When I was little, people were sometimes given the Key to the City. It was a reward, either for doing something heroic or for winning a lot of football games. At least that’s what I remember. It’s possible that I’m recalling a scene from a cartoon I saw on television, or one of those ridiculous situation comedies that I breathed in like oxygen, and wouldn’t have missed for any reason that didn’t involve death or pizza.
The key itself was about three feet long, and I would try to imagine what kinds of places these were that had such huge doors. And I would wonder where you would put a key that big when you weren’t using it. There would be almost no danger of losing an object so gaudy and enormous, but at the same time you’d have to keep it hidden from burglars and other troublemakers.
I would dream about getting my hands on the key and unlocking the gates at Yankee Stadium, so I could stroll into the clubhouse and offer the players a few helpful tips. Money was scarce, so I’d also use it to enter bank vaults, which would allow me to mail away for all the incredible merchandise that was available back then, like secret spy cameras, X-ray glasses, and two-headed nickels. But mostly, I’d fantasize about being able to open candy stores in the middle of the night, when I could browse at my leisure, and without the pressure of the owner asking me every five minutes, “So you gonna buy something, or what?”
For those of you who grew up outside the splendor of New York City in the 1960s, candy stores were the source and repository of all that was good in life. They sold comic books, newspapers, and baseball cards. There was an entire wall of toys, as well as ice cream and cold soda. Racks were filled with every kind of candy and gum, all so cheap that I still berate myself for not stocking up.
There were a half dozen candy stores within four-blocks of my house. Walking into one of these establishments on a bright summer day, I’d crash into the cool darkness, then float through a haze of cigar smoke that mingled with the ink from fresh magazines. The stores were narrow and deep, and my strategy was to move down one side and back up the other, working my way around the counter where men in undershirts sat, drinking beer or coffee and arguing with each other about last night’s game. My earliest career goal was to be employed in such a store, and to be the first one in the neighborhood to read the latest editions of Superman, Archie, and The Flash. True, you had to be sixteen to get a real job, but with unlimited access, there would be no need to wait.
Charles Lindbergh received the key to New York in 1927 for flying by himself across the Atlantic Ocean. More than eight decades later, Chesley Sullenberger got the award for landing an Airbus A320 onto the surface of the Hudson River after the plane had slammed into some geese and lost all power. In October of that same year, the New York Yankees were honored for beating the Philadelphia Phillies in the World Series. I only hope they got their own key, and didn’t have to wrestle Sullenberger’s away from him.
The next step down from the key to the city was the skeleton key. Again, I never saw a real one, but they had them on television, and that was proof enough for me. A skeleton key could open every door in an entire building. So if you owned an apartment house, for example, and there was a known maniac living in 5-B who had locked himself inside his room after murdering everyone in 6-B for vacuuming the floors at three in the morning, and J. Edgar Hoover himself had requested your assistance, you could say, “Sir, we can get in there with this skeleton key!” Even as head of the FBI, Hoover would be stunned that you possessed such a device. And who knows? That alone could make you a hero, and they might give you the key to the city, which would be a nice reward, because when you own an apartment building you’re pretty busy helping tenants fix their sinks and asking them to please stop throwing firecrackers down the incinerator. There’s almost never time during the day to get to the candy store.
There were people who had keys to the church, the school, and the convent, but these were not as attractive, as those were places we were usually trying to get out of. At home, I was never entrusted with a house key, and even if I had been, I couldn’t get in anyway because you had to do some weird, jiggly thing with the doorknob, and it was too difficult for me. Car keys were just as complicated. The square one was for the door and the ignition, while the round one was for the trunk and the glove compartment. My father once sent me to get something that he’d left on the front seat and I stuck the round key into the lock and it got jammed. He learned his lesson after that.
My roller skates had a key, which would be used to loosen and tighten them so they could be made shorter or longer. These were true, one-size-fits-all skates, passed down in my family from generation to generation, going all the way back to the fourth century.
And finally, at the lowest end of the scale, there were the keys that came glued to the bottom of coffee cans. When you wanted to open a new can, you inserted the key into a slot, then wound it all the way around. This peeled away a thin band of metal, and you ended up with a lid that was now separated from the rest of the container. There was also a spiral of razor-sharp coiled aluminum, which my mother would pull off and throw away. Then she’d hand me the key. It was a worthless item that couldn’t be used to open anything else. But to me, it was an award — the Key to the Coffee Can. True, it wouldn’t get me into Yankee Stadium, the bank vault, or a candy store. But I didn’t have to qualify for it by flying over a body of water, or landing on one, either. And it was easy to hide.
