Two Left

Family stories form the fabric of relationships. Some bring laughter or tears, others chagrin. Too often these stories metamorphosize until their origins are obscured, the facts muddled and the content mythologized. In our particular family there's only agreement that one reason we bought the lot on which our house resides is that I wanted to be close to my favorite grocery store, Vons, nestled in a nearby mall. One could stand in the middle of our street, look to the left, and two blocks away, grocery nirvana. Well, maybe not quite, but a serviceable store nevertheless.

The small mall occupies an easily accessible corner. When we first moved to town nearly thirty-five years ago, a bowling alley anchored the westernmost front section of the mall. The eastern neighbor was a local grocery called Market Basket. At the southern edge of the complex, J.C. Penny thrived. It was so popular that citizens occasionally saw Frank Sinatra (yes, that one) strolling through enjoying an ice cream cone.

In the middle of the space, a hometown department store, Walker Scott, provided for area families' needs with reasonable prices and fifties type friendly service. From bedding to toys, kitchen gadgets to clothes, the two-story business flourished. One Sunday, as I entered the store from the mall side, I nearly collided with a compact gentleman, clutching a man purse. It was Liberace. Truly. I'd noticed his splendid white Rolls Royce with personalized plates in the parking lot but did not expect such an encounter. Once inside the store, I found the sales staff excitedly chatting about their famous customer. It's just that kind of town.

When we first moved here, Thrifty drugstore was situated in the center of the north face of the mall. Very often we'd stop there for delectable ice cream at a nickle a scoop. A small barber shop nearby offered reasonably priced services and a talented staff never too busy to serve the drop-in customer.

During the years when I required many baby-associated items, I shopped with delight at the Watermelon Seed. Unique baby and little girl clothes, cuddly toys, lacy pillows. Each purchase promised many smiles.

New stores appeared, old ones vanished but for quite some time, every storefront was filled. Occasionally I thought that the array of businesses blended well with my family's needs at the time. KB Toys sold age-appropriate products and True Value kept us supplied with Terro ant killer. Claire's collected many dollars as earrings, bracelets and necklaces were purchased for a stylish teen-ager. Miller's Outpost often carried just the right jeans for Dad or daughter. A bookstore was welcomed and all too soon disappeared. The same fate befell a very nice shoe store.

Small restaurants specialized in comfort food and attracted devoted customers. Among the favorites were Karla's and the Red Kettle Grill. A minuscule food court included a McDonald's which may have the distinction of being the only outpost of that chain ever to be shuttered.

I cannot imagine how much money I spent at the Hallmark store. Cards, ribbons, gift bags, holiday decorations. I bought them all. In fact, I was such a frequent customer that the staff recognized me instantly and often gave me suggestions, knowing my particular tastes very well.

Several times, an unexpected occasion required a quick trip to Payless for inexpensive shoes that, even if worn only once, were worth the investment. Radio Shack provided the same service for endless extension cords, batteries, power strips and the like.

One of my favorite stores is Office Max. It's not quite as good as Target for simply losing oneself in the aisles, but it is geographically closer. I can walk there. The print shop has faithfully prepared my holiday letter and family reunion newsletter for years. Computers, furniture, printers and their ink, envelopes of every type, jewel cases for CDs/DVDs, and reams of printer paper have migrated to our house from Office Max. The staff is friendly, accessible, and almost always very knowledgeable.

With the country's dire economic condition, it is easy to understand that 'our' mall would not escape. The dwindling of stores began slowly. The donut shop-gone. Claire's-vacant. Food court-empty. Gottschalk's (Walker Scott's replacement)-closed. Karla's-serving no longer. Vons-abandoned. Rite-Aid (Thrifty's replacement)-moved to another part of town. Payless-locked. True Value-now located on the south end of the city.

This week, the death knell. It's Office Max's turn. A battered sign proclaims, "40% off everything but furniture and computer related products" "Store closing November 18th." My husband and are not surprised, but certainly saddened. We visit, load up our basket, perhaps for the last time, and chat with the staff. Charlie, someone we've known for years, says that the mall is in foreclosure. With the store's lease expiring, an attempt was made with the bank handling the foreclosure to reduce the monthly lease payment. Disappointingly and maddeningly, the representative indicated that the bank did not have the authority to reduce the lease amount. How can this approach make any sense? Isn't it good business to have a property occupied, even with less revenue being received, than empty, with no money forthcoming? I guess not.

For years, our daughter, who has an often wry way with words, has referred to our local mall as the 'dirt mall.' Perhaps she is prophetic. Dirt is what it is becoming. Only two stores left.