Photograph courtesy of the Missouri History Museum Photographs and Prints Collection
When I was a boy in the late 1930s and early 1940s, the Delmar Loop was downtown. My family lived six blocks west of it—off Kingsbury, abutting Flynn Park—and my older brother Louis and I walked those six blocks almost every Saturday afternoon to go to the movies. We would head either to the Varsity or the Tivoli Theatre, which were a short block from each other, to see a double feature. Our theater selection depended mostly on the short serial between the double feature. The short was usually either Buck Rogers in the 25th Century or Don Winslow of the Coast Guard; we chose whichever was in its most exciting phase.
Louis and I walked straight down the south side of Delmar, which had several milestones. First was the big white house with the huge pillars at Vassar and Delmar. We knew someone rich must live there, and our parents told us that, indeed, the owner was a rich man who owned a shoe company. His name was Mr. Rand.
Then we walked across Big Bend, past the two great sculptured lions protecting the city. Then past Temple Shaare Emeth and the Castlereagh Apartments, where one of our Flynn Park Grade School teachers lived. Next to Castlereagh was a little building at the corner of Kingsland and Delmar. That is where White Castle was located and sold hamburgers for a dime each. Next to White Castle was Sam’s Barber Shop. Our mother had warned us that Sam gave a low-quality cut—he charged just a quarter—and that we should never go to his shop. When we passed, we looked in the window, and Sam always gave us a friendly wave.
As Louis and I walked farther east on Delmar, we passed a little hotel, a hardware store and a grocery store. Then on past the Varsity, if we were going to the Tivoli. Ed’s Pool Hall was between the two theaters. It was another place we were told to avoid. When it was hot, the door was open, and we looked in and saw some older boys playing pool. When a game was over, one of the players would yell, “Ed, rack!” Ed, a middle-aged balding man with glasses, would come over to the table, collect some money and set up the balls for another game. From what we could tell, it looked like a game cost a nickel.
Our mother gave us a quarter for two 10-cent admissions to the movie and a nickel to share a box of popcorn. After the movie, we sometimes crossed the street to walk west. As we headed home on the north side of Delmar, we passed Lewis Park, which had a very small lake stocked with crayfish and goldfish. North of the lake were three clay tennis courts, which hosted neighborhood matches and official tournaments. West of Lewis Park, at the corner of Midland and Delmar, was Glaser’s Drug Store, where I was later to get a summer job as a delivery boy for 20 cents an hour. Just west of Glaser’s on Delmar was the Mobil station where my mother bought gas for our 1937 Ford.
Occasionally, it was that Ford—and not our feet—that carried us into the Loop to go shopping. One destination was Lasky Brothers Shoe Store, where mother liked to shop for us. The Lasky brothers were very nice and always made sure mother was happy with her purchases. Louis and I loved to go there because the store had an X-ray machine. We could put our feet in an opening in the bottom, look through a scope and see the bones of our feet inside our shoes. We hoped the Laskys were busy with other customers so that we could spend more time watching our bones wiggle. Over the years, I have wondered whether the fungus on my toenails was due to X-ray overexposure.
For Christmas shopping, our family went to Woolworth’s and Kresge’s, two dime stores across from the Varsity and Tivoli. On one trip I recall vividly, my mother gave Louis, my sister Esther and me each a dollar to buy four presents (one each for Mom, Dad and our two siblings). We scattered to do our shopping, and soon I ran into serious trouble. I saw a toy metal machine gunner that I just had to have for my collection of soldiers. Before I knew it, I had spent my dollar—buying three presents for others and one for myself.
I knew I had to find my mother and admit to what I’d done, and I was afraid of how she would react. When I found her, I was practically in tears as I told her of my problem. I knew I would be the only one who would have disobeyed her instructions, because my sister and brother were much more disciplined than I was. Perhaps it was the Christmas season, but my mother chose to forgive me: She opened her purse and gave me a quarter to buy one more present.
The following spring, I tempted fate again on another trip into the Loop. It was time for me to get a haircut, and Mother gave me 40 cents to go to our regular barber, Adam, who had his shop on Jackson Avenue, just north of Reed’s drugstore at the corner of Pershing and Jackson and just south of Bauman’s, the neighborhood grocery store. For some reason, I got the idea that I would get my haircut at Sam’s and save 15 cents, which might buy three Pepsi-Colas.
After my mother gave me the 40 cents, she left to do some shopping. I escaped on bike for Sam’s, heading west as if I was going to Adam’s but then going around the block east for Sam’s. When I arrived, Sam was very friendly and said he would give me a good haircut. When he finished, I paid him 25 cents and headed west on Delmar. I stopped at the Mobil. I knew the owner and also the location of his locker filled with soda. I paid him a nickel, picked out a cold bottle of Pepsi-Cola and headed for home.
As I biked home, I was singing the jingle that I had heard many times on the radio:
Pepsi-Cola hits the spot,
Twelve full ounces, that’s a lot,
Twice as much for a nickel, too,
Pepsi-Cola is the drink for you!
I parked my bicycle in the garage and noted my Mom was not home yet. I went in the back door, opened my Pepsi and got out the peanut butter and some Ritz crackers. I covered a dozen or so crackers with peanut butter, lined them up on the white metal table in the kitchen, sat down and started eating and drinking.
It wasn’t long before my mother came home. She took one look at me and shouted, “You’ve been to Sam’s!” Of course, I confessed. It must have been apparent to her what had happened. She asked me what I had done with the 15 cents. I told her how I spent a nickel on the Pepsi and had a dime left in my pocket. She confiscated the dime and warned me never to do that again. I promised that I would always go to Adam’s, a pledge I’ve made into a larger life lesson. From that point forward, I have always tried to go to “Adam’s” and not settle for “Sam’s.”