* * * * *
Candy stores are all but extinct, eventually evolving into present-day convenience stores. In the early 1980s, there was a missing link called variety stores, but I believe they’re gone, too.
Credits: Bing Crosby picture is from http://www.gbcnv.edu. The nice guy photo is from http://www.cfbca.org2. The roller skates came from http://www.ramacgregor.blogspot.ca.
Margo Karolyi
April 28, 2013
At one time, I was the proud owner of a skeleton key (my grandmother gave it to me; I think it opened the door to the attic at our house, but I was too afraid to go up there in the dark to check it out), a tin can key (although it came from a can of corned beef, not coffee) and a roller skate key (which I hung on a piece of twine around my neck while I cruised into town on my trust skates to visit one of the two candy stores where you could fill a small paper bag with ‘penny candy’). Such great memories – thanks for bringing them back.
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bronxboy55
April 29, 2013
Such similar memories, Margo. Yes, there were other cans that opened with a key, as well. We’d hang the skate key around our necks, because without it, you’d have to wear the skates for the rest of your life. And what could be scarier than having to unlock an attic door with something called a skeleton key?
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georgettesullins
April 28, 2013
Oh my word, you rustled up some memories. I too fantasized about the mythical “key to the city” and wanted “mine” to be a key to Disneyland. Love that photo of Bing receiving his. I can almost hear his gracious voice accepting it, in the very same voice he paid tribute to the general in “White Christmas”. I had forgotten about the coffee can key and am so grateful I don’t risk cutting myself on that packaging innovation of days of yore anymore, no rhyme intended. Fun post…I think you thought of everything!
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bronxboy55
April 29, 2013
Disneyland? You were a much bigger thinker than I was, Georgette. I would have settled for Palisades Amusement Park, in New Jersey.
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lostnchina
April 28, 2013
Growing up, I’d thought those oversized keys to the city were a big joke – like the big checks given to people from the Publisher’s Clearing House. I didn’t think those big keys would open any doors (except maybe a cavernous dungeon) and the checks were too fake looking and no bank would take them.
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bronxboy55
April 29, 2013
I was going to talk about the big checks, Susan, but it didn’t fit with the rest of the post. I used to think about them at the end of game shows, when they’d show the winning contestant holding the huge check, and I’d wonder if it was really possible to cash such a thing.
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shoreacres
April 28, 2013
That key from the bottom of the coffee can wasn’t useless, though. My dad kept a bunch of them in the basement to use when he couldn’t lay his hands on a real paint can opener or a screwdriver. They tended to straighten the rolled edge of the paint can lid a bit, but they were strong enough for the job.
And a variety of sailboat – a Tayana pilothouse, specifically – still uses a skeleton key for its doors. As a matter of fact, the very boat I sailed for fifteen years is in the online listings now. I used to worry about losing the key to that boat. It was impossible to get duplicates, and the key from one boat wouldn’t open up any others. Very mysterious!
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bronxboy55
April 29, 2013
Now that you mention it, some paint stores now include an opener that looks similar to the old coffee can key. And your Tayana pilothouse is quite a contrast from Dirty Dale’s boat, isn’t it?
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Allan Douglas (@AllanDouglasDgn)
April 28, 2013
If I could remember my childhood, I bet it wasn’t half as exciting as yours. Thanks for sharing; it’s been a key point in my day. Those candy stores must have been intriguing places to hang out. Modern candy stores are big, wide and full of barrels full of things that would probably kill me if I ate them. I stick to the dark chocolate section: that’s considered health food you know.
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bronxboy55
April 29, 2013
Allan, the places we now call candy stores are just that: they sell candy in bulk. Our candy stores had so many different things, most of it wasn’t candy. But the idea that you could buy the newest comic books, pick up a few packs of baseball cards and a Milky Way, and then sit down on the sidewalk to enjoy it all — that was one-stop shopping. Not exciting, really, but wonderful just the same.
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nerdinthebrain
April 28, 2013
Your coffee can key made me think of my grandfather and his love of sardines (once upon a time, sardine cans used the same method). As a kid, I always wondered where the huge city door was that needed a key that size. 😉
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bronxboy55
April 29, 2013
Are there any cans left that still use the key? Sardines, maybe? Or ham?
