The town where I grew up had several five and dime stores strewn throughout the area. Of course, there was a Woolworth, and my mom used to take us there quite often. Woolworth was, perhaps, the most famous of the old five and dime stores, but we used to call them "five and tens." There were also several independently owned five and tens around town. You don't see them that much anymore -- especially in the more urban areas. You can still find the occasional general store in rural New Hampshire, Maine, and Vermont. There might even be a few remaining in Massachusetts or even Connecticut. For the most part, however, these small mom and pop operations are pretty much long gone -- replaced by the convenience store/gas station combo. And the five and dime? Replaced by the discount department store chain. Priced out of existence. Just another sign of economic progress in the twenty-first century.
One of my favorite five and dimes was an independently owned place located about a twenty-minute walk from my elementary school. Man, I must have been around eight or nine when my mom first started letting me go there after school with just my friends. I don't even remember the name of the place anymore. I know it's not there today. But I remember it like it was yesterday. You'd walk into the dimly lit store and an old cowbell would ring. The old wooden floors would creak as you walked toward the comic book and magazine racks. Bins filled with toys, knick-knacks, candy bars, and gum lined the aisles. But the coolest part, at least for me, was the small lunch counter. There were seven or eight of those old padded stools bolted to the floor in front, and they'd squeak loudly as you sat down and spun around to face the counter.
A group of us would head over there a couple of days a week after school. Mr. Miller, the owner, would always greet us with a friendly smile, and we'd sit at the lunch counter and order up a little after-school snack. I'd always have the same thing: a chocolate milk shake. Only cost a quarter back then. Now, I didn't always have a spare quarter on me, but if I was short on funds, Mr. Miller would always take care of me, saying something like, "Don't worry about it, Frank. You can pay me back next time." He was great guy, maybe in his sixties. He ran the place with his wife, and while he manned the lunch counter, his wife would take care of the register up front. I suppose they both shared restocking duties before and after store hours.
Among our group of after-school five and dimers was a classmate of mine named Elaine, or "Laney" as we knew her. Now, I had this huge crush on her. Whenever we went to the five and dime after school, I would always try to sit next to her at the lunch counter. It was kind of funny. She and I hardly said two words to one another during school, but somehow, after school at the five and dime, we would talk about all sorts of stuff. Kid stuff. School, family, TV shows -- whatever. But during those fifteen minutes, sitting next to Laney at that lunch counter while we talked and drank our milk shakes, I was in heaven. And after that, we'd all browse around the store, and those of us who had any money left over would buy a comic book or maybe a chocolate bar. Then we'd all go our separate ways. Outside the five and dime, we'd pretty much split up. I lived in a completely different direction from Laney, so that was the last I'd see of her until the next day at school, when we'd pretty much ignore one another until the next time we went to the five and dime -- just a couple of times a week. My first real crush. And I'm not even sure she ever had similar feelings for me. Looking back, I suspect she probably didn't. And maybe I sensed that from her, because for whatever reason, I never pursued anything beyond that.
And so it went, for the next few years, and gradually our group's interest in socializing after school at the five and dime waned somewhat. Two or three days a week gradually became two or three days a month, and our group got smaller and smaller. By the time we were all in high school, the group was non-existent. Everyone seemed to make new friends, falling into different social circles. I guess that's just the way things go when you're a kid. The lost innocence of youth is gradually replaced by the pressure of having to think about your future, and what you look like in the eyes of your peers. I'd still see Laney from time to time in the high school hallways. We'd pass each other and sometimes we'd exchange nods, but that was pretty much it. Whatever emotional feelings I had had for her disappeared throughout the years.
During my senior year in high school, I was able to secure a job working produce at a supermarket, which was located across the street and up a ways from the old five and dime. One Saturday afternoon, when I got out of work, I decided, for reasons I can't recall, to walk across the street and check out the old place. I hadn't been in there in years, so I thought it might be fun to see if anything had changed. To my surprise, when I walked in, that old cowbell still rung out, and as I quickly scanned the inside of the store, I was delighted to see how little the place had changed. The layout was pretty much identical to how I'd remembered it -- only smaller. I guess age does that to a person's perspective. And that same lunch counter was still right there, and along with it, those same padded stools. I fully expected to see Mr. Miller's smiling face beaming back at me, but instead, the person behind the lunch counter was someone I'd never expected to see: Laney. She flashed a broad grin at me as I approached the counter.
"Hi, Frank!" she exclaimed as I took a seat at one of the old padded stools. "What are you doing here?"
