A Nickel, Dime or Penny
It was a treasure for the neighborhood kids—a tiny shop full of candy. We all knew it by name, though the store had no sign or branding, not even on its little paper bags. They were just plain and brown.
The name sparked an immediate image and location.
“Clara’s.”
No directions or explanations were necessary — the shop would immediately pop up in our minds’ map.
It stood across the street from St. Stan’s Church, ready to welcome the children from both the Catholic school and us, the public school kids from McKinley Elementary just down the street. Before leaving for school, I’m sure many of us would dig in our pockets or scavenge our dressers, pushing socks, underwear, or t-shirts aside, looking for an extra nickel, dime, or penny.
Or maybe we were good or did an extra chore, and mom or dad would hand us a dollar, “Para la tiendita.” Off we’d go a few minutes early, hoping to get our candy before the final bell rang at school. We could hear it from the shop.
A couple ran the store, though the wife usually received our money and took our orders. A tiny bell on the door would ring when we entered, and if you were lucky, the line would move fast. I never did get their names, and I don’t know if the wife was Clara or if it was named after one of their children, though I never saw any children but us school kids. At the tall counter, we’d put our change or dollar bill up on top of it, eye the candy laid out behind the glass; she’d peer through her glasses, pick out the candies as we asked, and count down our money:
“Ten Bazookas, five shoe strings, five Big Bols, one Blow-Pop, one pack of Mystery Mix Now and Laters, five fish, three Jolly Ranchers, please. How much do I have left?”
She’d separate the money from your order and do the math.
“You have ten cents. Ten cents left.”
“Ok, then ten Tootsie Rolls, please.”
Another day, it might be a box of Lemon Heads. Or even candy cigarettes we’d puff during recess and then gobble up.
She stuffed the candy into one of those tiny paper bags, “Here you go, dear. Have a good day.”
Off we’d go, eating a couple of candy fish or gum. The remaining candy might stay in our coats or backpacks, but if it was a special celebration like Halloween, Christmas, or Valentine’s Day, teachers would allow us to eat the candy in class with other treats like cake or cookies. I imagine the teachers, too, knew where Clara’s was.
On field trip days, there’d be a line out the door, and both husband and wife would patiently man the counter. Some kids brought the big bucks those days and left with a big bag of treats— Jay’s Hot Stuff Potato Chips, candy bars, and probably a fruit punch or grape-flavored drink. Those came in a translucent barrel-shaped plastic bottle with an aluminum foil top. I never liked them, but lots of kids loved them. I remember riding on a bus somewhere while some kid ripped off the top of a couple of them and just drank ‘em down. The telltale sign of that was a red or purple mustache. I don’t think our snacks ever made it to lunchtime. I know we burned through those calories with all the playing around the neighborhood before and after school.
Sometimes, we might stop by the shop after school. The couple would be just as kind and patient, packing our candies into those tiny bags. I’d arrive home, go to my bedroom, and finish off my stash. Those days were rare.
The telltale sign of growing up was leaving Clara’s behind for good once we started junior high and high school. There were stores and shops on the way to our other schools, but we usually zoomed past them on the bus. And just like we went past those stores, life zoomed us into adulthood.
It’s been decades since I walked out of Clara’s with a bagful of goodies, and the store no longer exists. But I return to that part of my storehouse of memories from time to time; they’re just that sweet.