trance chained, the casual passerby would be tempted to look at this derelict building, and dismiss it as typical urban blight. Kindly resist such temptation. From a much deeper perspective, it is a monument, reaching back eighty years, when the hub of local commerce was not the mall, the shopping center, nor the trendy "market place". Rather, it was the corner grocery store. While it's fairly easy to cite all that the present has gained for the consumer, the past deserves to be remembered for what has been lost in our social fabric. This was once a Safeway store at the intersection of 57th and Fremont Streets in northeast Portland.
It was known as a '30's model, given that it was built in 1934, during the depths of the Great Depression. Stores closely resembling this architectural style dotted the cityscape in areas from Washington state to northern California until the middle sixties, when they began to disappear, one by one. Each had subtle cosmetic differences which gave them their own unique character, but some common aspects of design were imperative, given the demands of the time.
Car ownership was a luxury which relatively few households could afford, and ice boxes were the standard for refrigeration. These two limitations were very critical in addressing shopping needs and behaviors. Rather than visiting the grocery store once a week, or even less frequently, the consumer of the '30's, '40s, and even early '50's was constrained to buy only what could be carried, or hauled in a shopping cart. Such a duty exacted a rather obvious consequence. The appearance of daily denizens became as predictable as the rising of the sun, and it was fairly common practice for the majority to be received by clerks on a first-name basis. (Three guesses as to whom in the family heirarchy this task usually fell!)
The typical store of this period had three check-stands; only two of which were ever regularly used, and stationed in a row, in front of the two swinging entrance doors. Mounted on each of these was a big, black behemoth - the omnipresent National cash register, which would have been capable of anchoring a sizeable river vessel. All were equipped with a green produce key, a red department key, a white tax key, and a grocery key, which also served as the motor bar. Hitting that motor bar generated the characteristic, "chug-a-la-CHUG-a-LA" sound. The cash drawer had accommodations for even fifty-cent pieces. Remember them?!
'30 model stores were staffed by five male clerks, including a manager and assistant (dressed in white shirts and ties) two female checkers garbed in mint-green smocks, one produce clerk, and two meat cutters. All tasks, except those of the meat-cutters, were interchangeable. With that basic crew, the store managed to provide for its patrons seven days a week.
As you entered, to the left was the produce department, with a couple of small "islands" allotted to the less time-sensitive items. Against the wall stood a single, refrigerated rack. Extending behind were four very narrow aisles consigned to dry and canned goods.
To the right, and behind the check-stands stood the meat department, staffed by two personable meat cutters, standing behind a refer unit, which offered various kinds of fresh cuts and grinds, all deployed in metal trays with drill team precision in their display case, where nary a pre-packaged item was to be found. Given that it was a neighborhood store, the elderly ladies, and even some of the younger ones were greeted with a "Hello, dear! What can I get for you?" Guys were accorded a corresponding guy-greeting. Every evening the late shift meat cutter, who was always the second string player on this two-man team, would spread fresh sawdust on the floor of wood-inlay behind the display case to make ready for the next business day.
Behind the meat department, and toward the back of the store was the domain of the dairy and frozen foods. The dairy occupied a space roughly equal to the length and height of a VW Microbus, while the frozen food case was less than half that of a Beetle. This was an era well before reach-in refrigeration, when product was either "reach-out" or "reach-down", with no glass-paneled doors to impede access (or reduce cooling costs). When stores such as these were deemed passe, they were replaced by fewer, substantially larger, more contemporary models in more "lucrative environs". Filling the void in some of these same '30 model niches were a few chains, bearing the aphorism "convenience stores", which translates to retailing that's long on carb-heavy comestibles, beer and lottery tickets, but with a distressing dearth of meat and produce. Corn dogs, anyone?
As to the social side of trade, which was so vital an aspect of a trip to the store, nothing remains. As a culture of consumers, we have grown more insular, more circumspect, less inclined to either walk or chat. Such a rarity it has become to be among of cadre of clerks where everyone knows your name, and you know theirs. Neighborhoods where stores like the old Safeway used to exist have become an endangered species. "Since we're neighbors, let's be friends", used to be coin of the realm for a few years...even as that realm was fading from view.
Now, the $64 question: So what, who cares? For openers, your scribe does; having worked in stores such as these during the twilight of their time. His jobs were many. Oftentimes, late evenings and early mornings seamlessly melded into one another. Yet there was an abiding satisfaction gained in providing a presence and humble skills to a community which appreciated and depended on them. Many were the good hearts and gentle people whose lives intersected with his in those less complicated, more engaging days of the little corner store.
That time is loved, and missed....even if by a minority of only one. However, with the cost of a gallon of gasoline edging relentlessly toward $4, who's to say it won't return?! There is enough of Don Quixote abiding in this vintage '37 spirit to dream that impossible dream.
(Ed. note: the medallion logo was Safeway's trademark from 1946-81)
