My parents published a weekly newspaper for years from the third floor of a corner building in downtown Raymond, Washington.
“Downtown” is accurate, but don’t picture something grand. Raymond had 3,300 inhabitants.
As teens, my brother and I cleaned the newspaper office every Saturday. It was a family business, so we worked, and not usually cheerfully.
In that corner building, below the newspaper, was a clothing store called Dracobly’s, after the family that owned it. Racks filled the first floor, with women’s goods to the left and men’s to the right. Shoes lined the back wall. A business office filled a mezzanine above.
I spent time in Dracobly’s shopping with a parent or wandering alone looking for Christmas gifts for family. I still had clothing from Dracobly’s long after I’d left home.
I got shoes there, too. I know because I’ve had a plastic shoehorn bearing the Dracobly’s name for 45 years or more.
Dracobly’s closed long ago. And that shoehorn? It broke last week as I donned my walking shoes. I winced in sadness – and then reveled in memories.
More Memories of Youth
Wasted and Well-Spent Saturdays
Uh, you might need to explain to your students that a shoehorn is more than a colloquialism playing the role of a verb.
My students and I often must bridge misunderstandings about words and idioms that haven’t stretched across generations. It’s mostly in fun.