McLellan’s

          I think one of the signs of growing older is that we spend more time thinking about the “Good Old Days.”  I have lived all my life in Pascagoula, Mississippi. Pascagoula is known for shipbuilding, aliens, and as the birthplace of Jimmy Buffett. To me, it’s just home, and it dictates the pace at which life should be lived. I love going to the mountains and hanging out at the beach with my little family…operating on “beach time.”  But I also love fast-paced places like Chicago and New York City. I love seeing different cultures, meeting different people, and trying new things. But there is nothing like home. One of the joys of every extended trip I’ve been on is seeing the first road sign that says, “Pascagoula.” I can relax; I’m back where I’m supposed to be.

          Pascagoula is like many small towns. The new businesses decided to move out on the highway, and downtown became the hiding place of lawyers and city offices. Thankfully, this is changing. We actually have places to go without leaving the old part of town…or as I call it “The good part of town.”  As a child, downtown was where you got your blue jeans for school, toys, medicine, and books from the library. The first sign that summer was drawing to a close was when my mother would take me and my two brothers downtown to get jeans and shirts for the new school year. I liked the clothes, but I hated the reasoning behind the trip. I was a chubby kid. Some marketing genius labeled us as “husky.”  I would rather just be called chubby. My mother could find pants that fit me in the waist, or she could find pants that fit me in length…but she could never find a pair that fit both. We would leave my pants to be hemmed. When I got them back, they had to cut half the leg off to make them the right length. I had bell-bottoms when they were popular and a long time after they were popular.

          One of the businesses downtown was the only place you could get Boy Scout/Cub Scout uniforms. I wasn’t really interested in joining either of these groups, but I did like the uniforms. The uniforms consisted of a shirt, shorts, a hat, a belt, and a neckerchief slide. I’d had shirts and pants and belts…but I had never been privy to a neckerchief slide. I decided that I needed one, even if it forced me to enlist. I remember the day my mother took me to the store, and I was issued the official Cub Scout gear. She actually bought it, but it sounds better to say it was issued. Fate was on my side. Something happened, and our troop never formed.  But I had my uniform and slide. Life was good.

          My favorite place downtown was McLellan’s. It was the classic five-and-dime store. When I walked in, it was like I was entering another world. It had old wooden floors that squeaked when you walked. The original shine had long since been walked off, but it was replaced by a shine from the smoothness of the boards. Like many people, my dad got paid on Fridays, and we were allowed to walk downtown and get a toy. Did you catch what I said there, “We were allowed to walk downtown…” I remember going all over town, going to the library, going fishing at the river without any fear. I don’t know what’s changed. I have some theories…coming to a sermon near you. My favorite purchase at McLellan’s was Matchbox cars. A boy could never have too many cars to play with. I remember one time my parents got me a racetrack for my Matchbox cars for Christmas, and they also got me a toy truck that looked like the kind that delivered new cars to the car lot. We had Christmas at my grandparents in the “country,” and I remember thinking how cool it would be if these new cars got into a fiery crash. I promptly stuffed plastic Army men inside the cars and ramped them off into the fireplace. A child today who did that might be sent to counseling. My dad thought that was unnecessary and had other ways of helping me through this troubled period of my life. It’s not something I’m proud of, but you have really crossed a line when you get a spanking on Christmas morning.

          The greatest thing about McLellan’s, though, was the smell. It smelled of polished wood and popcorn. Popcorn in little paper bags that got wet from shaking it into your mouth. You didn’t have time to use your fingers; they were busy checking out the latest thing you “needed” from the toy aisle. Popcorn in paper bags and at the theatre always tastes better than the same popcorn at home. I think it tasted so good at McLellan’s because we were just excited to be there. We would also walk downtown, drag home boxes, and make forts and spaceships out of them. That still happens today.  It just looks different. Kids aren’t dumpster diving behind the local five-and-dime. No, their parents spend months picking out the perfect gift and pay more than they should, only to have the child play with the box it came in.

          But I’m sitting here thinking about the smell and salty taste of that McLellan’s popcorn. It makes me think about parents who did whatever they needed to do in order for three boys to have clothes that were as nice as everyone else (even if the label said Husky) and spending money on toys that weren’t needed, but couldn’t be passed up because of the joy they brought to a little boy’s eyes…just before he set them on fire. Life in Pascagoula is good…but it was really good when McLellan’s was around.