Visit was the point of shopping trip

Editor’s note: This column is being reprinted from Dec. 13, 2006. Jack had a way of finding the true meaning of the unnoticed moments in life. As we head toward Christmas, let us all be reminded to spend time with good friends and let them know how important they are in our lives.

It would have been this week.

Not too close to Christmas, but close enough that my father knew it was time to start shopping.

When you were a kid of a certain age, you got to go along.

Shopping with my father was nothing like shopping with my mother. She took care of most things. When you went out with Dad, you were simply shopping for Mom.

Bundled up for the cold and snow, we’d set off.

My recollection is that Goodman’s was the first stop. Jay and Daphne had their shop on Meridian Street in Portland, where Pit’s Cocktail Lounge is these days, if my memory serves me correctly.

Jay was an avuncular type, always ready with a story and very kid-friendly, which was good if you’re about eight years old accompanying your father on a Christmas shopping trip.

Daphne, whose name was actually pronounced Daphine, had an elegance about her sure to impress any Jay County 8-year-old in the 1950s.

And, like Jay, she seemed incredibly patient with kids who were bored hanging around while their fathers shopped.

Goodman’s was a dress shop, back in the era when small towns actually had dress shops. And, for that matter, back in the era when women wore dresses much of the time.

It wasn’t big. It wasn’t fancy. But it was pretty classy, just the same.

From its racks, there was a decent chance my dad could select something my mother would like.

If not, there was always Miller’s Dress Shop, the next stop on the trip. Wehrly Monument now occupies that narrow little space beside where the Hines Theatre used to be.

Both shops seemed substantial; but given the square footage and the need to stock a variety of different sizes, it’s hard to believe that they offered much of a selection.

Maybe that’s why the next stop was usually Arn’s Jewelry Store. Don Schoenlein would be back in his corner, working on a watch or sizing a ring, while Claudia Arn, another woman I associate with elegance, would steer shoppers to the right watch or piece of jewelry or crystal.

From there, the last stop on the shopping trip always seemed like a relief.

It was to the Main Street Service Station, where Dad’s good friend Jesse Strohl held court. Located where Aker-Taylor Plumbing is now, the business was a constantly evolving project.

You could buy gasoline out front. You could get your oil changed. But you could also buy a refrigerator or a freezer or a new stove or a bicycle inside.

The store always smelled of rubber, the fresh smell of new tires, another essential item in the inventory.

Dad didn’t buy my mother tires for Christmas, of course.

And I doubt there were many occasions where a major appliance fit the holiday budget.

But if my memory serves me right, these visits were often the longest, as a couple of old friends traded stories, swapped gossip, and wished each other a very merry Christmas.

Maybe, just maybe, that was the point of it all.