So long, Sears, and thanks for the wonder years

<p>Goodbye to the Sears store in Greenwood Park Mall. From 1965 on, I strolled your aisles where I bought your tools, lawn equipment, clothes, electronics and all the other items you stocked in store and/or offered in your doorstop of a catalogue. I will miss our time together. Three memories will have to do for this eulogy.</p><p>I remember the Sears music department where they sold vinyl records and music systems. (We called them “record players.”) Even more thrilling for a dreaming Beatles wannabe, Sears sold guitars. Since going to the mall was one of the few things a kid like me could do back then, and because I was drawn like a fanatic teenage moth to the musical flames of British and American bands, I spent many hours there.</p><p>Sears carried its own brand of guitars, Silvertone. One Silvertone that particularly intrigued me came with a small amp in the guitar case. “Wow. Two for the price of one,” I thought. But it was not to be. Even at a bargain Sears price, my parents could not afford such a luxury. The music section remained my favorite area of the store, but because business is business, eventually the records, the instruments, the record players all went away.</p><p>A few years later, I was cutting through the store to meet my ride. I had purchased a 45 at IRC Music which was at that time the hip record store in the mall. Because it was cold and I was heading outside, I slipped my record in my coat securing it between my arm and my chest. Just as I stepped out the door a security guard stopped me.</p><p>I realized in an instant he thought I was shoplifting. I didn’t say anything as he led me away to where he could question me. Eventually, after checking the receipt and seeing that I had in fact legitimately bought it, he said I was free to go. He probably apologized, but I was a rebellious youth and it was the ‘60s and this merely confirmed my opinion of “The Man.” I remember smiling (smirking?) just a little as he handed the bag back to me.</p><p>In the late 1970s, to help make ends meet for my newly wedded household, I played music part time (alas, I never did get that Silvertone), and substitute taught while I was finishing up my often-interrupted college coursework. An opportunity to work part-time at Sears became available, so I tweaked my already hectic schedule and moved in behind the desk at the customer service section of the store.</p><p>My job involved several tasks. I was to file papers, receive payments that were brought in, handle returns, as well as listen to complaints and try to resolve them with my limited powers. This taught me a useful life lesson about staying calm while people rant. I also did gift wrapping. The store was crazy busy at Christmas, so I had to work fast. To this day I am an expert at quickly and neatly fitting paper and ribbons to the shape of any item you can imagine.</p><p>My supervisors were at first a little skeptical of this neck-tie wearing long-hair, but I think I eventually won them over. I stayed at Sears until it was time to move on. Oh, yeah. The guy who once had stopped me with my 45 record was now high up in the store’s security apparatus. I saw him often, but I never brought it up. It’s possible he remembered me; he was sort of a detective, after all.</p><p>Looking back from today’s vantage point, I realize I grew up at Sears. The store was part of my musical education; it added fire to my youthful radical notions; and, eventually, because of those job training steps at Sears, I wound up working for The Man myself.</p><p>It was all good. So long, Sears. And thanks.</p>