I basically grew up downtown since my parents had a business there. The shoe shop was on a side street just a few doors down from the main avenue. I knew that I was finally growing up when my mother allowed me to go roam the avenue alone. Those were the days when everything important was downtown. The banks. The big Post Office with marble floors and gold twistie combination keys on the glass fronts of post office boxes. Hunt’s Department Store had its bargain basement. Then there was the Boston Store. We didn’t shop there much. The bread bakery. Oh how I loved being downtown when they were baking. Cities just don’t smell like that any more. Further down was the cracker factory (not THAT one but Wortz Cracker Factory). In my senior year of high school I had a wonderful encounter with Mr. Wortz himself. But that’s another memory. Even Sears and Montgomery Ward were still downtown. But my favorite stores were McCrory and Woolworth, the quintessential five-and-dimes complete with the-real-deal soda fountains. High ceilings, ancient wooden floors. Aisles jammed with makeup and accessories and kitchenware and clothing and anything else you could think of. I think I learned a lot about life by just browsing the wide, wooden shelves of the old five-and-dimes.

With the exception of the banks and Post Office, all those business are gone. Some were ravaged by cultural changes and the advent of the mall and WalMart; others were ravaged by the 1996 F5 tornado that leveled one end of downtown near the river. That’s a whole ‘nuther blog post.

As a child growing up in the 50s and 60s, Christmas was a magical time. The city decorated “the avenue” fabulously. Giant nutcracker soldiers stood on the sidewalks and super-sized snowflake lights hung over the street. The store windows up and down the long avenue were filled with enchanting scenes that would never give Macy’s any competition, but yet were wonderful. My family would bundle up and brave the cold one night after closing the store to walk the avenue and take in all the wonder. The five-and-dime stores hung garland and snow flakes above the shiny, chrome stools of the soda fountains. You could hear jing-jing-jing-jing heralding the Santa mobile as it softly whooshed by. The cigar-shaped Christmas vehicle (sort of like the Oscar Mayer weiner mobile) held Santa Claus and a dozen or so children/parents as it took them on a magical tour. Christmas music played on a loud speaker, but the thing I remember most is the sound of jingles as it approached. And yes, I was a proud rider of the Santa mobile. My church, a beautiful old 4-story building, was also downtown. In the winter the gas heater would overtake the sanctuary, so the mammoth windows were opened a few inches. I remember sitting in church on Wednesday nights in December listening to the jing-jing-whoosh of the Santa mobile as it went by. That made me happy, too, just to hear it.

The Christmas parade was a sight to behold. It was a very long one with many marching bands, floats, and of course, Santa at the end riding on the fire engine. Who knows….in the crowd on the curb, maybe I even stood next to my future husband! The entire season was just plain fun.

Christmas was simple, yet precious. My brother and I didn’t get a ton of presents, but just enough. Something we really wanted, perhaps a game, and something practical. Our Christmas stockings were our own socks. I never did have big feet so I convinced my mom to let us use my dad’s old socks. We woke up on Christmas morning with those socks bulging to the gills with apples, oranges, nuts, chocolates; I don’t even remember what else. I wasn’t a big fan of apples and oranges were messy, but something about them just being there every year was a big comfort to me. Memories. Stability. Continuity.