Mervyns is closing? There goes the neighborhood!

It will always be Albert’s to me. There was a short alley behind the store where we filed in promptly at 8 a.m. to pull our stiff manila time card out of a slot and snap it into a large, metal paper-eating box on the wall. Sam and Harry Grossman were already there, dressed in dapper, tailored suits. Sam was the handsome one — a ladies’ man — and Harry was the older brother and the more serious of the two. They never spoke to me. They made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

I was 16 years old and settled into a full-time job after several humiliating experiences as a secretary. I worked upstairs in the office as a file clerk where I sometimes fell asleep in a small room while keeping customer cards in alphabetical order (and disorder). The office was efficiently run by a tall and charming lady named Irene Huddart. She was kind to all. The chatter of the few ladies was constantly interrupted by the banging of pneumatic tubes. These metal cylinders opened with a twist to spill out cash and a sales slip. No cash register or money was downstairs on the main floor. If a customer’s purchase amounted to $10.30, $15 could be sent up by powerful suction to the office where an employee would send change back to the department from where it came. Some of us younger fools used to send notes to each other from one department to another.

Downstairs was a lovely lingerie department, managed by Ruth Arnitz and staffed by the prettiest and most elegantly dressed young women in the store. This is where you mostly found Sam Grossman. In the center of the main floor was a fine yardage department, managed by Mr. Gunn. He invited favorite customers to touch and feel the fabrics while he touched their hands with a gentle, “accidental stroke” and a smile. The men’s department was lorded over by one known only as “Kingfish.” He had red hair, was impeccably dressed and wore a tailor’s measuring tape hanging from his shoulders. He looked like a Mafia member to me and the buzz was that he had a “reputation” but I never knew what it was. There was a ladies’ hat department, jewelry, fine dresses and suits on the main floor. Upstairs was a shoe department and housewares. My mother liked to buy pretty “house” dresses there. They were gingham with embroidery here and there, with pockets for picking up stuff around the house. I still have one of my mother’s; I put it on in the afternoon when my work is done and my jeans are too tight.

My salary was a grand total of $36 every two weeks but I never got that. The store custom was to deduct anything “charged” during your pay period from your paycheck. If you think that was pitiful, au contraire. Some of you may remember that a small loaf of bread was five cents, a large loaf seven cents, 12 cents for a movie (10 cents, plus 2 cents war tax) and dinner at the Napa Valley Inn was $1.99. Mom and dad’s rent was $32 a month for a cute little house in Alta Heights. Mr. Fred Jekell apologized when he raised it to $35.

Well, eat your heart out! There will never be another Albert’s. I like to think of it as Napa’s answer to the British comedy series, “Are You Being Served?” Gone but never forgotten!

(Ciapponi lives in Napa.)ꆱ