Growing Up in the Neighborhood

In 1962 the unemployment rate was 5.5%, the GDP was 6.1%, and 31% of U.S. workers were paying union dues. At the age of nine, none of that mattered to me, my neighborhood buddies, or to my schoolmates. We were living each day, enjoying the friendships, playing stickball after school, and feeling safe within our neighborhood. Back in 1962, although we had several supermarkets in the area, our everyday grocery needs were met by two family operations. One store owned by the Greenman family, the other store owned by the Rice family. Although they were not far apart, selling some of the same items, they had very different specialties.

Back in that time, a local grocery store, even in a big city, was owned & operated by a family. All family members had a stake in the survival & success of the business, with every family member having to pull their share of hours & responsibilities. The leader was generally the father or oldest son, and because of the responsibility to the neighborhood, these family stores were always nice places to spend our hard earned dollars. The Rice family all worked the store, the father, mother, 2 oldest sons were the most visible. Here, we could buy every day groceries, and those food items that would tide us over until Dad picked up his weekly check in order to shop the supermarket. The Rice family were nice people, they knew the parents, us kids, and every frequent customer by name. There were smiles, honest smiles, each & every time. There was meaningful small talk in every visit.

The Greenman's were known for three things: the Sunday newspaper, a great selection of lunch meats (it seemed that every man & child took sandwiches to work & school made from Greenman's lunchmeats.) Their real secret sauce however was the hoagie! (In Philly, we call a big cold sandwich a hoagie.) People drove miles to grab a Greenman's hoagie. The selection was amazing. Mr. Greenman was the person in charge, with his wife always watching what us kids were up to while in the store. They had two teenage sons that would eventually take over the business & grow it. I will never forget Mr. Greenman and his tattoo. It was a number, indicating he was a prisoner in a Nazi concentration camp during WW 11. Every time I went into Greenman's I would stare at that number & try to understand what he had to endure and bare witness to as a young man, but that was impossible for a spoiled kid from a middle class neighborhood in the United States of America. That tattoo always had my attention whenever I was in the store.

The thing about these two families is that they worked long and hard to support the people of the neighborhood. Unlike regular employees, things deeply mattered. There was also no special request too special. These folks took care of us as if we were part of their family. Things are very different today. When we enter a convenience store, or small food location, it feels as if we are invisible, that our purchase doesn't really matter to anyone, except to the buyer. Sometimes we are given what feels like a phony greeting. I miss those old neighborhood stores, for their care, kindness, quality, meaningful service, and wonderful products. We never had to ask for help, request a smile, or argue about a few pennies. Both of these families always had our backs. As an old man now, I look back on those days as a young boy and long for simple greetings, fast care, meaningful attention, and merchants doing the right thing because it matters as much to them, as it matters to us. I am lucky to own these memories, and fond thoughts of nice people taking care of nice people in the neighborhood.