfect slide–feet first–down the aisle. It was like watching modern day Trea Turner of the Philadelphia Phillies sliding into home plate.  It was that perfect.  And David–being his entertaining self yelled, safe!  And threw his arms out and crouched down–umpire style. The logger–he picked himself up–wiped his wet hands on his coveralls and bought an extra can of beanie-weenies and two honey buns that day. 

And us kids, we tried our best not to laugh–until the logger man left. And it wasn’t him who made our day. It was the keeper of the store. 

This store served our neighborhood for more than 40 plus years–I don’t really know how long.  And over the years the sign changed–ownership changed.  Growing up we never went to a chain grocery store such as Food Lion or Lowes Supermarket.  I would go to Lowe’s with my great-aunt on Saturdays sometimes, but other than that–it was always the store across the road. 

And now the old block store sits empty–quiet. The gas pumps are gone. The walls are slowly decaying. And I’m thankful for dirt roads coming up short of a mile–rules that made no sense–old country stores and rocking chairs, and memories of a childhood when days were much simpler–laughter was much louder, and kindness was found in the hearts of store keepers like Earl and David. 

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I pray you and your families have a blessed Thanksgiving filled with family, friends, love, and joy.

I am grateful for each of you.

Happy Thanksgiving!

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We spend our years as a tale that is told.

Psalm 90:9