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lolarugula
April 28, 2013
I still own a skeleton key, though sadly I have no idea what it could, or ever did, possibly open. It looks cool though. I grew up in a small town where there was only one candy/ice cream/comic store and it was nirvana. I don’t remember the coffee can key but I remember the sardine can key, which I’d bet is similar…I love them both but, if it came down to it, I’d beg for the coffee can key first. Great post!
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bronxboy55
April 29, 2013
I just checked on eBay, and there are a lot of listings for skeleton keys — and quite a few have multiple bids. Just in case you were thinking of parting with yours. Thanks for the comment.
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Chichina
April 28, 2013
There were two candy stores where I grew up, neither of them close. I knew how to get to both because my two older siblings used to let me tag along. I started kindergarten when I was four, being that I was a December baby. I attended school in the mornings, and was home in the afternoons. One afternoon I asked my mother if I could walk to the Christie store, which was the closest, being about 10 blocks away from our house. In hindsight a walk like that for a four year old was completely inappropriate, but my mother must have been distracted with the two younger siblings, and said, sure, go. Off I went with my dime clutched in my hand. Half way to the Christie store I changed my mind and decided that I wanted to go to the Kemp variety store because it gave me more bang for my buck. The Kemp store was at least a mile from home. I bought my sack of candy and returned home hours later, my mother never the wiser. Today’s children would never be that safe. It was a different world back then……. 1958.
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bronxboy55
April 29, 2013
It was a different world back then. My father used to send me to the store to buy him cigarettes. And we roamed the neighborhood, too. We were little and unsupervised, and our days were unstructured, but we all made it home for supper. That’s lost forever, I imagine.
With a little elaboration, your comment could be a post of its own. What do you think?
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icedteawithlemon
April 28, 2013
Oh, to have had just one candy store within walking distance of my country home! The closest thing we had was one of those convenience stores, ten miles away, where my mom would drive to and send me in to buy her a carton of cigarettes–and if I was lucky, allow me to use the change to buy a bag of M&Ms, a precious treat even if they did taste of stale smoke. You had a charmed childhoood, Charles–thank you for sharing so many of your memories.
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bronxboy55
April 29, 2013
Cigarettes! I just mentioned that in my reply to the previous comment.
I don’t know if my childhood was charmed, Karen, but there were definitely a lot of good parts.
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Angelo DeCesare
April 28, 2013
Funny take on kids and keys, Charlie. Your description of the old candy stores is spot-on. That means dogs would like it too. Yes, they were long and narrow, and filled with the treasures of childhood. I lived next to the el train, and each of the three staircases leading to the train had an adjacent candy store, so that commuters could pick up the newspaper and cigarettes on the way to work.
They were all owned by elderly Jewish men, one of whom, Mr. Slotnick, was a beloved figure to my sister and I. He called me his “best customer” because I practically lived in his store. He always gave us first-crack at the new comics and magazines and cards, because he knew my sister and I were good kids who never shoplifted any of his merchandise. He wasn’t big on displays, and kept the same sun-faded toys in his window for years (I remember the “Moon-Rocks” box making it from the early 60’s into the 70’s.)
One of the other candy store owners, Al, was a curmudgeon who always wore a brown sweater and constantly uttered that timeworn phrase, “Are you buying or reading?” We only went into his store (which seemed even darker than the other candy stores) if we couldn’t find anything new at Mr. Slotnick’s. There were, of course, many other candy stores nearby, but to travel even a few blocks to a different one was almost like being George Bailey when he visits Nick’s Bar in “It’s a Wonderful Life”. The surroundings were so familiar, but the owner didn’t recognize you.
Anyway, thanks for the blog. You covered the childhood key topic very well. Did your family own a key that obviously had importance at one time, but no one could remember what it was for? We had a few of those. And some mysterious doorknobs too!
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bronxboy55
April 29, 2013
“…sun-faded toys in his window…” It’s amazing how a few carefully-selected words can bring back such vivid memories. I can remember standing outside stores and looking at the stuff displayed in the window, and wondering how long it had been there — and if it was good enough to show off to everyone passing by, why didn’t anyone buy it? I also recall that feeling of going into an unfamiliar candy store. It was exciting and awkward at the same time.
We had a boxful of doorknobs, some made of giant diamonds. Did you have those? Maybe not. We were rich.
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Marie M.
