The place kind of scared and excited me as a child. It was the place our family went when we needed cheap, durable work and play clothing, sturdy shoes, a warm winter coat or thick winter socks. The owner, Cyril Serkin, from one of the city’s few Jewish immigrant families, stood on a raised area where the cash registers were and commanded the operation of the store by shouting to you, wherever you were, the prices, the quality and especially the remarkable bargain that you were going to get. My dad loved it because the price was never the price and I think he imagined himself capable of driving a hard bargain and saving our immigrant family the few hard earned and needed dollars he was making. Clerks and helpers scurried about at Cyril’s command, getting a different color, a larger size or another yet better option.
I remember when my dad wasn’t satisfied that he had trimmed enough off the price, he would gather us up as if to leave and Cyril would shout out a better offer. We took the purchased clothing to command central and paid for the purchases and then Cyril would reach down and give each of us children a nickel. This past Tuesday, it was early afternoon when I wandered in and the store was empty and Cyril, according to the clerk, was not in. I don’t remember if the store was progressive at the time. I don’t think so and it certainly isn’t today. I think the family did alright with the business but it felt all a bit comical and sad. What is progress?