In this episode I will lead you on a tour of some things my thirteen-year-old self loved about growing up in small town Fort Mill. It’s not really history, mostly memory and sometimes just a little wobbly on the specifics.
This is my job now. It doesn’t pay much, writing seldom does. In fact, it costs me to rent a miniscule platform on somebody’s cloud. It has one great perk. I get to time travel. If the news of today does not suit me, I crank up the Way Back Machine and without Mr. Peabody as a guide, visit a time and place in the past. The only limitation is that it has to be in my past. While I wish I could experience the thrills and chills of yesteryear in the old West alas, I am limited by my memories and by stories told by relatives and friends.
Today, once again, I will visit the burgeoning town of Fort Mill when it was just a weanling. I will try not to confuse those of you who because of the misfortune of birthplace or age were not with me on my first journey through the 1950’s and 1960’s. Consider me your tour guide and don’t loiter, no matter how fascinating the attraction. When I hold my umbrella in the air, follow me and keep up with the others. The year is 1960 and I am a worldy thirteen years old.
Our first stop as we come into town will be at Culp Brothers, the store on the right just before we turn a corner and Spratt Street magically becomes White Street. The main store is fronted by Esso gas pumps and inside are shelves of groceries and a butcher shop. In a section to the left as you enter is a farming section with feed and seed. I remember at about eight, looking wistfully at a burlap sack of horse feed and planning on shopping there when I got my horse. Sadly, I never needed the feed.
Behind the main store is the ice house. The square tin shed built on a concrete slab is a favorite place for kids. A visit there means homemade ice cream and a chance to watch the iceman drag out one of the100 lb. blocks of ice and with an ice pick, chip off big chunks to throw into the grinder. After a great deal of crunching and clanking, the double paper bag at the bottom of the grinder would fill with crushed ice.
Like many kids, when I was younger, I accepted the ice block challenge. If I could sit on one of the one-hundred-pound cubes of ice inside the ice house for three minutes, I could pick out the candy bar of my choice inside the store. I would sit for what seemed an awfully long time but since I didn’t have a watch, I never won. Time slows to a crawl when you’re sitting on a block of ice.
Once home, we could look forward to homemade ice cream and a sore arm from cranking the handle of the churn. The rule at our house was Mike churns and Connie, my sister, sits on the churn to keep it grounded. Two or three folded towels ensured that Connie would not suffer the same bone-chilling bottom that I attempted to endure at Culps.
Moving along, just between White Street and the railroad tracks is a low building housing Mills Hardware. The owner, J. B. Mills is already a man of legend in town whether because of predicting the number of winter snows with his secret formula or riding a donkey in a game of donkey baseball. J. B. talks around a cigar stub clamped perpetually between his teeth while he or his employee, Shine Sanders, locates anything the customer needs. J. B. is sure to have whatever you’re looking for, or if not, he’s got something better.
J. B is a great kidder and once when Dad and I were in his hardware store, J. B. had a tan saddle draped over a beam in the dark interior. When he saw me staring, lost in thoughts of sitting tall astride my buckskin riding into Dodge City, J. B. told me that the price was right and I should get Dad to buy me that saddle. My hopes rose higher than a ten gallon hat. I called Dad over and showed him the saddle. When he told me I couldn’t have it, I was unhappy and went on about the great price and how good a saddle it was. After too much pleading, Dad dragged me back to reality when he said, “But Mike, You don’t even have a horse.” I never owned a horse but later learned to ride and while I liked it, I wouldn’t want to do it for a living.
The old Southern Railway Freight Depot is beside the hardware store but it’s not used much. At the red light, we will turn and go up Main Street. Of course, the Center Theater on the right at the bottom of the hill. We could watch a movie but it’s Saturday and there’s a triple feature. Cost to get in is thirty-five cents for each of you and that kind of money doesn’t grow on trees.