May 1, 2013
Thought you might like to know that I just went upstairs to count our house’s giant diamond doorknobs. We have six. Think one of our kids’ colleges would accept one as payment?
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bronxboy55
May 2, 2013
It’s worth a try, Marie. I offered three of those diamond doorknobs as a down-payment on a car once, but the salesman refused. Apparently a lot of people don’t want to get involved in the precious gems trade.
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nailingjellotoatree
April 28, 2013
I remember once I sneaked out of the candy store with a piece of candy in my pocket. Of course it tasted terrible because my taste buds were wracked with guilt! And just the other day I tried to explain to my kids what “the keys to the city” meant. They don’t get it. Just like we didn’t back then either. GREAT post Charles!
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bronxboy55
April 29, 2013
Guilt comes in handy sometimes, Sandra. By the way, I noticed that the key to the city is now presented in a little box, or mounted on a plaque. Another slice of our tacky childhoods gone forever.
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cat
April 28, 2013
I can relate to your childhood memories so much … the candy, the roller skates, the roaming through streets … OMG, I know about roaming as my family are travellers.
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bronxboy55
April 30, 2013
We did very little traveling when I was a kid, so our neighborhood and a few short drives in the car seemed like the whole world. And I guess it was, for a while. Thanks, cat. It’s always good to hear from you.
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Hippie Cahier
April 28, 2013
Spam (the mystery meat, not the email plague) used to have a key similar to what you describe for coffee cans. I remember feeling the same way, that it seemed like tossing that key away was like tossing away a treasure, the true worth of which was yet unknown.
There are two “toy” stores and one Amish market near where I live that stock some of the candy that one found in candy stores. The phrase “kid in a candy store” comes to life whenever I visit them.
I remember being fascinated by that “key to the city” idea and fantasizing about how I’d use it . . .and (finally) Melanie is now in my head singing, “I’ve got a brand new pair of roller skates, you’ve got a brand new key . . .”
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bronxboy55
April 30, 2013
Hippie, have you ever been to Cracker Barrel? Their breakfasts are great, but they also have a gift shop that sells a lot of the candy you might remember from your childhood. There are several in your state.
And now I have that song stuck in my head, too. Thanks a lot.
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Andrew
April 28, 2013
I had a skate key and a skeleton key – a skeleton key that fit a real door. It was the door in our church to the choir loft. I received just after we installed $10,000 worth of sound equipment. The trustees seemed to think it was secure enough to protect the gear.
We later violated all the local building codes and installed a heavy pad lock.
All things considered, I had more fun with the skate key…
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bronxboy55
April 30, 2013
I can still recall the sound and vibration of those metal wheels on the concrete sidewalks, and the pain of landing when I fell. But you’re right — it was fun.
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patricemj
April 28, 2013
This post made me so happy. You have quite a memory for details! I like your history of keys, nice theme and don’t get me started about candy. I sort of love keys…it might be in my genetic makeup or something, someone once told me my father’s father’s father, I guess that would make him my great grandfather, was the keeper of some royal person’s keys back in the old country. I thought that was sort of cool. Now I have a full set of my own to go clankity clank, clankity clank, like a teething baby’s chew toy.
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bronxboy55
April 30, 2013
I wish I had a keeper of the keys, and all the other things I’m constantly misplacing. Have you done any research to learn more about your great-grandfather? Thanks for the nice comment, Patrice.
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kroessman
April 29, 2013
I’ll give you the keys to my blog if you ever want to write about music 😉
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bronxboy55
April 30, 2013
You would be pretty disappointed with the results. I’m the least musical person who’s ever lived.
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SoundOfLaughter
April 29, 2013
Memories. “I got a brand new pair of roller skates you got a brand new key”.
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bronxboy55
April 30, 2013
That song has been following me around for two days, ever since Hippie’s comment (above).
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Mitch Mitchell
April 29, 2013
I always wanted a skeleton key, but couldn’t get my hands on one. However, I have the next best thing; we actually have a real life candy store, and I’m not talking in the mall. They have all the old goodies; I bought a 6-pack of Now and Later candies about a month ago, along with the new thing, chocolate covered potato chips. Yum!
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bronxboy55
April 30, 2013
My initial reaction to chocolate-covered potato chips wasn’t a positive one. But then I remembered that I like chocolate-covered pretzels. Does your candy store have Turkish Taffy? (Never mind. Don’t tell me.)