"Hi, Laney," I said in an obviously surprised tone. "I'm working across the street at the supermarket. Produce. I didn't know you worked here."
"Yeah," she said. "About four months now."
"No kidding?"
"Man," she said. "Remember how we used to all come in here as kids?"
"I'd almost forgotten about it," I said, lying through my teeth. "Where's Mr. Miller?"
"He died a few years ago," she responded somberly. "Mrs. Miller ended up selling the place and moving to Florida. The new owner is hardly ever here. There's just me and four other part-time kids."
"Does it get pretty busy?" I asked, looking around. I was the only customer in the store at the moment.
"Not like it used to be," she said. "But I like working here. It's pretty laid back, you know?"
"Yeah. That's pretty cool, though."
"So," she said. "You wanna milk shake or something?"
"I'd love one," I laughed.
Laney turned toward the wall and began preparing the milk shake, using what looked to be the same old blender and stainless steel mixing cup. As she returned to pour the shake into a serving glass for me, those old familiar feelings for her came flooding back. Soon, and before either of us knew it, we were chatting away like little kids again. We fell into an easy conversational rhythm, discussing stuff like school, family, and TV shows. You know -- kid stuff. Except now, it was all about our expectations and anxieties concerning college, for which we would both be leaving soon. I would pretty much be staying close to home, attending a State university, but Laney was headed off for Stanford. This was going to be her first time living that far away from home, but it was too good an opportunity for her to pass up. She was getting a ton of grants and scholarship money to go there. She talked about how nervous she was over the whole thing and how much pressure she'd felt. Mostly, I just listened to the sound of her voice, nodding occasionally as I sipped my milk shake. There wasn't much advice I could offer her -- only an ear. Perhaps an ear she hadn't vented to in quite some time, and maybe, in some small way, it gave her a little comfort. At least I'd like to think that that was the case. She talked about how difficult it was going to be on her relationship with her boyfriend, who would also be staying pretty close to home. She hated to leave him, and she'd hoped that they could somehow maintain a long-distance relationship, seeing each other whenever possible. But we all know how that usually goes, right? Again, I didn't have much to say. I just continued to listen intently.
Before long, I finished up my milk shake and glanced up at the board where the prices were listed. It was a little strange to see $1.49 next to the words "Milk Shake," but it made me smile for a moment. I felt foolish thinking that it'd still be a quarter. As I reached for my wallet, Laney stopped me and said, "No, Frank. It's on me. Man, I've always wanted to say that!" We both burst out laughing, and all was right with the world -- at least for that brief moment.
The store's phone started ringing and Laney went to answer it. From the tone of her voice, I could tell it was her boyfriend. I smiled at her one more time as I put my jacket back on, but she was too wrapped up in her conversation to notice. It was starting to get late and I really had to get going. I got up from my stool and gave Laney a quick wave goodbye. She nodded back at me as I turned to leave. Just as I reached the door, I heard her call out, "Hey, Frank!"
I turned to see her cupping her hand over the telephone's mouthpiece. "It was nice to see you again," she said. And she returned to her conversation.
I smiled one more time as I left the five and dime.
That was the last time we ever talked. Sometimes, I still think about Laney, and I imagine how she probably became a pediatrician or something. She'd talked about med school and how much she'd wanted to go into pediatrics. I have no doubt she made it. She could do anything she wanted; she was just one of those people who had so much energy and drive, success was never even a question. We've never stayed in touch, and I've never attended a high school reunion. I suppose I've never felt the overwhelming desire to go back; maybe that's just how I'm wired. Who knows?
Last week, I was digging through a box of old cassette tapes and I stumbled across "One Fair Summer Evening" by Nanci Griffith. It's a live concert recording of hers, and it's simply wonderful. She's an amazing storyteller, able to connect emotionally through her gift for poignant and poetic songwriting. I threw the tape into my car stereo on the way to work and I began listening to her sweet voice. Toward the end, however, one particularly beautiful and haunting song hit me hard. "Love At The Five And Dime," which is also the title of this post, began playing. Suddenly, I became overwhelmed by this feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's hard for me to describe exactly what it was, but it made me feel exactly like I'd felt when I was a little kid, sitting next to Laney at the Five and Dime. And then, again, when we were seniors in high school, chatting at that same store.
