Long before Pardini’s Toy Box and
later a furniture store took occupancy, the storefront on the corner of Hammer
Lane and Thornton Road, was Segarini’s Market. Elders no longer with us, would have told you
that historically, Segarini’s was the neighborhood market for the Colonial
Heights neighborhood. Their kids
however, now seniors themselves, have an entirely different perspective on the
importance of Segarini’s Market.
The kids in our neighborhood had
three places to hang out: The oaks at
the Indian Burial Grounds, the playground at Colonial Heights School, and
Segarini’s. The Indian Burial Grounds, was
our wild nature with trails, a dry creek bed, an occasional Indian bead find, alcoves
for spontaneous "Doctor’s offices" and bike trails that popped more than a
few tires and bent a colossal number of rims.
The school playground is where we
became monkeys on the swinging rings, gossiped while hanging upside down, and
shared candy with the fallen troops who had broken their arms the week before
on the Teepee Bars. We even saw a plane crash, but still sadly, had school the
next day.
Segarini’s Market on the other
hand, is where we conducted our business and matured into responsible fourth
graders. It is where the kids of
Colonial Heights learned investment banking, the rewards of hard work and put
together deals on our first vehicles. It was here we turned in pop bottles for
three cents apiece or a nickel for the big ones. Yes, we learned that size
mattered! We all tried phony scavenger hunts requiring 10 big bottles or we
would return home losers. We always won. Segarini’s is where we learned to hang
on to our money or blow our wads all at once at the candy counter.
The northwest side of the store, out back, is where the pit crew toiled and designed the vehicles that determined the heroes of the Orange Crate scooter derbies. We would find a suitable orange crate and a store checker named Virgil, would come out back on his breaks, to make sure the wood was strong enough to be supported by our broken roller skates. While making the vehicles, pop bottles suddenly became currency and trades were made every day. Wheels, leather straps, and red licorice to bribe someone to either help or lend a nail; everything had value.
The northwest side of the store, out back, is where the pit crew toiled and designed the vehicles that determined the heroes of the Orange Crate scooter derbies. We would find a suitable orange crate and a store checker named Virgil, would come out back on his breaks, to make sure the wood was strong enough to be supported by our broken roller skates. While making the vehicles, pop bottles suddenly became currency and trades were made every day. Wheels, leather straps, and red licorice to bribe someone to either help or lend a nail; everything had value.
Segarini’s #5, wasn’t just a
store where our mothers shopped. It was
an integral part of the foundation of my childhood. I am writing this now, at
63 years of age, because someone sent me a link to Elvis Presley singing, “Hound
Dog”. Suddenly, my thoughts became all
about one short moment in Segarini’s that changed me forever. The year was 1956,
and I was still just short enough that when my mother grabbed me by the hand
and ran, my feet left the ground.
Suddenly this man was singing in
a very unfamiliar fashion on the radio, over the speakers in the market. I thought I was in trouble because “I was
nothing but a hound dog”, and my feet left the ground. “What’s this world coming to”, my mom said as
she literally played crack the whip and I was suddenly in another aisle. “You
would think that woman would have the decency to stay out of sight”, my mother exclaimed,
cracking the whip again. Turning my head
around to look behind me, with my feet still off the ground, I saw my first pregnant
woman. Wow. So much to digest, and then
came the 1960’s.
My mother, by the 1980’s, was a
devout liberal subscribing to Mother Jones Magazine. I was trading money for
houses and paintings, and Segarini’s was gone. Well, physically maybe. As long
as I breathe, my mother, the 50’s and Segarini’s Market will always be alive in
me. Thank you also Virgil, for taking the
time from your breaks, to make the neighborhood kids feel important. You are the
poster man for the best of a lost era.
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