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Software
April 29, 2013
I feel like you might need to write a bigger story; clearly you have thoughts, words, ideas just waiting for you to put them all together.
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bronxboy55
April 30, 2013
I hope this will be part of something bigger, someday. Thanks, WW. And I’m glad that’s really you.
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Snoring Dog Studio
April 29, 2013
I recall the key to the can of anchovies. And it was useless. It would roll the lid up halfway and then stop working. I’d have to pry the oily anchovies out of the can, dribbling anchovy flavored oil all over my fingers and countertop. It wasn’t a key to anything but a big old greasy mess. I bet you dislike anchovies and couldn’t even get past the first mention of the word.
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bronxboy55
April 29, 2013
The first mention of what word?
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Snoring Dog Studio
April 30, 2013
HILARIOUS!
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charlywalker
April 29, 2013
I still covet a universal key to cockpit doors from an Airline I flew with in the 70’s…..
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bronxboy55
April 30, 2013
I remember that post you wrote. But please don’t tell me those keys really exist.
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charlywalker
May 13, 2013
ok…I won’t….;)
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"HE WHO"
April 29, 2013
Stories like this one must seem like science fiction to the younger readers. I’m shamed when I realize I know the things you write about but until reading your post, gave them little or no thought. Skeleton keys indeed. They unlocked rooms in our houses, but not the front door. That makes me think of glass door knobs and now a host of new images are banging their way into my head – floor radios standing five-feet tall, being part of an extended family, my Uncle Jack who was born in the 18th century and the stories he used to tell me about Winnipeg in the early 1900’s. Oh oh. The run to the bathroom after the family’s Sunday trip to Dairy Queen for soft ice cream (the bathroom run was a way of life for me until I turned 17 and learned about lactose intolerance). My mother going for the leather strap with which she would dole out a lesson (that faded along with the pain).
Sorry for rambling, Charles. Your posts are very thought provoking and stream of consciousness is the way I write. Can’t wait for your next “prompt”.
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bronxboy55
May 1, 2013
It sounds as though Uncle Jack might be enough of a prompt. Have you written any of his stories down? As I mentioned to Angelo above, we had some glass doorknobs, too, but they looked like large, cut diamonds, and that’s what I thought they were.
Thanks for the kind words, HW. Feel free to ramble, anytime.
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ShimonZ
April 29, 2013
Ah, what a wonderful story that is, and though I could add a few stories about keys, my addition today is to tell you about sunflowerseed stores, which are our modern equivalent of the candy store you remember from childhood. Like the candy store it has everything in it, maybe for the older children though… because it includes wine and whisky, and candies… but what’s most special these stores, is that they carry an assortment of drugs that haven’t been made illegal yet. I used to buy my morning cup of coffee in one of them, and watching the clientele was almost as much fun as checking out their wares.
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bronxboy55
May 1, 2013
Shimon, I can’t verify this, but I suspect there were a few illegal transactions taking place in the candy stores of my youth, as well.
Why were they called sunflower seed stores? Was that the product that pulled in the customers?
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She's a Maineiac
April 29, 2013
I love this line: I’d crash into the cool darkness, then float through a haze of cigar smoke that mingled with the ink from fresh magazines.
That brought back memories! We had a five and dime when I was around 11 and I kick myself for not stocking up on penny candy, tootsie rolls and candy dots. I had a paper route then and had to get the stack of papers there (next to the soda fountain counter) and I also remember the distinct smoke wafting around. How different things were back then. I remember my dad used to smoke in the grocery store while shopping for produce!
As for keys, we grew up in my Gram’s old house and were fascinated with the old locks on the doors and the keys that could magically open anything.
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bronxboy55
May 1, 2013
I’m always a little stunned when I see a scene in an old movie and people are smoking on an airplane. Now you can’t even have a bottle of shampoo in your carry-on bag.
Candy dots were great, because you could get your minimum daily intake of sugar and paper at the same time. Did you have Bazooka bubble gum? Ours were two for a penny. Will anything cost half a penny ever again?
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Betty Londergan
April 29, 2013
I loved the drug store and everything about it — especially the torrid, slightly erotic stories in these black and white Romance magazines about girls gone slightly wild, and then punished horribly for it. And the penny candy — which actually did cost a penny. The giant sourballs. Bubble gum with cards. And of course the economy packs of LifeSavers and Reed’s lifesavers which were SO much better. I loved ALL the candy … but the keys to the city?? That was so far out of reach it didn’t occur to me to long for it!
