I remember the first time I heard an old, now forgotten term, the 'blues'.
"I am feeling so blue today," my grandmother Ferguson had said.
She was standing outside of her house on the corner of Euclid and Hazel, watering her dry, cracked yard. Ungrateful, self-absorbed little nine-year-old female old that I was, I said to myself, "You don't look blue. And I don't care how you feel." My grandmother was old and back then I didn't know what 'feeling so blue' meant.
Back in the days of yore, I guess I thought there were unchangeable truths in life. You were either a boy or a girl, or young or old. Old people were not cute or pretty. My grandmother was supposed to pay attention to me. I was a girl. I was young. And heavens to Betsy! That, and fun times and happy days would never change.
Oh but they did!
Down through the years, like many of you, I've learned what feeling 'blue' means. Maybe a different terminology works a little better for this day and age. Either way, we as a country and the world that is ours, with our helpless feelings about the corona virus and the widespread destruction resulting in the deaths of innocent civilians in the heartbreaking Ukraine war have reasons to be eaten up with the blues. Many of my musings aren't so amusing today.
And to me, personally---at times I now feel somewhat isolated. We live in an era of cellphone addiction and computer consumption that make it easy to ignore people who are visibly close. Because I'm not adept at using these devices, certainly not as much as the younger folks I'm around, I often step back from the electronics and return to another world, one of memories.
I treasure old times and the unforgettable characters and people from back when I was growing up.
This was brought home to me by reading an excellent article recently printed in the Clarion Ledger about Brent's Drugs, my daddy's drugstore. What a pleasant surprise that turned out to be, so I took an unexpected walk down memory lane.
I'm part of the old days at Brent's, which, to my knowledge, was the first shopping center in the state and was known as Morgan Center.
Rolling back the hands of time to the very beginning, brother Alvin and I would play in the foundation pourings and wall raisings as the drugstore and the other buildings of what is now known as Woodland Hills were being built.
Seventy-six years ago, when it came time to open the doors, that was another world though. As I've recently written, I thought my daddy opening that store had ruined my life. Nobody would be there. We'd be laughed at, then ignored.
It didn't take much doing to turn yours truly around. All I needed to see was the crowd in front of Brent's Drugs back in 1946, to chase away my feelings of 'the blues'. It only took a few minutes for little brother Alvin and me to become proud beyond belief of our daddy with the opening day crowd and festivities.
Most of the friends who worked there in years past, behind the prescription counter or selling cosmetics, and the old-timers who either worked behind or hung out at the soda fountain have passed on and are almost forgotten now. Many of them became the movers and shakers of Fondren and of much of Jackson.
Long time passing, then my daddy's store was picked up by other hands who have upheld so many of the old traditions. These traditions go back to a bright, sensitive young man from Summit, Mississippi, who put himself through college and pharmacy school waiting tables and milking cows.
Kathryn Stockett, whose family goes way back in the history of Jackson, wrote about my daddy's drugstore in her book, The Help, which was also made into a movie.
My daddy's vision, has lasted for seventy-six years. How soon we forget, so thanks be to Randy Calvert, and now Brad Reeves, for continuing to support it. I am very grateful to these gentlemen for helping preserve the old days and the old ways and for recognizing a true Jackson institution and for keeping it alive on down through these years. That doesn't happen often nowadays. I have so much gratitude for them.
There was another remembrance, that I carry with me, one that I attended with my husband. A Celebration Day was held back in 2011 honoring sixty-five years since the opening of Brent's Drugs. Willard and I enjoyed the attention and remembrances of my father's store, as I'm sure other family members did, people who had worked at the drugstore, and long time patrons.
Fighting back tears, looking out the car window, my mind was full of memories and thankfulness that day as my husband and I drove away from Brent's.
Apparently sensing my sadness and feelings of longing for another time and other people, husband Willard had glanced over at me then asked, "How's the girl of my dreams doing?"
I turned and looked at this dear, kind man.
"Nothing but blue skies, do I see," I had answered.
Blue skies. Smiling at me.
