Was the Woolworth’s from my childhood, on 79th and Broadway, special?
Probably not.
I bet the residents of the Upper West Side kvetched about it when it moved in in 1957, and said “FAN-tastic. Another Woolworth’s,” in the same way we all do now about another CVS or Bank of America.
But I have a soft spot for that store, maybe because:
It’s where I first spent my own money.
When I got a quarter a week for my allowance, I’d plunk it in the vending machine, the kind that’s like a gum ball dispenser but filled with toys stuffed in plastic egg-shaped capsules. Sometimes it was those clammy rubber things you throw at the wall and they climb down like they’re alive; sometimes Squirmels, the pet caterpillar-esque creature on a not-quite invisible fishing line, so you could pull it and make it almost look like it was alive and crawling up your arm. Also, I often got a plastic peanut on a necklace string, which I considered a booby prize.
It’s where I first stole.
Correction: where I first remember stealing. My mom says the theft took place at Red Apple, the supermarket my parents liked to call “Rotten Apple” because every other quart of milk we bought there had a yogurt-y stink layer on top. I boosted an orange-shaped container full of orange juice, with a green stem that functioned as a straw. I’ll trust Mom’s memory, because it might have been more traumatic and therefore memorable for her to realize she’d given birth to a corrupt little sticky-fingers than it was for me to be marched back and forced to confess to some cashier who couldn’t have cared less.
Either way, that warm and fuzzy “my first theft” memory is wrapped up for me with Woolworth’s.
I must’ve stolen something else there that my mom doesn’t know about, which means I didn’t get caught and it was probably gum, which I was only allowed to have every 5 years, or Lik-m-Aid Fun Dip, which I was only allowed to have every 7 years, two very arbitrary rules my mom came up with. She hated gum and thought Lik-m-Aid was poison.
It’s where I got my most important education.
Who needs college? They had great booklets at Woolworth’s. Young people: picture a Youtube tutorial, but in print with a stapled binding.
The ones with greatest impact on my life were:
A “Solve Rubik’s Cube” guide – that puppy helped me set records in school. I was only competing against myself, because no one else knew how to solve the cube. They could’ve bought the booklet, but those shallow kids didn’t even glance at the literature section of Woolworth’s. They skipped it on the way to the Wet ‘n’ Wild lip gloss.
A “How To Beat Donkey Kong” guide – Told you which fireballs to leap over, when to make your Mario wait right under the ladder, all that jazz. I’ve still got some skillz, by the way. Tested them at a place called Barcade. Never leaves your system, like chicken pox.
“Thin Thighs In 30 Days” – my friend and I each bought a copy. Pretty standard stuff. Wall sits, leg lifts, 20-minute walks. In 7th grade, I paired it with a regimen of after-school Jazzercise, for which I dressed in tiny athletic shorts, the kind with contrasting piping and a curved slit, over dark-tan L’eggs pantyhose, which I also bought at Woolworth’s.
One time, I bought L’Eggs Sheer Elegance (praised by the pretty lady in the commercial as “the look and feel of real silk from the Orient”), but the effect they brought to Jazzercise was more sweaty and slippery than silky or…dare I say…Oriental.
Oh, before you search ebay for the booklet, that thin thighs plan only works if you’re biologically capable of thin thighs. My body didn’t come loaded with that function, so the only thing truly skinny after a month was the booklet itself. But that little publication gave me my first taste of self-imposed exercise discipline, which would come in handy for my lifelong body-based craziness.
Moving on…
It’s where I saw my first pervert.
My friend Beth and I were browsing records (Young people – picture a Spotify section you can sort through with your hands), looking for something by The Doors or a 45 of Pass The Dutchie by Musical Youth, when we looked up and saw an old man outside, corduroy pelvis pressed against the window, flicking his tongue at us. We screamed “ew!” and kept looking up to see if he was still there (yes) but didn’t tell an adult. That “rat on the perv” protocol wasn’t in place yet.
The smell is still in my nose.
Not the smell of the pervert, though I could imagine a pervert smelling like that Woolworth’s. Part plastic and rubber, part new pencil, part old-person-smell-covered-in-powdery-perfume, part polyester uniform, part medicinal, part glue. My nose is the most nostalgic part of me, and it’s really holding on to Woolworth’s.
There’s a DSW in the Woolworth’s space now, forming memories for some local kid who steals designer shoes at bargain prices.
Now you.
Where did you spend your first money?
Where did you see your first pervert?
Ever steal as a kid?
Remember that Woolworth’s?
TELL ME IN THE COMMENTS.