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bronxboy55
May 1, 2013
And what about Pixie Stix? They were paper straws filled with flavored sugar. We used to pour it into our palms and then lick it, leaving a big, colored stain on our hands. Then we’d have Jawbreakers for dessert. Our teeth were all falling out, but we were happy.
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earthriderjudyberman
April 29, 2013
I had a skeleton key and I think it opened a door in our home, but it was not a universal key. I do remember the skate keys, keys on the bottom of tin cans, and church keys. The latter was a must for the “cool” kids, I guess. Not a “key” I would go in search of. But the same key could be of use on a cap on a pop bottle.
I also remember wandering all over the neighborhood. It might have been a more innocent time, but there also was danger lurking. Some guy stopped his car and offered me a ride when I was waiting for my school bus in Harrisburg, Pa. When I came home and told my Mom, I had an escort to and from the school bus every day after that.
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bronxboy55
May 1, 2013
I now realize that there must have been bad things going on all around us. But as long as they didn’t happen to me or anyone I knew, it was as though they weren’t happening at all. Maybe that’s what we miss — not the more innocent time, but being blissfully unaware. On the other hand, it sounds as though you became all too aware of potential danger. How did you get rid of the guy?
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Jac
April 30, 2013
You didn’t mention Jesus giving Peter the keys to the kingdom of Heaven. Now THOSE must have been some keys!!! 😉
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bronxboy55
May 1, 2013
But here’s the question: When Peter misplaces the keys, does he ask Saint Zita or Saint Anthony for help?
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Jac
May 1, 2013
Neither. He just weeps bitterly
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silkpurseproductions
April 30, 2013
Charles I had that magic key to the candy store. I was a little too old to appreciate it quite the way you did, but for several years in my teens my family owned a “candy store”. Only an open door frame separated where we lived from the store. By then I had graduated to “Tigerbeat” from “Archie” and we earned our “allowances” by counting out the kids penny candies. After being surrounded by all the sweets all the time they kind of lost their lustre a bit until… I got to that age when you hung out with your friends all night and came home with such a case of the “munchies” we would sneak into the store while our parents slept and devour pretty much one of everything. My stomach hurts just thinking about it. When rumours started of 711 moving in down the road my folks sold up quickly and that was the end of the bounty of goodies.
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bronxboy55
May 2, 2013
I know what you mean about being surrounded by sweets, Michelle. I worked as a baker at Dunkin’ Donuts after high school, and on the first day the owner told me that I could eat all the donuts I wanted. I think my head exploded when I heard that. But after two weeks, I could barely stand to look at those things. Still, you lived the dream. I would have slept in that store.
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silkpurseproductions
May 2, 2013
Heheheh…I did, but not on purpose. 😉
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Philster999
April 30, 2013
I like the one that opens the corned beef can — rolling back a thin strip of the metal can as you twist it around the perimeter of the tin (similar to the coffee can one you mentioned, I imagine).
There’s something rewarding in physically winding the skin of the can back in this fashion. I think it must stir my inner survivalist. In the zombie-infested post-apocolyptic world that is obviously on its way (if pop culture is any sort of gauge), who wants to waste time hunting for a can opener. I’ll take my tinned, processed food complete with onboard access key every time, thank you very much!
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bronxboy55
May 2, 2013
The only disadvantage to those cans was that every once in a great while, the key would be missing or defective. That would create the same problem we have today when the ring on the pop top breaks off. And where does that can opener disappear to, anyway?
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Stacie Chadwick
May 1, 2013
What about the key to someone’s heart?
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bronxboy55
May 2, 2013
That’s another post entirely, Stacie. (When are you going to write it?)
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winsomebella
May 1, 2013
In the Little Apple of Manhattan (Kansas), I was sent to the corner store to buy a jar of jelly for my mom. I got involved with the latest sagas of Archie and Veronica and dropped the oversized jar I held. It shattered spectacularly and sent grape goo down the aisle and all the way up through most of the magazine rack. The owner never let me hang around the comic books again, which made them more tempting to me than the candy. How is it your posts always trigger these well-buried memories? 🙂
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bronxboy55
May 2, 2013
I wonder if the store owner’s insurance covered him for grape jelly damage. I bet it didn’t.
Did you know that Archie married Veronica? But he also married Betty. I’m not sure how that worked out. I’ll have to ask my friend Angelo, who has written many Archie stories.
