Amoncoursey's Store

AMONOCOURSEY'S STORE

You could call it the Northern South or the Southern North, either way it didn't matter to me. It was home. In West Frankfort, Illinois, people spoke to strangers, children showed respect, community was important and family was priceless. This little town where our family lived and grew was something right out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

There were 10 of us altogether. The four oldest siblings were married with kids of their own and lived about a three hour drive away. That left three teenagers and three kids under age eight in our home.

My teenage sisters wore bouffant hairdos, cat-eyed glasses, short skirts in wild colors and make-up (which I always got into when they weren't home and always denied doing so even if the evidence was right there on my face). Much like them, I was concerned with my appearance. There was not an ounce of tom-boy running through my veins. I was so completely girl that I don't think I ever owned a pair of sneakers until I was required to have them in Jr. High for gym class. They looked like something a boy would wear and so I refused until absolutely forced to. I wore dresses or scooter skirts, dress shoes or sandals and long hair in a pony tail high up on my head (like Veronica in the Archies). I looked at all the girly things my sisters did and tried to mimic that. Anything they did which I considered even remotely boy-like, I rejected immediately.

As a teen, social standing is determined by what you wear and who you are seen with. My sisters had the look which was socially required in school. They were in fact, queen bees in their teen world. They did what they wanted, always had a boyfriend and certainly were not left out of any parties They were seen with all the right people. Except on Saturday mornings.

While they were queen bees at school, at home they were still teens who were told what to do by our parents, who determined what was good and right. And our parents had determined that it was good and right for them to spend time with their younger siblings on Saturday mornings. Looking back, I can see where this must have been intolerable for them. But for us three younger kids, it was great!

Although they did find relief in the fact that there were three teens in the house, and tried to convince my mom that only one of them should be required to go, thus enabling them to alternate Saturdays. However, my mom felt better if all three of them were with us. You know, just in case one of us smaller kids should go wild and bolt into the street in front of a car or a mean dog should come along.

Saturday mornings were my favorite day of the week. Partly because I didn't have school. Partly because I didn't have to get up early (although I naturally did on Saturdays). But mostly because Saturday mornings were cartoons, lazy times and of course, our big allowance day. We got an entire quarter. This may not sound like much, but when I held out my tiny hand and that shine quarter was put there, I felt as though I had enough money to buy the world. Of course, in those days, I thought I owned the world anyway.

I'm not really sure what allowance my older siblings received (probably they should have received hazard pay for walking us downtown). Whatever the amount was, it was enough to keep them in make up, giant curlers, and money for a soda and hamburger with friends. I never really considered it much one way or the other. It didn't matter. I got to go spend my quarter.

There were several small shops in downtown West Frankfort. But I can only recall one, Fred Amonocoursey's. (I recently learned from my mom that the correct name is Bonacorsi. Somehow it has lost something in learning the name is different. Amonocoursey evokes memories and feelings associated with that time of my life. So I think I will always call it Amoncoursey.)

Fred Amonocoursey's store was our destination every Saturday for allowance spending. Although it was actually a fairly short walk to town from our house, it seemed to take a long time. There were several factors which made this walk seem longer, one depended on who took us. Our older sisters were always in a hurry to get us there and home. They would drag us along and snap at us if we dared to not keep up. Of course, their snippy tones changed immediately if a cute guy happened along. That was when we wanted to show off the most. But after a time or two of being threatened with having our "heads caved in, our "necks wrung or returning home without spending our quarter, we quickly learned to keep in step and keep quiet.

Another thing which affected the trip were the Normans. There were two Normans in West Frankfort. While I'm sure more men in town bore the name, there were only two notorious Normans, Good Norman and Bad Norman. I'm not exactly sure what distinguished Good Norman from Bad Norman. I can't recall anything either of them ever did, except that Bad Norman cold be seen pushing a lawn mower around town from time to time. I think he lived fairly close to us. I felt sorry for him and never made fun of him, but the other kids so frequently told me how mean he was that I was absolutely terrified of him. His physical appearance to Good Norman was such that I was never sure which I was seeing. But seeing either Norman was enough to make me cling to my sisters in fear.

