Main Street, Vintageville, USA
11-16-2006, 05:15 PM
#1
Thread Starter
Main Street, Vintageville, USA
Vintage is a community. And like all great communities it had a Main Street. You know the street. Before the big box stores put the small merchants out of business Main Street was filled with small stores that we all loved shopping in.
This thread is about those lost and disappearing gems. This is the place to talk about the stores, librarys, hardware stores banks, gas stations and other wonderful places that you used to shop in. Those places that made your neighborhood such a nice place to live. This thread is Main Street.
Tell us your story, even if you've told it before, tell it again. Comment on someone else's story and the memories it brought back. Be discriptive if you like.
Just don't turn this thread political. It is about the stores and your experiences, not why they disappeared. This thread is about Vintage, it is not about anything being wrong with Vintage. Lets have some fun with our memories.
I've managed to save a few of my favorites which I'll start with, and if you contribute some of yours, I'll write a few more too.
Enjoy your stroll down Main Street, Vintageville, USA.
This thread is about those lost and disappearing gems. This is the place to talk about the stores, librarys, hardware stores banks, gas stations and other wonderful places that you used to shop in. Those places that made your neighborhood such a nice place to live. This thread is Main Street.
Tell us your story, even if you've told it before, tell it again. Comment on someone else's story and the memories it brought back. Be discriptive if you like.
Just don't turn this thread political. It is about the stores and your experiences, not why they disappeared. This thread is about Vintage, it is not about anything being wrong with Vintage. Lets have some fun with our memories.
I've managed to save a few of my favorites which I'll start with, and if you contribute some of yours, I'll write a few more too.
Enjoy your stroll down Main Street, Vintageville, USA.
11-16-2006, 05:16 PM
#2
Thread Starter
Damon's Auto Parts
11-16-2006, 05:18 PM
#3
Thread Starter
John's Shoe Repair
There is an old time shoe repair store in Succasunna (the next town over). John stands behind the counter, wearing his apron and speaking in a heavy Italian accent. The pairs of shoes are piled very high behind and in front of him. The store is a picture of mass chaos except that John knows exactly where everything is and exactly which pair of shoes were promised out on which day. The sign outside the store says "John's Shoe Repair" and there's a little cardboard "will be back at" clock hanging on the door. It probably hasn't been touched in years.
The store smells of shoe repair leather. That is a combination of the leather, the glue that they use and the machine oil that John uses on his machines. Its a small store, just some standing room in front of the counter and a wall with shoe laces and insoles for sale, some of which have probably been hanging there for 20 years.
I have very, very small feet. Bigger than elementary school boys size, but smaller than men's size. I have a very difficult time finding and buying shoes. When I can find a pair of shoes that fits, I try to make it last as long as possible. John is a very important person to me.
"You know, I fix the shoe this time, but when the top starts to crack there's nothing I can do". I shake my head as I hand over the shoes for the third set of heels and soles.
"You pick them up next Saturday."
"How about tomorrow."
"You want them done right or you want them done fast?"
"Ok, ok, next Saturday, how much are you going to charge me for this $5.00 job?"
"$35.00, and don't you say nothin."
"Damn it John, you're still a thief."
"Don't blame me, that son of a bitch landlord keeps raising the rent."
"I'll see you next Saturday."
I leave the store with a smile on my face. That conversation's been going on for years now. I'm glad to have John around. I love his work and knowing that he's still here. After him there probably won't be another.
As I walk to my car I stick the claim check in my wallet. I don't dare lose it. If I do John'll still give me the shoes, but he'll also give me an argument at no extra cost. He'll probably give me an argument anyway, its the nature of the beast, and I'll have some answer for him. I hope that goes on for many years to come.
There is an old time shoe repair store in Succasunna (the next town over). John stands behind the counter, wearing his apron and speaking in a heavy Italian accent. The pairs of shoes are piled very high behind and in front of him. The store is a picture of mass chaos except that John knows exactly where everything is and exactly which pair of shoes were promised out on which day. The sign outside the store says "John's Shoe Repair" and there's a little cardboard "will be back at" clock hanging on the door. It probably hasn't been touched in years.
The store smells of shoe repair leather. That is a combination of the leather, the glue that they use and the machine oil that John uses on his machines. Its a small store, just some standing room in front of the counter and a wall with shoe laces and insoles for sale, some of which have probably been hanging there for 20 years.
