Mall owners like to think that the malls of today are the same as the Main Streets of yesteryear. In some locations they’ve even attempted to create a Main Street atmosphere with brick walkways, artificial trees, park benches (without a park), and even a few abbreviated storefronts. The few windows that may exist always face inside, never toward the parking lot.
Birds haven’t yet made it into this shopper’s world although I’ve seen a few at a Lowe’s and Home Depot. Some malls have attempted to give their “main street” natural light by installing skylights overhead. Then, a mall decorator hangs theme decor from above, and the skylights and their desired effects are obscured.
Over the years, stores have changed approaches to attracting customers. While advertising still is the single most important means of drawing attention to a store and its goods, it has taken on many shapes and modes ranging from radio, TV, and newspapers to the ever crucial word of mouth. Sound trucks no longer roam the streets announcing the arrival of the new models. Now, the focus by the store or dealer is “zero down and no payments until 20__,” or “lowest prices,” or “limited time only.”
A wise store owner once told me, “Half the money I spend on advertising is a waste — now if I just knew which half!”
I guess changes in advertising really reflect many of the changes in our society. Mall stores don’t have store windows to decorate since people no longer leisurely stroll along a block of storefronts to look at displays. Time has become such a premium to many people, and as a result, customers now seem like prey that must be tracked, hunted, and trapped. No longer are they “shoppers;” now they’re “buyers.”
The Original Mall
I remember when things were a little different. The first mall I knew was at Pennsylvania Ave. and 10th St. You could find just about everything you needed in every kind of store on those two streets. If you needed furniture, there were three places to go: Wolf’s, Blatchford’s, and Rothert’s. Clothing? Try Gardner’s, Levine’s, Lugg’s, Garman’s, or even Lester’s. For shoes, people went to Cut Rate, Triangle, Lugg’s, or Levine’s. Jewelry was available at Simm’s, Acklin’s, and later, Molnar. There was not one, but two movie theaters, and more drug stores than you could shake a stick at. In addition to hardware and grocery stores, we had specialty stores like Kienzel’s Bakery, Burchfield’s Sporting Goods, Engelman’s Florist, and Gardner’s Candies.
These two streets were the main part of our “mall,” but there were other stores off the main drag — like Kennedy’s Model Shop, on Columbia Ave.
Window Displays
Window displays always were a key component for shopkeepers to advertise their wares. Windows were filled with sofas, chairs, trains, shoes, jewels, models, wristwatches, balls, shirts, and slacks. Garman’s even had a special stand-alone display cupola and full-size mannequins dressed in the latest fashions. Gardner’s Candies used stuffed animals to herald the coming of the next candy-buying season.
Windows often were tantalizing as merchants displayed products that made them famous. There were molasses and chocolate cookie displays, sticky buns, and iced coconut cakes at Kienzel’s. Cut-flower arrangements alternated with displays of potted greens and ferns at Engelman’s. Up at 14th and Pennsy, Rudy’s right window always was alive with newly made popcorn rolling out of the popper.
Walking downtown easily could take an hour as people stopped to look at the window displays and ponder their next purchase. Seasonal changes in windows were harbingers of the future. Balls, bats, and gloves; stuffed rabbits, decorated chocolate eggs, and jellybeans; white patent-leather shoes, ribbon hats, and white shirts with bow ties; porch furniture, hammocks, and swings; jelly-bean cupcakes, coconut cakes, and iced cookies; potted tulips, daffodils, and seed packets. In their own way, they all said the same thing: Spring was just around the corner.
McCrory’s Five-and-Ten
My favorite store anchored this downtown mall. It was so big that you could enter on Pennsylvania Ave. and leave on 10th St. and vice versa. McCrory’s five-and-ten-cent store had just about everything you wanted and even some things you didn’t. The 10th St. side had toys, coloring books, models, a few hand tools, shoe polish, laces, shoe-repair kits, pots for plants, and some gift items. At the inside corner of the store there were paper goods, tablets, pencils, pens, staplers, and construction paper. I remember buying a book of blank receipts that looked like checks for my dad. I thought Dad could use them when he needed money and not have to work so hard.
The five-and-ten also had a candy counter, peanuts, costume jewelry, lipstick, nail polish, a place to get socks and slippers, T-shirts, and a magazine rack with a huge selection of comic books. They had special things for different occasions: special candies for Christmas and Valentine’s Day, snow shovels in winter, kites for spring, and cards for birthdays and holidays. Kids shopped there for friends’ birthdays, Christmas gifts for the family, Spanish peanuts for a snack, or the latest Captain Marvel comic book. Price never stood in the way of a sale, and clerks always were helpful to every customer — even the youngest.
Once, when I was about nine or ten, I was really mad at my mother. We had a knockdown drag-out over a messy room or a chore not done before I could go out and play. Anyway, I stormed out of the house and after a while found myself in the five-and-ten. I knew mom was right and I was being stupid, but there’s no way I could ever say “I’m sorry” or admit I was wrong. With limited funds, I paced up and down the aisles of the store looking for a peace offering to heal the rift while maintaining my pride.
Twenty minutes later, I presented my mother with a nineteen-cent aluminum saucepan. When she smiled, I knew I was forgiven and I never had to admit I was wrong. Fifty years later she still had the pan even though I think she was afraid to ever use it. The “courteous and knowledgeable” clerk at the five-and-dime helped me pick out the perfect gift.
Lugg and Edmonds
On 10th St., across from Rothert’s, was another store I found to be special: Lugg and Edmonds. Their large display windows were on each side of the entrance and set back from the sidewalk. The displays were aimed at different family members. There were clothing, shoes, and toys for the kids; dresses, jewelry, and household items for moms; and shirts, boots, and hats for dads.
With the windows set back from the sidewalk, people could peruse the window displays a little longer without interfering with foot traffic on 10th St. Clerks always were attentive to potential customers, even to those who were merely window-shopping.
Lugg and Edmonds was one store I didn’t mind going into with my mother. The first thing that always hit me was the “trolley” system running throughout the store. I’d watch intently as a sales clerk wrote out a sales slip and then placed the slip and money from the customer into a little torpedo-shaped, wheelless, chrome car. The clerk closed the car, placed it on a track of moving pulleys, and “whoosh,” away it went. I’d follow the car as it raced up to another track, make a turn, head back toward the rear, then another turn, up, and over — disappearing somewhere on the second floor. After a few minutes I’d hear another car whirring, and my eyes would track its return journey to the clerk. She opened the car, retrieved the change and receipt, and gave them to her customer.
Since there were several clerks at different locations on the floor, I never could figure out how the car knew which clerk to return to. Determined to break the code, I’d stand there near the entrance and watch those little cars make trip after trip, each time returning to its proper destination.
One time, after several minutes of trolley-tracking, I glanced around and realized I was alone. Mom had made her way toward the back-left part of the store. I ran back and bolted up the steps to join her. I was about to experience the other great attraction Lugg’s had to offer. I was getting a new pair of shoes! Not too exciting in most places but Lugg’s was really special. They had a magic machine that let you “see” how well your new shoes fit. It looked like a scale that you put a penny in to weigh yourself, except you put the front of your foot into an opening and through a small screen on top you could see the bones of your toes and foot inside the shoe. For a growing boy, there always were two looks. The first came with your current shoes: “See how tight?” The second with the new Buster Brown’s: “See how much room to grow?”
Mall stores seem to look alike, but even though they are identical or uniform in design and layout, they will continue to thrive. Lower prices, wider selections, longer hours, black Fridays, and special offers will attract a substantial number of buyers. But real shoppers should know that my hometown still boasts stores that each have their own unique personality.
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