So - after the interminably long walk trying to keep up with and annoy my sisters, while simultaneously avoiding any contact with Bad Norman, we would finally arrive at Fred Amonocoursey's store. It was a small shop, the kind that could only fit a few people at a time. But that was okay - there were never that many people there anyway.

I suppose that in the whole world there would never be another place which looked, sounded and smelled like Amoncoursey's. Stepping inside that store was a delight to the senses, a symphony, a portrait and a kaleidoscope of scents. When we walked in, it was as though we had suddenly been invited inside a painting and could experience it on every level.

I can still feel the cool, metal knob in my hand, giving way as I turned it and hear the rattling of the glass and the ringing of the bell as the door opened. As soon as I stepped inside, my nose was filled with so many scents that it took a moment to separate and identify them, much like the instruments of an orchestra blend to one sound, but you can still hear them individually if you set your mind to it. Amoncoursey's smelled of tobacco, apples, oranges, Mr. Clean, chocolate, licorice, seasoned wood, Ivory Soap, Old Spice aftershave and something I've never been able to put a name to.

The sounds of the store almost qualified as a dance tune, and I always wanted to dance my way through the colorful, neatly stacked aisles of cans and boxes with the bright labels.

The metal Coca-Cola cooler would kick on and begin a bumping, thumping noise. The sandals I wore made a rhythmic Rhumba sound as I scooted across the grainy wood floor, the sneakers of my siblings making a light clomping beat. The musical tones of the telephone ringing or the bell pealing on the door as customers entered or exited, the crunching of the brown paper bags being opened and folded, the sound of suppliers bringing in boxes of goods, dropping them and then pushing them across the floor, Mr. Amonocoursey's son attempting to sweep, swooshing the broom around, the cash register ringing up sales...it was a special music available to us only on Saturday mornings.

I can still see Mr. Amonocoursey, his black-rimmed glasses setting low on his nose, his skinny old grandpa face, standing behind the old cash register at the glass counter. He was always nice to us and acted as though we were very important customers, as though our quarter would make or break his business, as though we had somewhere better to spend it. It wouldn't. We didn't'. But he was a good person, and he liked making others feel good as well.

There were several aisles of goods in his store, but I honestly don't think I ever went all the way in - except possibly to use his restroom. All items of interest to me were located in the candy aisle, the soda cooler or the front counter. My favorite of all, which I purchased every time he had them, were the surprise bags. Each bag cost a dime and almost always contained the same thing: a couple of pixie sticks (which I liked so long as they weren't green - and they usually were green), a couple of rolls of Smarties (which I did like), several tootsie rolls (which I loved!), and a piece of Bazooka bubble gum (which we weren't supposed to have so we chewed it on the way home). In addition to all that, there was always a bigger surprise included. Sometimes the bigger surprise was some type of candy bar - which was okay with me. Once in awhile, not very often, but sometimes, there was a small toy in the bag. It was usually one of those plastic things a kid licks the bottom of and sticks to a floor and then in a few seconds, it pops up, nearly scaring you to death - in the best possible way of course.

But most of the time, the other item in the bag was a small, plastic, black comb. I almost always got the comb. I never liked it. My hair was waist length and extremely thick. It didn't stay in place for more than a few minutes and a brush was required to get through it, and even that was a chore. I couldn't even get those little combs through my doll's hair (not that Suzy Sunshine had much left after my sister was done with her, but that's another story). So the combs were totally useless to me and almost always what I got.

I'm not sure why I always wanted the surprise bag. I suppose it was the mystery of it. There was something in there, and unless I purchased one, I would never know what it was. Maybe I just needed to know. Or maybe I just hoped I would get a good surprise. But I always got the surprise bag. Saturdays wouldn't have been the same without them.