Over the last week, I've struggled, to a degree, to try and discern the nature of those feelings. Sometimes it's good to let these things sink in for a period of time before you try to figure them out. And after a few days, I think I understand them a little better. And I don't think it has anything to do with an old crush or the inability to realize what might have been. I think it's more about recapturing a sense of lost innocence -- a feeling. And no matter how you might try, you always come to the realization that you can never go back to that innocence. I guess you might call it nostalgia or even romance. Or maybe it's just that I'm growing older, and as I watch my kids grow up, I realize that they're just now beginning to experience the joys and perils of innocence, soon to be lost. And I know that there's this brief time frame, within the innocence of childhood, where coming of age is the most beautiful part of life.
They'd sing, Dance a little closer to me ... dance a little closer now Dance a little closer tonight Dance a little closer to me ... it's closing time And love's on sale tonight at this five and dime
“Hi this is Frank Picasso again. Listen I love the SpinVox thing and it's kinda fun to sort of read the transcription and it's not quite accurate. It's supposed to be we walked along the road and tumbling(?) not incompetent but I thought it was kinda fun to look to to read the transcription. Anyway so this is a bit of a Liverpoolian(?) accent and I've been told it's a little in a nest(?) but that's ok you know I don't want you to to it's one of those things that I've been working on for many many years and just silly stuff you know nothing to be taken seriously and all that so I just wanted to see what SpinVox will do with this and give you all a great greeting on Saturday morning so cheers and be well and take good care of yourself cos no one else is gonna do it for you.”
“Hello, this is Frank Dicasso(?) and just had to do a voice post tonight. Cos I wanted to share with you a ___ song written by Utah Phillips. He was one of my favorite musicians and I sort of learned my fink a ticking guitar style from him listening to his recordings. For hours and days on end when I was a teenager. And so this is ___ and I'm gonna do this in not this voice but in an english accent. I don't know why but it seems fitting. We walk along the road incompetent and stoop because the sky hung down so low. And when we ran away from London we went by and little rivers and land just big enough and no where that we went was far the earth and the sky were close and near and the old hunger returned the terrible and obscure hunger that haunts me hurts Americans and makes us exile at homes strangers where ever we go. I will go up on down there country and back and forth across country. I would go out west where the states are square. I will go to Boyse and Helena Alberquerky(?) and the 2 Dakotas and all the unknown peace. Say brother have you heard the roar of the ___ day have your seen starlight on the rails well that was a tribute to Starlight on the Rails bye Utah Phillips and this is Frank Dicasso(?) and I just wanted to say hi and touch base with you and be back with possibly more voice post later catch you guys in a few have a good night.”
I love listening to NPR on Saturdays -- Car Talk, This American Life, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, and all that other stuff. But one of the biggest highlights for me is listening to the news blurbs that take place every half-hour. In particular, those news blurbs read by Lakshmi Singh. Why? Well, it's the cadence with which she introduces herself: "From NPR News in Washington, I'm Lakshmi Singh." Why, it's pure poetry, I tell ya!
Now, unlike Terry Gross or Robin Young, she doesn't possess a calming, soothing, buttery sort of voice; she's more terse -- almost abrasive. But she's got that name! Oh, how I love that name!!!
From NPR News in Washington, I'm Lakshmi Singh Oh, that wafting voice from my radio doth ring Like a hissing, preying viper, such a soothing, searing sting From NPR News in Washington, I'm Lakshmi Singh
You can have your Terry Gross with her resonance so buttery It's you, who, dearest Lakshmi, makes my heart go all a-fluttery Could it be your terse delivery that makes me go all oogie? I would gladly tune in nonetheless to hear you hock a loogie
Oh, Lakshmi, my Lakshmi Please call, text, or fax me I've written you a thousand times Your non-replies perplax me
I await your weekend blurbs and all gifts that they might bring From NPR News in Washington, I'm Lakshmi Singh For you shall be my splendid queen, and I shall be your king From NPR News in Washington, I'm Lakshmi Singh
I'd shower you in baubles, trinkets, ornamental bling From NPR News in Washington, I'm Lakshmi Singh If only I could hear the sound that makes my loins go SCHWING!!! From NPR News in Washington, I'm Lakshmi Singh
But why, my dearest Lakshmi, a surprise restraining order? It's time to pack my things and make a break for the border My NPR news vixen's put my butt into a sling The choppers chase me down and take me in for questioning
From NPR News in Washington, I'm Lakshmi Singh A troll has been convicted in a news-chick stalking sting He'll do the prison laundry, fighting endless static cling From NPR News in Washington, I'm Lakshmi Singh
Now, unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), I am presently unable to add more voice posts -- I've reached my voice post limit for the month. Oh well, no great loss. I mean, it's not like I'm doing rocket science or anything of that nature.
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