Definitely remember Woolworth’s but not the one on 79th since I was a Bronx kid. But we LOVED that place and went constantly. I don’t remember stealing from there, though, but I did still candy bars. Only because I didn’t want to spend MY money for one. Never got caught either. First perv was an old man that was sitting in the Laundromat we went to, who coaxed little girls to sit on his lap when their parents weren’t looking and would feel them up. I ratted the hell outta that guy to my mother (he didn’t touch me cuz, thank god) and my Mom yanked the kid off his lap and proceeded to drag his perverted old ass out of the Laundromat. She told him if he ever came in there again, she’d beat the shit out of him. Then she went off on the girl’s Mom about not watching her. My Mom is a badass.
Remember how I used “Pass the Dutchie” for musical chairs at my 7th birthday party? The worst musical chairs beat — so slow. But I guess it was only fitting, since they were called “Musical Youth.”
I have smell-memory of that Woolworth’s too.
East Side friends only had Orva to steal from, which didn’t compare, especially in aroma.
The 99 cent store in my neighborhood smells sort of similar. I bet they carry some of the same merch. I mean, the EXACT same merch. It had to end up somewhere.
I believe i had my first food poisoning experience from eating at the Woolworth’s counter on Third Avenue.
Are you going to cover Gimbels and Alexander’s?
Laura, your stories break me up with laughter. Sorry I don’t have any pervert stories to
tell as you do, except about guys and gals who were consensual perverts.
Love,
Dad
Oh my god! Thin Thighs in 30 Days! I can’t tell you how many times I gave that book(let) a chance to change my life! Oh…the dreams…and I went to Jazzercize too, in the neighborhood Elks Lodge. Good times all around.
Although it would seem that my first pervert encounter would have been at the Elks Lodge, it wasn’t. I remember walking to school one day in elementary, and there was a guy beating off in a car as I walked to school. I also had the pleasure of experiencing that while playing on the embankment behind my house. Just a guy, standing there, wacking off. Oh, the memories…
The best one was when I was at an arcade, killing it with Space Invaders, and through the reflection of the screen, I got distracted with this guy who was standing behind me in tight yellow Dolphin-like shorts, with his schlong hanging out. Can you imagine that happening today?
I’m surprised I didn’t end up in the lady pond after that…
When the Woolworth’s in my town (which had an odd smell, like new plastic and mothballs) closed down, I took the giant letter “W” and “R” home. (Upside down “W” = “M” + “R”…my initials. Still have them.
My best pervert experience was the nice elderly gentleman with the briefcase who stopped me outside St. Patrick’s Cathedral and said he would pay me money if I would walk around the block naked with him. Which, of course, I did.
Laura, your memory is amazing, but here are two things I remember. First, about gum. I really believed that if you chewed gum (addictively, incessantly, even the sugar-free kind) you would grow up to be addicted to stronger stuff. That seems very funny, now. And I did hate gum and the open-mouthed chewers. Second, my own personal pervert story: my friend Alice Cooper and I biked to Saxon Woods park from my grandmother’s house in Rye, NY. I think we must have been eleven or twelve. One of us had to pee desperately– me. There was no one around, or so we thought, so I pulled down my pants and peed. Along came a creepy guy, who handed me a leaf — really! I pulled up as fast as I could, but I remember his leer and cackled laugh. We got on our bikes and never biked so fast as getting out of the woods. After that, we called it Sex-in-Woods.
Oh god, oh god, that’s the worst pervert story ever! I never heard that one! Sex-in-Woods. Perfect.
Remember when we got flashed in Riverside Park on our bikes?
So did you think chewing gum led to heroin? Maybe it really worked not letting me chew it, because I never did smoke or do drugs.
I LIVED for Woolworths too! It was my favorite store growing up in Joisey. I loved the crafts and candy! Unlike Alice, Fondly Susan let me have Lik-A-Maid every 7 minutes and gum every 5 seconds…so I got a whole lot of that there. I also got lots of fake flowers and sequins and sailor hats and generic keds…that I could glue my fake flowers and sequins on to. And I got cheapy t-shirts to cut up…and more candy.
I never saw a pervert there…but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one. It just means i was too caught up in my crafts and candy to notice. I remember my first real perv (and second and third) on the subway. One time a man pulled his pants down and rubbed his peeners up behind me. I almost vomited!
I never stole either. EVER. Not even a piece of gum. But you know me, I’m the one who finds money on the street and yells out, “Anyone lose 20 dollars!?” Then if nobody bites, I give it to a homeless person. Next time I’ll save it for you…promise!
Peeners!! That sounds like a candy.
How disgusting. A guy stuck his hand up my (very short) skirt once on the subway. I noticed just as the doors were opening and tried to kick him in the nuts but it ended up being the ankle, because he was leaving and I wasn’t fast enough. Gag. Not as bad as peeners, though.
Your candy-filled upbringing is a wonder. I’d like to be reborn as Li’l Abby. Or one of your kids, because I’m sure they get Lik M Aid, too.