I have very, very small feet. Bigger than elementary school boys size, but smaller than men's size. I have a very difficult time finding and buying shoes. When I can find a pair of shoes that fits, I try to make it last as long as possible. John is a very important person to me.
"You know, I fix the shoe this time, but when the top starts to crack there's nothing I can do". I shake my head as I hand over the shoes for the third set of heels and soles.
"You pick them up next Saturday."
"How about tomorrow."
"You want them done right or you want them done fast?"
"Ok, ok, next Saturday, how much are you going to charge me for this $5.00 job?"
"$35.00, and don't you say nothin."
"Damn it John, you're still a thief."
"Don't blame me, that son of a bitch landlord keeps raising the rent."
"I'll see you next Saturday."
I leave the store with a smile on my face. That conversation's been going on for years now. I'm glad to have John around. I love his work and knowing that he's still here. After him there probably won't be another.
As I walk to my car I stick the claim check in my wallet. I don't dare lose it. If I do John'll still give me the shoes, but he'll also give me an argument at no extra cost. He'll probably give me an argument anyway, its the nature of the beast, and I'll have some answer for him. I hope that goes on for many years to come.
11-16-2006, 05:57 PM
#4
Originally Posted by DrCloud
......Years ago, I lived in a town that had a fabulous hardware store, one with narrow, cramped aisles and lots of dusty shelves that contained what seemed like every bit of hardware ever invented. Of course, it was impossible to find what you needed, but if you asked there was always someone who knew exactly where it was -- and if you didn't know the right name of the thing, you could describe it and he'd figure out what you wanted, find it, and educate you on its name and proper use.....
) but still has the wood floor and helpful salespeople. We know the 2nd gen owner, Jed Ridell....used to be our local Scoutmaster and would do anything to help anyone. We try to patronize Ricklins.....even though the prices may be higher than a big box. Jed's store has been helped b/c there ARE not Lowes or Home Depot stores within 10 miles....and even the local lumber yard has turned into a Cond locationRecent Pics of this Old Fashioned hardware store
11-16-2006, 07:14 PM
#5
Thread Starter
Kingslawn Texaco
11-16-2006, 10:47 PM
#6
Former Moderator
^^^ I like this one especially, Rob. It is interesting to note that what you are describing here was duplicated all over the country, and I'm sure it was like that in Canada, too. When I was in High School I even worked in 'service station' like that -- not in Brooklyn, but far out in the west (out west does not mean New Jersey, which for Brooklynites used to be 'out west'!). My dad knew the owner. Like Rob in Brooklyn, we had a real neighborhood -- a real community. I can still smell the gas, the grease, and the new tires sold at the station. I had to wash the bugs off the customers' windshields and keep the Coca Cola soda pop ice box filled with ice and bottled sodas. I remember we called them all 'cokes' -- but there were NuGrape grape sodas in tiny bottles, Coca Colas in small bottles, Orange Crush in medium sized bottles, Nehi orange or grape sodas in tall bottles, and RC Colas or Pepsi Colas in tall bottles for the thirsty travelers in their Packards and Hudsons passing through on their way to California or Wyoming or Alabama, or Pennsylvania. There was a bottle opener attached to the side of the soda box that you would use to open your coke and a receptacle right below to catch the lids. Unless you returned the bottles in trade, you would be charged a two-cent deposit on each bottle that you took along. So the customers would finish drinking their soda pops before starting off again. There were no cup holders in those automobiles, not even in the Cadillacs or the Chryslers...and certanly not in the Fords, Chevrolets, Studebakers, or the Plymouths.
Sorry, an intended comment turned into a nostalgic ramble...
My dad knew the owner. Like Rob in Brooklyn, we had a real neighborhood -- a real community. I can still smell the gas, the grease, and the new tires sold at the station. I had to wash the bugs off the customers' windshields and keep the Coca Cola soda pop ice box filled with ice and bottled sodas. I remember we called them all 'cokes' -- but there were NuGrape grape sodas in tiny bottles, Coca Colas in small bottles, Orange Crush in medium sized bottles, Nehi orange or grape sodas in tall bottles, and RC Colas or Pepsi Colas in tall bottles for the thirsty travelers in their Packards and Hudsons passing through on their way to California or Wyoming or Alabama, or Pennsylvania. There was a bottle opener attached to the side of the soda box that you would use to open your coke and a receptacle right below to catch the lids. Unless you returned the bottles in trade, you would be charged a two-cent deposit on each bottle that you took along. So the customers would finish drinking their soda pops before starting off again. There were no cup holders in those automobiles, not even in the Cadillacs or the Chryslers...and certanly not in the Fords, Chevrolets, Studebakers, or the Plymouths.Sorry, an intended comment turned into a nostalgic ramble...
