I Never Knew Their Names

Store Closing, Everything Must Go, Lost Our Lease. We’ve all seen these garish posters declaring the pronouncement not as a stroke of ill fated luck or unfortunate news, but appearing as more of a party invite.

“Hurry, hurry, come one, come all, get it while you can at unbelievably low prices. Take advantage of our misfortune and help pay back the vendors who selflessly plied us with these goods you see here.”

Businesses come and go everyday, even more so in an economic climate that remains in recovery mode with little sign of showing improvement in the near future. It’s always big news, sensationalism at its best when one of the larger corporations suddenly owns up to its financial nosedive and is forced to cease operations or undertake some type of reorganization to remain in business.

And then there’s the little guy, the small business, the mom and pop shop. In this case I draw attention to the nondescript storefront with the hastily written sign on a piece of green oak tag simply stating, Closing. All groceries 30% off, written not in shame or disgust, but with a true sense of disappointment and sadness.  I’m not sure how long Metropolitan Fruit & Vegetables on Metropolitan Avenue at 69^th Avenue has been around. There was nothing dynamic about the façade that would leave an everlasting memory behind. In fact, it was no different in overall appearance or presentation than so many other produce stores, corner groceries or dare I say it, bodega’s that dot the Queens landscape. This small area in the extreme southwest corner of Forest Hills has grown rapidly in the past years, seeing the addition of superstores including Staples, Home Depot and Sports Authority. Trader Joe’s, while not in the same strata as the aforementioned businesses has undoubtedly become the hottest neighborhood commodity providing food and groceries with a nod to small-town America, albeit in a quasi-generic corporate nature. Living just outside of the largest city in the nation, our frenetic urban lifestyle belies anything that could even be considered as small-town America, yet even within our borough of Queens there still remains a sense of community. Fruit & Vegetables changed direction several years ago depleting their wider array of produce in lieu of providing more sundries and small food items, which filled a hole left behind locally when the Key Food across the street had closed down. While the selection of groceries was not as wide ranging as the nearby Stop and Shop or Trader Joe’s, there was always the convenience of stopping in to pick up last minute or forgotten items without having to deal with the crowds. Sadly, it was the lack of crowds that has spelled the demise of this local convenience store. Sadder still, with the closing of Fruit & Vegetables, we lose yet another piece of our identity probably due to the open arms with which we over zealously welcome the larger more recognizable conglomerates. Frankly, I never knew the name of the business and simply referred to it as the pretty lady store due mostly in part to the…well, pretty lady that worked behind the counter and always delivered service with such a genuine smile. It was more than just the smile though. She watched my son grow up during his youngest years and on days when we would drop in to say hello it was hard to gauge whose smile was wider, hers or his. When she moved on some time ago to pursue other interests, my son was left wondering, what happened to the pretty lady? The owner; a gentle, kind man treated everyone with not just professionalism and customer service, but with a large degree of warmth and familiarity, paying testament to the fact that even if we do live in a fast-paced metropolitan society, there really is a bit of Americana here; a feeling not generated by a corporate office in a fancy skyscraper someplace, but one that comes directly from the heart. He understood the needs of this community and often went far beyond the extra mile. When the Christmas blizzard of 2010 roared in, the store remained open until late that evening and then reopened the following morning much to the relief of this writer who was able to procure toothbrushes and assorted supplies for the small number of unexpected house guests that were trapped here for two days. When Super Storm Sandy forced the early closing of the local superstores last October, the proprietor remained open and accessible to serve his neighbors. On his last day of business, almost like a fairy tale, the pretty lady returned. I received a call in my office late that afternoon.

“Daddy, Guess WHAT? I saw the pretty lady today and she remembered me. She gave me such a big hug,” my son gushed with excitement. After a short pause, almost as an afterthought he added, “I think she was crying a little bit.”

I think we all are, I thought hollowly.

When I returned home a couple of hours later, I witnessed the last minutes of the business in operation, silently cursing the multitude of vultures who swooped in to take advantage of the last minute savings like it was a party.

Groceries were now 50% off.

Ultimately, I could not be too judgmental. It’s still a tough economy. The voice of my son’s excitement still echoed within my head, a 10 year olds proclamation of amazement.

“She remembered me, and she gave me such a hug.”

Of course she did, I thought wistfully. That’s exactly the type of people they were. Scenes like that are far less likely to take place in the big box stores where most of the help begrudgingly works for little better than minimum wage and getting to know the customer is not nearly as important as getting more money and bigger sales. It’s just not a great business model, but then I don’t think the pretty lady and kindly owner considered us as customers. We were more like friends.

Maybe family.

When the crowd thinned out, I stepped inside to say hello once more to the pretty lady and then goodbye. The owner took my hand in a firm handshake and said thank you. I could see the anguished tears welling up in his eyes. I simply nodded and said, “No! I’m the one that should be thanking you.”

“I’ll miss you,” he answered, looking around at the near empty shelves. He wasn’t just talking about me in that sentiment. He was talking about all of us.

I never knew their names.

But will never forget their faces.

 Letter to the Owner:

More than likely you will never see what I have written, but if these pages somehow find their way to you, know that what you leave behind is not an empty storefront, but a legacy. You were everything that we should all be, everything that our children should aspire to be. You have touched the lives of so many in this community and while a lot of us may never know your name, we will never forget your sense of caring and loyalty. On behalf of everyone in this little piece of Forest Hills, our own small town, I wish you health, luck and prosperity.