Coming home from Emerson or OPRF, you could take a quick left on Home or Wenonah, or even on Clinton or Kenilworth (if you wanted to pass houses where cute boys lived), but the usual route was half a block west past Wenonah on Madison Street to the Certified.
Most of the time, you’d just walk through the outer doors to the little entryway where the soda machines stood. Mrs. Wilson would usually be inside at the cash register, so you’d be polite and go in and say, “Hello, Mrs. Wilson,” but then you’d get down to business with the machines. For ten cents, you’d get your choice of Coke, root beer, 7-Up, Orange Crush or something grapey. I think there were some cream sodas, Yahoos and strawberry pop, too, on occasion. You’d have to be on your game after you put your money in, though, because if you didn’t pull out that bottle in one quick, manly motion, you lost your dime and the Coke stayed put. Then you’d have to get Mr. Salerno, the owner who cut meat, to give you back your dime. You didn’t want that.
If you did go through the inside set of doors on the right, you could pick up some hamburger meat or Wonder Bread for your mother and maybe a treat for yourself. “Hello, Mrs. Wilson!” Go around the cash register and on your right would be Twinkies, candy and all the really important stuff. Hostess items were 12 cents. Bags of candy were 29 cents and up. Regular candy and gum was anywhere from a penny to 10 cents.
In 1964, Mr. Salerno got a little wild and offered record albums for sale at the cash register. You had to know what you were doing if you wanted to buy one, because sometimes they featured the “Hollywood Strings” or somesuch in small letters under “THE BEATLES” in a much larger typeface. And some were stereo, which nobody had then.
Mom appreciated Mrs. Wilson’s system of extending credit. My brother really appreciated it later when he became addicted to 16-ounce Cokes. What happened was that after you brought your groceries up to the checkout, Mrs. Wilson totaled everything and brought out a manila ledger card. They were 8 X 11, stiff sheets with lines where she’d imprint the amount from a stamping feature on the cash register and then any 11-year-old could sign for the purchase. There was no formal accounts receivable system that I remember; my mother would just look at the ledger card periodically and give Mrs. Wilson $20 or $30 when things started to add up.
The Certified didn’t sell flowers or deli sandwiches. You couldn’t have keys made or get cash from a machine, but you could get Mrs. Wilson to cash the first paycheck you ever earned, and no child was ever seriously lost in the store who couldn’t be located by yelling for her.
Funny, I’m more partial to wine and bottled water these days, but I think I’m getting in the mood for an Orange Crush. Got a dime?