For most of us, the holiday season always evokes childhood memories. As a kid, I was the eternal optimist. Every Christmas was going to be the best. This hope continued until I was about ten or eleven when a friend’s older brother burst my jolly old Saint Nick bubble.
My sense of hope peaked when I was around five. Dad built a large wooden platform and put it in the living room. It was the size of most dining room tables, measuring approximately four feet by six feet and standing around thirty inches high. I refer to it as a platform because he placed the Christmas tree in the center. Somewhere, he came up with a used American Flyer electric train set. I think that because I don’t remember any boxes or packaging. I remember him telling me it was incomplete. Even though there were two engines, several cars, and some other parts, he’d have to get a few more accessories to get it going. His goal was to build an oval track with two switches and a siding so both trains could run around the Christmas tree. That year there were many shopping trips.
In the fifties, Albemarle was a bustling mill town. Almost everything was in a four square block area downtown within easy walking distance. Its proximity allowed people to move from store to store quickly and safely. The town square was unique. Most folks think a town’s square is located at the intersection of First Street and Main, but not Albemarle. The Town Square is at the corner of Second and Main. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because it’s the top of the hill or perhaps just a touch of nonconformity by the city’s forefathers.
The courthouse and the First National Bank occupied two of the Square’s four corners. The courthouse was a nondescript, plain, no-nonsense, drab building that reflected the depressed state of many who entered. Across Second Street, beside the bank, was the town’s only skyscraper, the Hill Building. It was a five-story brick and masonry structure that towered over downtown. The Christmas season in Albemarle was great.
To a young kid, downtown had everything anyone needed. On Fridays and Saturdays, farmers from outlying areas came to pick up supplies and shop for Christmas. It was a family event. Everyone came. Stores all put on their best for Christmas. Some stayed open until nine on Friday nights during the holidays to take advantage of the season. There were five and ten-cent stores like McClellans and Roses. Belk, JCPenny, Efird’s, and Rayless were the downtown department stores. Henry’s, Central Lunch, Goody Shop, and Whitley’s Luncheonette were there if you were hungry. Clothing stores like Moose’s, Phillips, Allens, Gables, the Chic Shop, and the Dot Shop were sprinkled in. The Alameda and Stanly theaters and even Jack’s Grocery were downtown, too. The Newsstand carried all the latest newspapers and comic books. A wide variety of magazines covering every imaginable subject filled the shelves from floor to ceiling. Adult men’s magazines were on the top shelves, out of reach of curious little boys, but that didn’t stop you from sneaking a peek when the man behind the counter was looking the other way. New and used car dealerships were well represented, too.
Last but not least were the hardware, automotive, and appliance stores. Lowder Hardware, Stanly Hardware, and Firestone were ready for the holidays, too. These were my favorites because they sold bikes, toys, and model cars.
At Christmas, they burst at the seams with stacks of merchandise. Lowder Hardware, sitting at the corner of West Main and First Street, was the largest. It was a one-stop shop. Lowder’s could glaze a window or sell you a stick of dynamite. The large two-story brick building, built around 1900, is set back further than the other buildings on First Street. Originally built as a mill, this prodigious edifice and its wide concrete area in front gave it prominence that set it apart from the others. Heavy entrance doors and old creaking wooden floors hewn by the footsteps of countless previous patrons welcomed everyone. Through the years, its cracks and crevices jealously guarded the DNA of its many visitors. The store front was so large that it had two entrances flanked by colossal store windows where the most popular items of the day were displayed. The entrance on the right led to the tool and hardware area, and the one on the left opened to housewares and appliances. Dads would go in the doors on the right, but the kids and their moms would go in the left. As parents shopped, the kids would make a beeline down the aisle to the back and head up the stairs to the toy department. Ms. Wilder was the department manager. If it had to do with toys, bikes, or model cars, Ms. Wilder knew about it. The short trip up those worn, wooden steps took a kid into another world. It was a make-believe world where a boy could be a soldier or a race car driver, and a girl could be a princess or a ballerina. On Saturdays, the toy department was the meeting place for local kids. As I said earlier, there were many trips to town around Christmas. The “go-to” retailer that year was the Firestone store. Located on West Main Street between First and Depot streets, down the hill from Lowder Hardware, it was a small store packed with hardware, household appliances, automotive accessories, and tires. When the Christmas merchandise came in in the fall, Firestone was transformed into a kid’s holiday paradise. Toys and bikes were everywhere. That year, my Dad was focused on electric trains, and they carried the most extensive selection in town. Lionel and American Flyer were the brands every little boy wanted. In the evenings, he would assemble the train layout and try to figure out what else was needed to make it work. The next afternoon after work, he would stop by Firestone and pick up more parts . There was a steep learning curve involved because Christmas was around the corner. I was in the dark about the details because Santa was supposed to bring the last few parts to make it run. Dad was on a mission. He went back and forth to Firestone, researching and trying to determine what he needed,
The track was completed in time for Christmas Eve. It was an oval track with two switches and a siding track that would allow one train to park on the siding while the other ran and vice versa. Christmas morning, everything went as Dad planned. The train performed flawlessly except for a few derailments due to excessive speed. One of the engines puffed smoke just like a real one. That was the first and the last Christmas that the train ran.
Two Christmases came and went. The following year, after Halloween, everyone focused on the holiday season. Excitement was in the air. Kids shared their wish lists. Television was filled with advertisements for toys, but one caught my eye. The Johnny Seven OMA was the ultimate toy weapon. It fired plastic bullets, launched rockets, and even threw grenades. The Johnny Seven OMA transformed a little boy into a military fighting machine. He was indeed a “One Man Army.” I showed my Mom and Dad the ads, but they paid little attention. As Christmas approached, I couldn’t help but get my hopes up. Every boy I knew wanted a Johnny Seven. A shrewd marketing plan had made it a “must-have” Christmas gift. Two things were apparent: if Santa brought you a Johnny Seven, your parents loved you, and they were affluent enough to buy such an extravagant gift.
Christmas morning finally arrived. I got up early and ran into the living room, hoping the ultimate gift would be there. Dad and Mom were already up having coffee. Long before the movie “A Christmas Story,” I too hoped for that special gift, but it wasn’t to be. There were several wrapped gifts, but none were large enough to hold what I hoped for.
This story doesn’t end with a special moment like Ralphie and the Red Ryder BB rifle. Dad didn’t reach behind the couch and pull out another gift. There was no Johnny Seven. I tried to keep my feelings in check, but disappointment must have been written all over my face. After the second or third “Do you like your gifts?” I said, “I wanted a Johnny Seven.” That’s when I got the speech, too expensive, too hard to find, too…too… You can imagine the rest. I knew it was wrong to feel that way, but I could only think of that train set years before. On a previous Christmas, nothing stood in Dad’s way. He built platforms, made countless trips to the store, and spent hours building a train set. Who was that train set really for? Was it a gift for a five-year-old boy or a belated gift for my father? In retrospect, I’m inclined to think it was the latter.
Musings of an Old Beach Guy 