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| My grandfather Guiseppe Bonanno's barber shop on Porter Street in South Philadelphia. My dad, Frank Bonanno, is the little guy in the chair. My aunt, Rose Bonanno, is peeking around the corner in the background. |
Remember the neighborhood business? It was a place you could go and be greeted by name, taken care of, and sent on your way. Well, I have a neighborhood pharmacy where this sort of thing still happens. I only take one prescription medication, and once a month I pick it up and pay the $11.30 charge. I walk toward the check out counter and before I say a word, the gal behind the cash register has my prescription ready for me to pay for.
This week I got a call from our insurance carrier saying that I could get the same medication from them at a savings of $3.00 per quarter, and it could be delivered to my home with no extra cost for shipping. They emphasized the convenience of not having to venture to the pharmacy to pick up the medicine. Don't they know that I wistfully crave the days of the small five and ten stores, pharmacies, country stores, grocery stores, and hardware stores?
The availability of a neighborhood grocery store where I could go in a pinch to grab that necessary ingredient for the dish I was preparing became extinct when that huge department store with all the 'Great Values' invaded the territory.
In days gone by, the local handymen and women in my town's little hardware store would jump at the chance to help me whenever I went in with a question, and we had a codependent relationship...I needed the advice and they took pride in sharing their expertise. I don't see them anymore and I don't know where they've gone.
There was even a small department store where we could fetch that emergency gift for a kid's birthday party, have the kid's pictures taken, get a picture framed, or just browse if that's what we wanted to do.
You know those old sitcoms like Andy Griffith where everyone knew the barber, the mechanic, sheriff, and vice versa? My grandfather was a barber on Porter Street in South Philadelphia, and he had a steady set of devoted customers that I remember to this day because relationships were formed. True, I didn't always like visiting him because the barber shop was in his home and the usual dialog began with him saying with his still strong Italian accent, "You need a haircut, Josie?" I would politely say no and Dad would give me THAT look until I gave the okay for him to bond with his grandson. Many times there was a regular customer in the shop just sitting and chatting with us, and he was not even getting his hair cut.....he was just talking. I remember New Year's Day being a treat because in those days the Mummers would march down Porter Street and we could shun the cold by sitting in the barber shop window with hot chocolate made by my Aunt Rose and watching the parade. I remember to this day marveling at a Mummer who actually came into the barber shop to use the restroom to change into his costume.
My mother was a sales clerk in the local pharmacy of the town where I was raised and everyone knew her and she knew them. Her clients became her friends and came in daily just to say hi and buy something small. She loved them all and listened to and shared their stories.
So, it is for these reasons that I will thank my insurance company for their offer, but for as long as I am healthy enough to be independent of prescription medication, I will hang onto the last of my small town fetishes for as long as I can. As long as I am addressed by name by a living human being, I'll inconveniently drive the five minutes each way per month to the neighborhood pharmacy, and continue to remember fondly the now extinct small town feel of the small towns I have left, and the one I moved into twenty-three years ago.
