“Hey, Paul, can we walk into town and get some pop?” I asked.
“Sure. You got any money?”
I smiled as I pulled out a wrinkled dollar bill and two shiny new quarters.
“I got enough to last us all day,” I answered.
You have now entered a time machine, and we’re going back over sixty years. You will emerge from the time warp in the front yard of my uncle Charlie’s farmhouse where Paul and I have been playing baseball for the last hour. It’s summer with temperatures and humidity in the 90s. We are out in the country between Kinmundy and Alma. A half mile west along the Patoka Road is where Grandma and Grandpa live. That’s where my mom grew up, and this is the scene of some of my favorite memories.
Paul tells his mom where we’re going, and we walk down the gravel driveway to the tar and chip road that leads into the small town of Alma. Population around 450 and that might be stretching it. The road doesn’t have a name, though years later when the 9-1-1 system is introduced, it will be named Malone Road. It’s a narrow road with barely enough room for cars to pass. We walk a quarter mile south and enter the hilly section where it’s not possible to see traffic coming over the hill until you reach the top. Fortunately, not many cars use this road. We are more likely to meet a tractor.
We amble lazily for thirty minutes or so, through shaded stretches of deep woods and open sections of farmland leaving footprints in the melting road, and finally reach the outskirts of town. We pass the grade school and make our way to the downtown area. For such a small town, Alma has several businesses pressed together in red brick buildings along the block-long street. Most of them on the north side which is where Paul and I are headed. We enter the first small grocery store – there are two in town at the time – and I immediately head to the front counter where the candy bars are stocked. I pick out six full-size bars and hand the cashier a quarter. Obviously, they were cheaper in the old days. We would share the candy as we headed down the street to another store where Paul would play pinball. After a few games, we would continue our leisurely stroll and end up at the gas station along Highway 37. Bottles of pop were kept cold in a metal cooler filled with ice. Our favorite was Orange Crush, and we would have enough money for a couple bottles apiece. I learned the hard way not to choose Grape Crush if the sun was beating down on us.
After spending an hour or so in town, we would begin the trek back to his house with money left over.
I remember another day when we decided to buy a frozen pizza. It was probably the first time I had ever eaten pizza. It’s the first one I remember, at least. There were no pizzerias in the county to the best of my recollection. I don’t remember why we chose a pizza, or how much it cost. Maybe Paul had eaten one before. I can’t remember. I do remember by the time we got back to his house the once frozen pizza was a soggy mess. Aunt Mary probably thought we were crazy for buying something that needed to be cooked in the oven. Temperature and humidity in the 90s, remember.
I don’t remember how that pizza tasted, but it must not have been too terrible because I still love a good pizza to this day.
At some point in time – the early 70s, I believe – Interstate 57 ruined our walk into town. Malone Road was split in two and detoured along the frontage road. We couldn’t walk straight into Alma. Though to be fair, by this time we were old enough to drive. Driving a car into town to buy candy bars, pop and – well by now the store with the pinball machine had closed down and the pop and candy bars had skyrocketed in price. A dollar wouldn’t last all day anymore. One Orange Crush and a Snickers bar would empty our pockets.
To this day I can’t eat a Snickers or drink an Orange Crush without remembering the small grocery store in Alma and the walk into town. If someone invents a real time machine in my lifetime, I’m going back to that store, hand the cashier a quarter and stuff myself with six candy bars. Then I’ll use my other quarter to drink enough Orange Crush to float a boat.