11-17-2006, 05:40 AM
#7
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Join Date: Nov 2005
Location: Pittsburgh, PA
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Marvin's Meat Market - Where you could go in with the sawdust on the floor and have your choice of meat cut anyway you want on his big butcher block. And of course lets not forget Marvin wrapping the meat in butcher paper and tying it with a string. Things sure tasted better than. When you think of all of the Health Department regulations in place today it's amazing that we are even alive, to me it proves that certain things were much better than before.
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11-17-2006, 07:11 AM
#9
Former Moderator
Originally Posted by ralper,Nov 16 2006, 08:18 PM
John's Shoe Repair
There is an old time shoe repair store in Succasunna (the next town over). John stands behind the counter, wearing his apron and speaking in a heavy Italian accent. The pairs of shoes are piled very high behind and in front of him. The store is a picture of mass chaos except that John knows exactly where everything is and exactly which pair of shoes were promised out on which day. The sign outside the store says "John's Shoe Repair" and there's a little cardboard "will be back at" clock hanging on the door. It probably hasn't been touched in years.
The store smells of shoe repair leather. That is a combination of the leather, the glue that they use and the machine oil that John uses on his machines. Its a small store, just some standing room in front of the counter and a wall with shoe laces and insoles for sale, some of which have probably been hanging there for 20 years.
I have very, very small feet. Bigger than elementary school boys size, but smaller than men's size. I have a very difficult time finding and buying shoes. When I can find a pair of shoes that fits, I try to make it last as long as possible. John is a very important person to me.
"You know, I fix the shoe this time, but when the top starts to crack there's nothing I can do". I shake my head as I hand over the shoes for the third set of heels and soles.
"You pick them up next Saturday."
"How about tomorrow."
"You want them done right or you want them done fast?"
"Ok, ok, next Saturday, how much are you going to charge me for this $5.00 job?"
"$35.00, and don't you say nothin."
"Damn it John, you're still a thief."
"Don't blame me, that son of a bitch landlord keeps raising the rent."
"I'll see you next Saturday."
I leave the store with a smile on my face. That conversation's been going on for years now. I'm glad to have John around. I love his work and knowing that he's still here. After him there probably won't be another.
As I walk to my car I stick the claim check in my wallet. I don't dare lose it. If I do John'll still give me the shoes, but he'll also give me an argument at no extra cost. He'll probably give me an argument anyway, its the nature of the beast, and I'll have some answer for him. I hope that goes on for many years to come.
There is an old time shoe repair store in Succasunna (the next town over). John stands behind the counter, wearing his apron and speaking in a heavy Italian accent. The pairs of shoes are piled very high behind and in front of him. The store is a picture of mass chaos except that John knows exactly where everything is and exactly which pair of shoes were promised out on which day. The sign outside the store says "John's Shoe Repair" and there's a little cardboard "will be back at" clock hanging on the door. It probably hasn't been touched in years.
The store smells of shoe repair leather. That is a combination of the leather, the glue that they use and the machine oil that John uses on his machines. Its a small store, just some standing room in front of the counter and a wall with shoe laces and insoles for sale, some of which have probably been hanging there for 20 years.
I have very, very small feet. Bigger than elementary school boys size, but smaller than men's size. I have a very difficult time finding and buying shoes. When I can find a pair of shoes that fits, I try to make it last as long as possible. John is a very important person to me.
"You know, I fix the shoe this time, but when the top starts to crack there's nothing I can do". I shake my head as I hand over the shoes for the third set of heels and soles.
"You pick them up next Saturday."
"How about tomorrow."
"You want them done right or you want them done fast?"
"Ok, ok, next Saturday, how much are you going to charge me for this $5.00 job?"
"$35.00, and don't you say nothin."
"Damn it John, you're still a thief."
"Don't blame me, that son of a bitch landlord keeps raising the rent."
"I'll see you next Saturday."
I leave the store with a smile on my face. That conversation's been going on for years now. I'm glad to have John around. I love his work and knowing that he's still here. After him there probably won't be another.
As I walk to my car I stick the claim check in my wallet. I don't dare lose it. If I do John'll still give me the shoes, but he'll also give me an argument at no extra cost. He'll probably give me an argument anyway, its the nature of the beast, and I'll have some answer for him. I hope that goes on for many years to come.
