There’s no telling what might pop up when you start digging through boxes of Steinhoff heirlooms.
It’s appropriate that this metal toy soldier came to light in time to commemorate Memorial Day. It looks like he might be dressed in a World War I uniform. I don’t ever recall seeing him before, so I have no idea of his history.
While working on this guy, One Tim Soldier, the 1971 hit song in the movie Billy Jack, came to mind.
The song told the story of two neighboring tribes, the warlike Valley People and the peaceful Mountain Kingdom which possesses a great treasure buried under a stone. The Valley People demand the treasure. The Mountain People respond that they will share it with “their brothers,” but the Valley People invade and slaughter the Mountain People. On overturning the stone, they find nothing except the words “Peace On Earth” inscribed beneath it.
The song ends
Go ahead and hate your neighbor Go ahead and cheat a friend Do it in the name of heaven You can justify it in the end There won’t be any trumpets blowing Come the judgment day On the bloody morning after One tin soldier rides away
I was passing the candy shelves in Buchheit’s the other night when a bag of orange somethings called out my name.
It triggered an immediate memory.
When I was about two years old, Dad must have been building a road around Poplar Bluff, which meant we were living in the trailer he pulled from job to job.
Mother came back from shopping all excited because she had won a full grocery cart of goodies in some kind of store promotion. The only thing I can remember about the contents was a cellophane package of something that looked like peanuts, was a color of orange not found in nature, and tasted vaguely like bananas.
That could have very well been the last time I ate one.
I didn’t need a lifetime supply
Back to Buchheit’s: the bag I spotted contained a lifetime supply of the marshmallow goodies, and cost way more than I wanted to invest in a trip down memory lane.
On a subsequent pass, though, I spotted a smaller bag that was priced low enough that it was worth an experiment. I tore it open and was immediately transported back to my childhood.
I put some samples in plastic bags and went making the rounds of Cape friends and relatives (full disclosure: it only took two bags). They too, allowed as how they still tasted and smelled the same as the ones they had wrestled away from dinosaurs in their childhoods.
What’s the story about these things?
Google says that circus peanuts are an American peanut-shaped marshmallow candy that date back to the 19th century, when they were one of a large variety of unwrapped “penny candy” sold in retail outlets like five-and-dime stores.
As of the 2010s, the most familiar variety of mass-produced circus peanuts is orange-colored and flavored with an artificial banana flavor
Confectioners originally distributed an orange-flavored variety that was only available seasonally due to a lack of packaging capable of preserving the candy. In the 1940s, circus peanuts became one of the many candies to become available year-round owing to the industrial proliferation of cellophane packaging.
You have to draw the line somewhere
My memory lane hits a dead end before it gets to Candy Corn Blvd. I don’t care to revisit some things.
Barb Frokler mentioned in a Facebook group called Cape Rewound that the Nowell’s Camera Shop sign that hung out over the sidewalk at 609 Broadway was in the basement of the Mississippi Mutts. I suggested to Carla Jordan, director at the Cape Girardeau County History Center in Jackson, that the sign would be a great acquisition if she could score it.
It WAS available, so I was dispatched to see if it would fit in my Honda Odyssey van. You can tell from comparing it to employee Briana Schoen that it wasn’t going to happen, even if I opened the sunroof.
Exhibit Kept Growing
Once the word got out that the sign would be part of a lobby exhibit, folks started contributing pieces of their personal photographic history.
History of 609 Broadway
A number of businesses have called this address home. One of the earliest was Phil C. Haman’s Drugs. The mosaic tile with the name is still there.
A 1934 Girardot ad said the store sold Kodaks, pens, pencils and drugs. The display window on the right used to read “Kodaks” in big black letters.
Eastman Kodak tried to get it taken down for trademark violation, but Nowell’s successfully argued that the sign dated back to when “Kodak” was a generic term for consumer cameras. I don’t know what happened to the window, maybe it was broken and replaced with clear glass.
I took the Broadway sign photo Sept. 12, 2001, when I rode my bike all over town shooting the main streets and landmarks.
