Locomotive to the Past by George Schultz (iphone ebook reader .TXT) 📕

Possibly—well, probably—there’d be a Cunningham’s drugstore. In the early—and mid-20th century, there seemed to have been a Cunningham’s on every-other corner—across the entire Detroit metropolitan area. A busy “shopping center” intersection would be incomplete—stark naked—without one! The drug chain was a necessary requisite—in such a commercial area!

And, maybe Jason would see an actual W.T. Grant store! Another chain—that had gone belly-up! Had been phased out—even before Jason had been born. But, the name had been kept—vibrantly—alive, in his grandfather’s lore.

The old man had once worked—at one of those Grant stores! Maybe the one—Jason thought/hoped—to be located, on Grand River, so near Greenfield! If Our Hero’s memory was serving him, that was where the old man had met dear Grandma Piepczyk. (Whatever the store, at which his granddad had toiled.) Obviously, that was where Our Boy was headed. How could he not? How could it be otherwise?

It required almost fifteen minutes—to arrive, at the usually-very-busy intersection. Only, on this Sunday, the corner was not all that congested. In fact—not congested, at all. Street traffic—in Jason’s view—was surprisingly light.

It was then, that he’d, startlingly, noticed that there were a lot more old Ford Model A’s—running up and down Grand River—than he could ever have expected. Pedestrian traffic was even lighter, than he’d imagined. In fact, there were very few people—on the wide sidewalk, across Grand River, by the, simply-beautiful, Wards store.

The same held true—for the foot traffic, in front of the “five-and-dimes”. As well as all of the other stores. Including the ordinary-looking W.T. Grant’s facility—and Federal Department Stores branch. Not to mention the three or four jewelry outlets. Everything was closed. Locked up tight. It was Sunday, after all.

Well, the closed-up units did not include Cunningham’s. They were a drugstore, in 1942, after all. And, per Grandpa, there were probably “a gazillion of ’em”. All the other stores, in the area, seemed totally dormant. In the early-forties. At least, on that particular Sunday. It would’ve been unthinkable to have found the situation—any other way! Again, according to Grandpa, virtually all the stores even (always) closed, on Good Friday—from noon-to-three o’clock!

In those simpler times. Sunday was, of course, considered to be “The Lord’s Day”! Observed by the multitudes—in that “quaint” era! An “odd” condition! So far removed—from “the more-sophisticated culture”, of the late-20th century! Such a “primitive” mindset was even more foreign—the complete opposite—to the “get-real” thinking, in the early-21st century!

This was, undoubtedly, the major reason—that the “deadened/deserted” situation had surprised Our Boy! Jason had been taken completely aback! Completely taken aback! Despite what Grandpa Piepczyk had always preached!

It seemed to Jason, that—again, relying on his granddad’s many pronouncements—all of the big national retail chains’ neighborhood branches had always been open late, on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays! Till nine o’clock! All were closed—on Sundays! They’d all closed—at five-thirty, or six o’clock—on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. And that had been it—in the neighborhoods.

Downtown—on the other hand—saw the big department stores being open, on only one night, during the week. That sanctified shopping opportunity—had always occurred, on Mondays. Open till eight-thirty—he thought he’d remembered his grandfather saying. That had also been it!

Jason guessed that he’d not been listening, as closely as he should have. Not only about stores closing, on The Sabbath—but, paying attention to Grandpa’s council, vis-a-vis a “gazillion” other things! Important stuff—now. So significantly affecting him! The Sunday closings were—upon reflection—probably the least of his concerns. Should have been among the least—of his surprises. None of this should have been that staggering!

“When all that ‘Keep Holy The Sabbath’ stuff went down the drain, it seemed to have had a really far-reaching effect,” Grandpa Piepczyk had always pontificated. “A rotten effect,” he’d snarled. “Across the entire nation! Crappy effect! On… literally… millions of people! Lots of people… I remember… were outraged! Pissed off . . . at that time! Fat lot of good . . . it ever did ’em! I’m convinced that… it was during that period… when the country started, really going to hell!” Jason had heard that declamation—the entire speech—many times! Verbatim!

In fact—now, that he’d thought, about the situation—it seemed, to him, that “Aunt Debbie” had also mentioned the Sunday-closing tradition, at one time! She’d been upset—when she’d “unloaded” on Sheila (and on him). Apparently, she had gotten caught up in a situation where—the store, for which she’d worked, at the time, had expanded its hours of operation.

The facility had, apparently, been one of the last holdouts—but their stores would eventually cave! Would begin—to be open Sundays! Open on Sundays—for the first time, ever. It seemed to him that his well-constructed, most-beautiful, ersatz, “aunt” had complained about being forced—to work on Sundays. It must have occurred in her pre-naked, pre-producing-hot-sex-scenes, career! She’d been faced with a dilemma: It was either work—or get fired! And she’d complained about it. Rather loudly! Rather frequently!

If his memory was accurate, his mother hadn’t shown much sympathy. He faintly remembered the sainted Sheila Rutkowski muttering something like: “Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch! That’s all you do! At least you have a job!”

That stimulating conversation had taken place—a few years before Mrs. Rutkowski’s “world-famous” accident. Even when she’d been “in reasonably good health,” Jason’s mother—needless to say—had never done too well, in the highly-competitive work market. She’d probably been unemployed, at the moment—of her “enlightened” exchange, with his gorgeous “aunt”.

Just as she’d also been out of work—at the time, when she’d been so “brutally run over”. It had occurred to Our Boy—on more than one occasion—that, on the whole, the woman had actually seemed able to, shakily, keep a job! But, just barely! And, only long enough—to qualify, for additional unemployment benefits. Once she’d achieved that hallowed status, something had always seemed to happen—at her place of employment! And—Ba-Da-Bing! She’d be out of a job again! But—to be sure—she’d be collecting her “entitled to” compensation! That portion, of the ritual had never changed! Had never failed! It had remained—quite a definitive pattern!

Then, of course—when the benefits would, eventually, run out—she’d always seemed to