Sunday, June 14, 1998

When a visit back home changes memories of the past

By Judi McMordie

Returning home after 40 years can be a shock to the system and even detrimental to many cherished memories. There are, however, lessons to be learned. Although I have returned to Abilene, my hometown, many times over the years to see family members who still live there, I had never visited the old haunts of my childhood until just recently.

The change for me was clearly defined by the old Wells Grocery Store and Filling Station, which now stands weathered and dilapidated. There was nothing about the building that would alert the present homeowners of the neighborhood to its prior significance. The traffic still passes by on Ambler, but the drivers no longer notice the decaying structure, nor do they care that it holds mysterious memories for an unknown baby boomer, once clad in poodle skirt, bobby socks and black suede penny loafers.

As a young girl, I happily walked to this corner store to buy a loaf of bread for my mother and often came home with a large bag of penny candy instead of the nickel or dime that had been returned in change. On summer days my friends and I often went there to buy Popsicles and ice cream with deposits from the Coke bottles we collected. Growing older, rites of passage for many of us included buying our first pack of cigarettes from the small store. Of course we told the owner they were for our fathers. Nervously, we searched the little glass case, then with knees buckling and hearts in our throats we walked to the counter to pay for our Winstons, thinking all the while Mr. Wells was sure to remember our fathers smoked Chesterfields or Lucky Strikes.

One time Mr. Wells caught my friend Richard and me snitching a pack of gum and a candy bar from his case. We stood with apple-red cheeks as he confronted us.

"I know you kids have been taught it's wrong to steal," Mr. Wells said sternly. We humbly put everything back and walked quietly out the door. Weeks passed before we had the courage to return, although the incident was never mentioned again.

Eventually, most of us moved away, not thinking of Mr. Wells or his store again for many years. Did Richard, Arthur, Beth, Bob or Johnny ever go back? Did they say thank you to our childhood ethics teacher? Unfortunately, by the time I thought about returning he was gone. I was too late to apologize for the attempted childhood burglary.

Driving through the once familiar streets, I experienced a ghostliness strangely akin to a schoolroom during summer vacation. As with an empty classroom, seeing the deteriorating grocery store, the old neighborhood and the vacant lot where my old grade school once proudly stood caused a lonesomeness in my heart and changed my childhood memories forever.

My friends, siblings and I all learned the three Rs at Northpark Elementary School, but these lessons, somehow, did not compare to the real life lessons learned at Mr. Wells' store. Some of our most treasured knowledge and values were gleaned from the old men, friends of the owner, who sat around the Coke box at the front door telling their stories. We were also educated in some of the darker aspects of life with secrets whispered by the older girl of 13, who lived in one of the crumbling trailer houses parked behind the store.

Reminiscing in silence, I stared sadly at the little store over the steering wheel of my rental car and envisioned today's giant supermarkets replacing all the little corner stores all over America. It's unfortunate, I thought, that the present generation of children will never get to know the people who work in these superstores or learn not to steal from the hurt look in the eyes of the owners. Neither will they learn clever adolescent idioms from the transient trailer kids out back or acquire wisdom from the old men telling interesting stories inside their walls.

Turning right onto Ambler, I headed downtown for another visit back in time, to the old Paramount Theater. As I drove down Pine Street I fought the sudden urge for a Jo Boy candy bar (made by the Abilene Candy Co. in the '50s) and strained to hear once again the melodious sound of Westminster chimes coming from the spire of University Baptist Church.

Instead, a car pulled up beside me, and it was the deep rhythmic thump of rap music I heard, causing reality to return. Thoughts of the '50s faded away, taking with it all my memories of that lovely cherry pink center wrapped in creamy chocolate and nuts, nuts -- nuts, they quit making Jo Boys long ago. Oh, well, change is good. Isn't it?

Historian and author Judi Hopkins McMordie is a native of Abilene who now lives in Corpus Christi.