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Margie
May 2, 2013
Do you have a box of old keys that don’t fit anything, but you keep them – just in case…
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bronxboy55
May 2, 2013
I have keys to cars I don’t own anymore, as well as to houses I no longer live in. And I always know exactly where those keys are. I also have an extensive collection of locks with no keys. You too?
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Margie
May 2, 2013
I see myself attaching the keys to fishing line and making a mobile. I see my husband buying a welder and incorporating the old locks into a sculpture for the garden. I see many things – I do few…
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Val
May 2, 2013
The coffee-can opener keys sound like the fish-can keys we used to get (mostly for anchovies, I think). There was a bit of metal jutting out from one corner and you’d thread it through the key then roll the key – and you’d get that coil like your mom would throw away. I’d always end up getting fish oil all over myself as my grip was never strong enough!
Your candy shops that sold everything sound like our corner shops that did, too. I used to be taken when I was tiny, to one near where my grandmother lived and I’d be bought penny toys (which by then cost about sixpence or more) that I wouldn’t be able to play with straight away as they were used to bribe me to take the medicine I hated!
As for the key to the city – I had similarly odd ideas, particularly I wanted to know – which part of London did they fit and where was the damn keyhole?
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bronxboy55
May 2, 2013
What kind of hideous medicine was this? You hated it, but you would eat anchovies? (Never mind. Don’t tell me.)
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Val
May 2, 2013
Lol! In those days anchovies would have taken the taste away better!
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Wyrd Smythe
May 4, 2013
And some of us got into keys and locks with a goal of learning to pick and defeat them…. 👿
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bronxboy55
May 6, 2013
Something tells me you succeeded.
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Wyrd Smythe
May 7, 2013
What can I say? I love to learn! And locks are pretty cool. They are the canonical example of the interesting game of “security race.” It’s true of computer security and national security. It’s the lock-pick, lock-smith race, each trying to stay ahead of the other. When one invents a new lock or pick, the other has to counter.
Seeing how that has played out with physical locks is fascinating!
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rangewriter
May 4, 2013
When I went to empty my mom’s house after she died, I found keys everywhere. (Along with rocks, but that’s another story.) Most of them were unlabeled or cryptically labeled. I threw them into a large drawer which, by the end of the cleaning out process overflowed like a volcano spitting out lava.. She had house keys, car keys, padlock keys, door keys, cabinet keys, gate keys, plastic keys, china keys, the only key she didn’t have was the key to the city.
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bronxboy55
May 6, 2013
Maybe there’s some part of human nature that resists throwing away keys and locks — as though we’re discarding some piece of our security, or something. Now I’m wondering what you did with them.
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rangewriter
May 10, 2013
Believe it or not, the estate liquidators encouraged us to keep them all as there is a market for key collections! Go figure. AND same goes for matchbooks. I assume they were sold and I’m living on the profit.
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bronxboy55
May 10, 2013
More likely the estate liquidators are living on the profits.
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rangewriter
May 10, 2013
Believe me, it was worth having them deal with the piles of crap we left in the house after picking through it all. And we were amazed at our cut, even after they took their share. They made silk gowns out of the stuff we’d have fed to the city dump.
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Judy Smith
May 6, 2013
I love this, especially in light of the fact that I had many of the same thoughts about keys before I reached the age of maturity and suddenly knew the answer to everything.
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bronxboy55
May 7, 2013
I remember knowing everything, too. Aren’t you glad we outgrew that?
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Judy Smith
May 7, 2013
Yes, and so is everyone around us.
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Mal
May 8, 2013
Haha, when I was little I wanted the key to the magic castle…I was always enchanted by the story of ‘Cinderella’… ah, childhood memories!
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bronxboy55
May 8, 2013
Mal, I wonder if we all have childhood memories that somehow have a key attached to them.
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adinparadise
May 11, 2013
Fascinating post. I also had roller skates just like that. 🙂
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bronxboy55
May 11, 2013
Then roller blades came along, and nobody would be caught dead using those old metal skates.
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thomascmarshall.com
May 12, 2013
There was a student nicknamed “keys” at university. He walked around with his giant key ring on one of those retractable key holders which attached to his belt. You always knew when he was coming because you could hear his keys clinking against his thigh. This more than once saved us from getting caught in places we should not have been.
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bronxboy55
May 15, 2013
Another use of keys I hadn’t considered, Tom: An early warning system.
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