Bill Nowell and his wife, Juvernia, opened Nowell’s Camera Shop in the early 1950s and became Cape’s only photo specialty shop.
The Mississippi Mutts folks moved into the location in 2015, after starting the business at 1231 Broadway in 2012. Sherry Jennings is the owner, and Barb Frokler is the manager. The store sells a plethora of pet paraphernalia and treats, many goodies housed in the original cabinets along the walls. (I didn’t spot any Terrytoon movies, alas.)
Linda Folsom Hatch commented on another post that “My grandparents, Carl and Quinn Bauerle, bought the camera shop building and lived in the apartment upstairs for many years…..I still have some of the old bottles from the drug store (Hamans).”
Nowell’s supported The Girardot
Like Haman’s, Nowell’s bought an ad in the 1963 Central High School Girardot yearbook.
Some proofreader must have been asleep. Notice that the Walther’s Furniture Company ad spells the city’s name as “Garadeau.”
I practically lived in Nowell’s
I spent many a long hour leaning on the counters in the camera store lusting after Pentax cameras and lenses. (I didn’t switch to Nikon until after a student at Ohio University sold me a Nikon F with three lenses for $150 so he could pay his rent.)
Ironically, I have very few photos from the time I hid out there. I was a kid who got paid $5 per picture (later reduced to $3 a photo for non-assigned art when John Blue calculated that my salary plus freelance photos amounted to more money than some senior reporters made).
Pictures that didn’t generate revenue didn’t get taken unless I was trying to finish out a roll.
Here’s how it works
Customers didn’t just walk in and buy a camera. Bill Nowell and his staff would help you make the right choice, then explain everything you needed to know to take good pictures.
A couple buddies and I decided to skip school one afternoon. To make my exit less obvious, I left my gear in the school darkroom.
Wouldn’t you know it, one of the first things we saw was a train vs truck crash in South Cape. I dashed into Nowell’s, grabbed a Pentax, a roll of Tri-X black and white film, and shouted, “I’ll be back” over my shoulder as I bolted out the door.
I don’t think Mr. Nowell batted an eye.
When I scanned the film recently, I discovered that I had not only shot the wreck, but a fire on the same roll. You can read a full report of my youthful transgressions here.
My buddies and I managed to escape any consequences from our absence. I DO recall, though, Mr. G. stopping me in the hall a few weeks later and saying, “I know you’re up to something, I just haven’t figured out WHAT yet. I’m keeping my eye on you.” Of course, knowing him, he probably delivered that speech to everybody at one time or another just to keep us on our toes.
Nowell’s fed my photographic addiction
I discovered a trove of cancelled checks written to the camera shop when I was rooting through old files. This was a place and a time when you could even write a “counter” check if you didn’t have your checkbook with you.
Mr. Nowell trusted a lot of young photographers by letting us buy on credit. I would usually pay cash for large purchases, like cameras and lenses, but I’d charge film and supplies.
I overheard Dad tell a friend of his one day, “Mr. Nowell even lets him run a charge account.” That was his form of bragging that his kid was recognized as trustworthy by a respected local businessman. It’s funny, but most of the praise I got from Dad was overheard, and not direct.
A cornucopia of cool stuff
It wasn’t just cameras, film, chemicals and photo paper. You could walk in and be tempted by all kinds of cool stuff, including black & white 8mm Terrytoon cartoon films. (I’m pretty sure I’ll run across some reels of those one of these days.)
I don’t know how he did it, but Mr. Nowell managed to snag a dry mount press for me when they were supposed to be limited to governmental agencies. It mounted hundreds of prints for contests, classes and exhibits. It currently lives at the Jackson museum.
A place known for careful listening
No customer was rushed, no matter what the purchase. I wish I could remember this saleswoman’s name.
Marty Cearnal could twist my arm
To be fair, though, he didn’t have to twist it much to sell me photo gear. If you look up “super salesmen” in the dictionary, it probably has his photo next to it.