Father's Day

Much like the rest of my life, I’m at the point with this blog where I can’t remember if I’ve told a particular story or not - so I either tell it again, which is OK,  or I don’t tell it at all. Which, I guess is ok too. 

I know I've written about some of this before but a little bit of it, at least, was in a memory book, given to Dad many years ago.The general story was the same, but I left out some things back then. And I left some things out of it here, as well. If I didn't, it would probably be at least three times longer - digging deeper into the minutia that no one but me would be interested in. And in the end anyway, it's all the same story. With that being said...

Here’s a picture of a postcard I came across a while back. This is a picture of the corner drugstore that was an integral part of Dad and I running our Saturday morning errands together. This was always our first stop. The picture is almost exactly how I remember it (aside form the old cars), and it's before the storefront was redone many years later.

The drugstore was long and narrow, with a back door emptied out into a parking lot -which was where Dad and I parked when we got into town. Coming in  through the back door, you would pass the pharmacist on your right, who stood high up on an elevated platform behind a tall, wood paneled wall and a high counter. Dad usually stood at this counter while the pharmacist waited on him and I usually stood behind Dad - at least for a few short minutes.

Across from the pharmacist and behind Dad and me, was an old wooden phone booth. While I was waiting for Dad, if I wasn’t further down the store, standing transfixed in front of the candy bars, or up front, staring at the cool gumball machine, I would be in the phone booth, opening and closing the doors - which was pretty neat because when you went inside and closed the heavy wood and glass doors behind you, a dim yellowish light and a fan on the ceiling would automatically turn on. Open and close the doors once - they would turn on. Open and close the doors again - they would turn on. Open and close the doors three times - they would turn on. On and on it would go.

What made it even better was the old phone inside the booth. It wasn't old for that period of time, but this was back when you had to actually dial a phone, as opposed to pushing buttons. And that kind of made it better because it felt more mechanical and it made kind of a clicking sound when you spun dial spun. So I would wait in there, sitting on the wooden seat, opening and closing the doors, spinning the phone dial and flipping the spring loaded coin return down. It was like having my own personal rocket ship - which is exactly what I was pretending it was.

When Dad finished up, we would head over to the bank. And after the bank, maybe we would go to the hardware store, the lumber yard, or... who knows.

One of the places we might go was to "The Crest", which if you look real close at the postcard, you can see it in the background, on the right. The Crest was mostly a newsstand, although they sold other things too - cigars, greeting cards, even things like tubes for your TV.



When we went to the Crest,  Dad would usually buy me a couple of comic books or some Batman trading cards or sometimes both.There was a phone booth in the back of the Crest, as well, but there was no light or fan in it, so it wasn't as much fun as the one in the pharmacy. And since we were really only going there for my benefit, there was no reason for me to be the one killing time. 

Afterwards, we would take our time and walk back to the car. Dad and I might make another stop. Or two. Or three. Or sometimes, we would just head home. But either way, I knew - there would always be next weekend.