I snapped the photo as an afterthought while cruising through Gary’s Miller area, my old neighborhood, for a previous column. I had just made a pit stop for lunch at Arman’s where, as a dashboard diner, I inhaled a hot dog and fries. The hot dog tasted deliciously the same as it did in my youth, 40 years ago. But the next Miller landmark that I passed left a bad taste in my mouth. It was the building that formerly housed Ralph’s Foods and, before that, Wilco grocery store. Decades ago, I remember shopping there with my family and also by myself on my walk home from high school. It’s where my love affair with chocolate doughnuts began. It’s also where I was once detained by security guards after they claimed I stole a magazine from the store’s rack. I didn’t, but, as a terrified young teenager, I’m sure I looked guilty as charged. Good thing I was a doodler at school because there were random drawings all over the inside of that magazine. I couldn’t have done all that doodling inside the store, I told them nervously while inside the manager’s office. They reluctantly agreed and let me go. I ate an entire box of doughnuts on the way home with a chocolate-covered smile. I have other memories about that store, including once getting lost from my parents as a youngster. I panicked, thinking I’d be forever left behind. I finally found them in the checkout lane, feeling as if I just found God. I didn’t stray too far after that. Those two memories flashed through my mind in less than a minute as I drove past that old store. It didn’t matter that it’s now abandoned and in shambles. It’s an eyesore, plain and simple. A sad sight, too. I pulled into the parking lot, making sure to dodge all the broken glass and debris. Without thinking, I snapped a quick photo of the building’s exterior and sped off. I’m not someone who gets easily intoxicated by nostalgia, but I drove away under the influence of wistfulness. Maybe it was the visit to Arman’s, which went down like a chili dog from my childhood. Maybe I had a couple minutes extra to spend at that old store. Or maybe I’m finally hitting my “shift in time perspective,” an age-related sociological term referring to looking in your life’s rearview mirror as much as your windshield. Anyway, I soon posted that photo on my social media sites and found out that I’m not the only person with specific memories of that former store, under both names. “Everyone used to shop and work at Wilco,” wrote Rich Navarro. “Remember Fotomat in the parking lot?” asked Milo Rodriguez. (Yes, I do.) “When I was a girl I wanted to be a cashier at Wilco. The bag boys were so cute,” noted Ti Brumfield. “It was the most beautiful grocery store ever back in the ‘60s,” gushed June Wefler. And on it went, comment after comment, memory after memory, more than 100 in all, including direct missives to me. For at least one day, all those rekindled recollections breathed new life into that old building. It reminded me about the key difference between a space and a place. Simply put, a place is a space filled with memories. Like what it takes to make a house a home. I didn’t go shopping that day for old memories. They just sort of fell into my cart of reminiscences as I drove past a few familiar landmarks. I ended up bringing them home with me, and they’ve been rattling around my head ever since. I noticed that most other people my age (and older) have already hopped aboard the Nostalgia Express train to yesteryear. In fact, they’re regular passengers, never missing a return trip to their youth or glory days or simply a better time in their life. I’m hesitant to do the same, possibly because I feel that if I start looking back too often, I’ll stop looking ahead enough. Possibly because I’d rather squirrel away those fond flashbacks for my older years. Or possibly I’m too much of a realist, and an old abandoned building is simply that, nothing more. Part of me wishes I could see more places and fewer spaces, embalmed forever with warm memories. And I’m sure I will in time. I’m envious of people such as, say, Cindy Bean, the local “urban explorer” photographer who visits decrepit old sites and somehow sees what they used to be in their heyday. They come to life in her mind and, in a way, in her photos. She’s a visionary in reverse, with rose-colored glasses about sad spaces that still remain vibrant places. Maybe my brief pause outside that old grocery store will serve as a harbinger for such wistful thinking. Maybe not. I must confess that I also shot another photo that day, of the abandoned building across the street. It was once a bustling Dairy Queen where everyone went after baseball games, beach days or hot summer evenings. I remember once going there with ... oh no... I’m doing it again. All aboard?
Posted on: Sat, 07 Jun 2014 20:47:10 +0000
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