Dad would stop for shiny Penneys

My father was never much for roadside attractions.

The signs might promise “prehistoric creatures” ahead, but we knew in our hearts that the family station wagon wasn’t stopping there.

The same held true when it came to the enticement of “goat milk fudge” as we made our way across endless Pennsylvania on our first family camping trip.

“Tourist trap” was his designated label.

And he was probably right, but when you’re a kid that goat milk fudge sounds like a delicacy and we couldn’t get our eyes on the prehistoric creatures soon enough.

But we never stopped.

We did stop, on those family camping trips in the 1950s, at some places that never attracted tourists.

I’m talking about J.C. Penney stores.

In that period of our family history, my father was the plant manager for The Jay Garment Company in Portland. It made work clothes and practical little corduroy versions of overalls for kids. Later it would make blue jeans.

And through a good chunk of its history, its biggest customer was J.C. Penney.

So while motoring through South Dakota en route to see Portland friends who had moved to Colorado, it wasn’t unusual to stop at a Penney store along the way.

Dad would silent shop the place, reading the codes on the labels to determine which garments were made in Jay County. Then he’d start examining seams and stitches to make sure they had been done to his satisfaction.

After that, he’d start checking out the competition if there was any. It would be the same drill: Check the codes, examine the seams and stitches and file away the information for use when he got back to the plant.

Sometimes, of course, his retail-oriented visits overlapped with real tourist attractions.

But not very often.

I still remember wondering why the heck we had stopped at the Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota.

Was it to examine the inventory at the local Penney store? Or was it to bask in the wonder of a building with ridiculous murals made from kernels of corn?

I think, in that case, that I could tell my father I knew a tourist trap when I saw one.

Now if I could just get a taste of goat milk fudge and get a look at those prehistoric creatures (yeah, I know, they’re just fossils) I’d be happy.