After spending a dime on the surprise bag, I had an additional 15 cents to spend. Looking back, I am amazed at how much I could get for a quarter! The choices included a soda in a small glass bottle, a fudgecicle, a pair of big red wax lips (which were always a hit!), big candy bars, a pack of those little wax bottles that contained some sort of syrupy flavored juice and many other items. They also had these little button candies which were stuck on a sheet of paper. They were really good, but I always wound up eating more paper than candy. I bought them anyway. It may sound crazy, but that's just the way things were then, and I expected to get a little paper when I ate candy, any kind really.

What should have been a five-minute visit to the store always wound up taking so much longer. To watch the three of us making our choices, you would have thought we had never had candy before and expected to never have it again. These types of decisions are very difficult when you are very small. But after being coaxed, cajoled, begged and finally threatened by our siblings, they would manage to get us, one by one, to the cash register and finally out the door.

Of course, as soon as we were out the door, we dug into our bags to see what surprise was there. As we walked home, we first chewed our gum. After about a block, we would put it in a nearby trash can and open the next thing. Usually I ate the button candies and paper. Or I would play with my wax lips, wearing them down the street for a bit, until they got somewhat slobbery and then I would wipe them on my dress sleeve which would usually break them and so of course that meant I had to chew them like gum. We also chewed the little wax soda bottles with the juice inside.

Looking back, I wonder why candy manufacturers thought that eating paper or wax was such a good idea for little kids. Surely they must have known better. Still it made for good times. That candy, trips to Fred Amoncoursey's store and Saturdays are part of my childhood which survive vividly in my memory today. It was part of an era of happiness and security that existed for a time in my life and helped make me into a better adult.

When I was nearly seven years old, my dad died. We left West Frankfort and moved to Taylorville. Nothing was ever the same again. Taylorville did have a little store with wood floors. But it wasn't Amoncoursey's. It didn't look the same. It didn't sound the same. It didn't smell the same. It smelled like strong cheese and bad lunchmeat. They sold something called head cheese there. I think that was the worst smell of all. I couldn't walk there from my house. A quarter didn't go very far. I didn't like it.

When my mom went there, I usually sat outside in the car. I noticed that there was an apartment building across the street and in one of the upstairs windows, someone had placed a mannequin dressed in a trenchcoat and hat. He looked like Humphrey Bogart in the Maltese Falcon or Casablanca. He stood there unmoving, seeming to watch over me in the car while my mom went into the store. He seemed to be sad, like me. Wishing for something that could not be, a life that would never be the same again.

I'm still a little sad about Amoncoursey's. I've heard that my brother returned there recently and the little store was still there, now run by Mr. Amoncoursey's son, Mr. Bonacorsi. I thought briefly about going back and visiting. But I decided against it. It just wouldn't be the same, and it would likely ruin the memories I have left of it. I can't risk that. Amonocoursey's wasn't just a store. It wasn't simply a place to go spend my quarter. It wasn't about the time my siblings were forced to give us.

But Amonocoursey's was about a time. A time when Saturdays were lazy and carefree. A time when my world was good and perfect. When I was safe and happy. When my family was whole and my dad was there. Amoncoursey's was an age of innocence and contentment. And being innocent and content enough to not want to be anything else.

I wonder if we hadn't moved after my dad died, whether Amonocoursey's would always have felt the same. I doubt it. It would have changed along with me and everything else in life. But now, in my memories, it is safe and unchanging. Like my Amoncoursey's, my dad is there and unchanging too. He is forever the same and forever fun. I am forever safe and happy.

But I wish that my son had a place like Amonocoursey's to remember. Instead, he'll be sharing stories of Kroger, Super Wal-Mart and Starbucks. I wonder if those places will sound as old fashioned and out-dated to his kids as Amoncoursey's must sound to him. I wonder if memories of those places will evoke in him the feelings of a time that was good and safe and right and filled with innocence and contentment. At any rate, I'm sure his kids will feel safe and happy as he guides and protects them, like my dad did for me. And that is far more important than a little store with wooden floors.