We will cross over Main Street to avoid those young men hanging out at the Rexawl Pool Room. They might get a little loud and comment on any ladies in our group. On the left side of the street we have the park with those two big cannons. Every kid in town has sat astride those cannons at one time or another. They ought to put up a sign to keep them off. At the corner of the park is what has become the symbol of our town. Built in the late 1800’s to move the whittlers and tobacco spitters off the city hall porch, the gingerbread white frame Band Stand still has its cadre of retirees who share a story or tell a lie or just sit in the shade and watch the cars go by. Some of those guys look old enough to have fired those cannons.
Across the alleyway from the bandstand is Smoke Rogers’ barbershop. Smoke will serve up a pretty good crew cut while the regulars cover all the latest local news and scandal. Of course, the A & P is next and then Martin’s Drug. Across the street on the corner of Confederate Street is the Easy Pay Store owned by Dick Adkins. They carry lots of custom car accessories that I dream of putting on my car when I get one. I will be old enough to get my license next year. For now, it is a good place for bicycle accessories. We guys love the area behind the store where George Dixon uses a mold to recap tires. The air is steamy and heady with the sticky sweet smell of melted rubber…as strong as perfume to those of us wanting a car of our own.
Rogers Drug is next but we visited the drug stores on an earlier trip. Across the street from Rogers’ Drug and up from Martin’s Drug is the Eagle 5 and 10 Cent Store. No one calls it that. It’s just the Dime Store.
Just a little local tip…When December gets here, the area in front of the Dime Store is best spot to be for the Christmas Parade. If we’re lucky, Mrs. McCarver will come out to watch. I love to hear her English accent no matter what she is talking about. The bands all stop here to play. Don’t miss the George Fish High School Band, they are always a crowd favorite with their distinctive style and contemporary sound. Sure, there are lots of floats and pretty girls. Who knew there could be so many princesses? Keep an eye out for my favorite clown…Everett (Booger) Griffin with his invisible dog.
At the top of the hill, with Curley Sain’s Pure Station on the corner, take a quick glance back. If it weren’t for all the cars, Main Street would be the best sledding hill in town. The Post Office is on the corner of Springs and Tom Hall Street just past the red light. It is recent enough to be called the “new” post office.
Let’s turn and walk along Tom Hall Street past the Methodist Church on the right. Central School will be on the left beside the Duke Power office and across Unity Street from the Presbyterian Church. The big two-story building was once the high school but is now where I attend eighth grade. I have told you before about Pete Reynolds, our principal. His paddle is feared far and wide but I don’t think anyone suffers more than a good strong sting from it.
I have felt that paddle twice but I try to behave myself most of the time. Mother works across the street at the telephone company and her best friend, Irene Davis, is the secretary at the school. Too close for comfort.
On up Tom Hall Street I pass my friend P. K.’s house. His mother teaches biology at the high school. On down, on the left is Chipper’s house. He used to live across from me on Gregg St. Across from Chipper’s house is Luke’s Grocery. Again, that is not the official name. Luke Patterson, who is also the mayor, sells groceries and meats. It is a great stop for a Nehi grape or a bag of Sugar Babies.
Across the Banks Street from Luke’s is Hinson Ford. It is owned by Max Hinson who always has a new Thunderbird on the lot. My Aunt, who is always called “Sister” (She despised her given name, Lillian) works in the parts department. She was a Marine during World War II and was trained as a mechanic. There is a red dot store where Doby’s Bridge Road divides from 160. I have never been in but have sometimes sat in the car while Dad picked up his Old Charter bourbon.
Past that, there are miles of nothing until Indian Land and there’s not much of that.
Time travel, like life, is limited and I guess you will have to follow me back to 2021. Don’t dawdle. The past may seem inviting but it had its share of troubles too. I write this as a public service. If you ask one of us old guys for directions, you can use this as a reference. If you are told to turn at Culp’s or Luke’s, bear with us. We are perfectly fine with progress, we’re just not sure what’s on that corner now. If we tell you how to find the post office by saying, “You know, where Central School used to be,” it is just that sometimes our memory slips a little. Forgive us and remember that the past still pulses in our blood.
Comments