 I almost sat down and cried when I read the story in The
Salisbury Post. McCombs Grocery was closing. It was there when I came into the world in 1925.
It was there when I got on the bus
parked in front of it in 1944 to go into service. It was there when I came home.
It was there when I said goodbye
to Mom and Pop as the last of their eight children but the first to go to college. It was
there when I got married, when we had children, when we used to go back to that little
town of Faith and I would sit on the concrete slab out front and renew old acquaintances.
It was there the other day when I went home once again to visit brothers and sisters and
nephews and nieces.
The story said that the
store’s span had run out. Verne McCombs, the last of Ray McCombs’ children to
operate it, had reached the end of his own rope. It was time to close the store’s
doors for all time. It was time for him to ease back. He is 68, and those 70-hour weeks
have become burdensome on his back.
I guess that store is about as
much a part of my childhood as anything else. We lived about a quarter of a mile away. By
actual count, if I was wearing my one-gallused, cut-off overalls, I could be there in
about two minutes if I ran hard, and about 430 steps if I cheated a little. If I was
walking there on the way to church, gussied up in my Sunday best, you could multiply each
of those figures by two.
It was there in front of
McCombs’ store that I got the nickname ‘‘Freckles.’’ I had
freckles, oh yes. More than any other kid in Faith. I had more freckles than little white
spaces. The men of Faith would work hard all day on the quarries, in the mills, on their
little farmland; and they would congregate in front of McCombs Grocery after supper, to
talk, to reminisce, to speculate. And, if a young, nice-looking female happened to walk
by, why they would look and grin and get strangely silent for a bit. And then, they’d
grin some more and talk some more after she had gone on by.
Shortly after I got my
driver’s license in 1942, the store’s owner, Ray McCombs, hired me to work as
clerk and delivery boy. Ray had bought a brand-new four-cylinder Ford pickup truck and
Ray’s older son, Eugene (my buddy), and I sort of ran the place (in our minds). I
figured that anyone who delivered groceries was sitting right next to the angels on
God’s chosen list. I tried to do a good job, talked and kidded with customers and
took care of that new truck. I had learned from observation that you should drive down a
dirt road fast enough to keep ahead of your dust. I did that. Oh, yes, I did that.
Somebody wanted to know where I
got all those freckles. Old Tom Lingle told the crowd that I had stood too close to the
rear end of a cow. They called me ‘‘Bran’’ for awhile, but that
didn’t stick. Freckles did.
That was back when the store was
in its original place. Right there where the town’s only blinker light is located.
After World War II, the store’s owner (Verne’s daddy) decided to build a larger
and more modern store across the road.
Eugene, my buddy, had come back
from the war and had settled in business with his dad. His foot was bigger than mine,
however, and heavier, so one day he took a curve too fast and the truck ended up on its
side with the wheels still turning.
His daddy was a forgiving soul,
chalked it up to growing up, and implored his son to be more careful in the future.
Eugene learned his lesson, kept on
serving people and has been in Raleigh as Rowan County’s state representative for
years. And, he probably will go back as long as he likes.
It is hard to believe that the old
store is closing. The store and that old blinker light that sits up there on that wire
looking down on the store have seen a lot of things go on in that little town of Faith.
They were there for that first Fourth of July celebration in 1946, when there were a few
floats and a few people watching the parade. They have watched every parade since, now
seen by 30,000 people in that little town of 558. The store and the blinker light watched
as President Bush motored in to play softball on the town’s baseball field in 1992,
later to eat barbecue and drink Cheerwine and make a sterling campaign speech.
I was there, as well, standing
within the shadow of McCombs Store and cherishing the moment that would go down in the
town’s history.
Now, a few days after this Fourth
of July, Verne McCombs will close the store and head off to a fishing hole or a golf
course or wherever it is that he wants to go.
The store will be no more. I guess
that whatever is nobly born must nobly meet its fate.
Darrell
‘‘Bill’’ Williams grew up in Faith, graduated from Duke University,
worked 22 years at The Gastonia Gazette going from reporter to editor, retired in ‘87
and still writes a weekly column. He and his wife, Betty, split their time between their
home in Gastonia and a home in Lake Lure. He visits Rowan frequently to see many
relatives, including brother, Marcelle, who was chairman of the Rowan County School board,
and Leon Williams, that famous honorary mayor of Maupin Ave. |
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