A coke, a smoke and a slice of baloney

Work in Progress by Ivan Morgan

At the risk of sounding like a sentimental old fool yearning for the way things were long ago, allow me to write a sentimental column about things from long ago we have lost.

All my life I have collected corner stores. I have made it my business over the decades to become known at the little ‘Groc and Confs in the various neighbourhoods I have lived. I love the little shops – almost always family run – where you can get your beer, a pack of smokes and a bit of baloney or a tin of soup.

Over the years a succession of wives and girlfriends have bemoaned the fact that I can pop out for milk and be gone two hours – propped up against the cash register with the proprietor and a few other locals solving the problems of the community and the world.

Now approaching my dotage, I am sad to say these businesses are becoming few and far between. With the rise of the chains, the mom-and-pop stores are becoming a thing of the past. I liked stopping by on the way home to a place where, as the Cheers theme song says, “everybody knows your name.” Catch up on the goings on in the ‘hood. Shoot the breeze for a few minutes. Get my Lotto tickets and a pack of Hawkins Cheezies.

I am not saying the chains are bad, but they are very business-like. More often than not, the person behind the cash is new, and not really invested in anything but working that minimum wage shift. Courteous? Yes. Friendly? Sure, but you’re really just another litre of milk and a Snickers bar.

I know this is more a city thing, there’s lots of family run outfits around the bay, but I live in the city.

Once upon a time there was a family run corner store in every neighbourhood. In my area there was Walsh’s Convenience, a family operated store for 42 years, until the passing of Winifred Boudreau, Freddy to her customers. Freddy knew everyone, and everyone knew her. She was a fixture behind her counter, seven days a week. Snowmaggedon? She was open. Pandemic? She made sure people got their smokes and beer. No money? She put you “on the tick.” (Get stuff now and pay her on payday. I have for decades been trying to convince a Folklore student to study the process of corner stores giving out goods on credit – what we called the tick. No takers yet).

She had a little Hilroy scribbler she kept her accounts in.

I had been going to Freddy’s store for over a decade. We’d talk about the weather, the economy, the state of business. She knew I worked for politicians. She had a dim view of them. I loved getting her on the go about her suppliers. Like most small business owners, she was savvy and tuned in to the economy. She would go off on how everyone was squeezing her margins, to the point it was not worth selling their stuff – be it cigarettes, beer, or lottery tickets.

She loved the folks in her neighbourhood. She had third generation customers, giving free candies to the kids of the kids she once served. She was a kind and generous person.

Last going off I watched her, suffering from cancer, standing every day at the cash. Screwing up my courage one afternoon, I asked her if she planned to die with her boots on. She looked at me with those steely eyes of hers. Yikes, I thought, I stepped over a line. Then she smiled and said “Yup.” And she pretty much did.

Freddy died last year, and I am now fresh out of family corner stores.

Clearly most people prefer chains, I guess that’s why the old family stores have been replaced, that and I guess most people prefer to save time and money rather than stand around and yarn.  

Sometimes I drive by the old stores which have been converted into apartments, or remodelled into homes, and I remember the laughs, the arguments, and the gossip. I wonder what happened to all the folks I knew from that store. Who’s still alive, who’s gone, where did everyone end up?

Sentimental sap? Sure. But I did warn you.

Ivan Morgan can be reached at ivan.morgan@gmail.com