The Great Woolworth's Panic

In the days when a bus ride was a nickel and Woolworth's was still called "the five and dime", we would stop there every day after school for a vanilla coke and a hamburger. We'd eat and then browse the comic book rack with it's superheroes and if the cashiers weren't paying attention even sneak a peek at the glossy movie magazines, complete with racy pictures and scandalous stories about the stars we loved. Getting caught meant getting tossed out but it was worth the risk. The sales folk were all chubby, elderly women in aprons who wore their hair in the same kind of tied back bun and carried reading glasses. Even when they scolded, they were kind and they knew all our names. They would often drop extra penny candy into our pockets if we'd been well behaved. You could buy almost anything at the five and dime - clothes pins, sewing supplies, sodas, stockings, tiny little battery operated toys, linens, nails, notions. There were paperback books, games, candles, fountain pens, and even a pet section with parakeets, hamster, guinea pigs and tiny white mice. It was the dollar store of the day, a jumble of goods and merchandise in no particular arrangement or order, unprotected by security cameras and watched over by only little old ladies in support hose. Knowing it was wrong and that the consequences would likely be severe, we let the mice out anyway.

They ran every which way, tiny claws making a scrabbling noise on the old floors and causing instantaneous and

widespread alarm. After the first shriek, panic spread though the aisles like wildfire and customers fled wildly.

We heard a number of unladylike curses mixed with the sounds of falling cake tins and screams and a clatter of wood as the broom, mop and stepladder display tumbled under the impact of a runaway shopping cart. There were thuds and crashes and more curses as customers scampered for safety - a baby doll, a Tiny Tears, I remember thinking, began to cry "Mama" and a tin of marbles overturned and cascaded down one aisle. Amid all the chaos, there was a sudden clanging of an alarm bell, like a fire drill, and sirens began to go off. Moments later, I heard heavy footsteps behind me and a none too gentle hand grabbed me by the collar and hauled me to my feet. An unhappy looking policeman with fierce eyes, a shaving nick on his broad chin and a clenched jaw glared down at me. What's all this, then, he growled and gave me a menacing shake, Just what do you think you're up to? His badge glistened and his name tag was so close to my face that it blurred in my vision. One hand rested lightly on his gun belt and I could see handcuffs attached to it. I knew my first real sense of terror and it flooded through me like a dam giving way, a rush of fear so violent and pervasive I imagined it would drown me before I could speak the words of confession that were swirling in my head, lost in a mixed up jumble of shame and regret and a sense of inevitable jail time. The officer cursed mildly and mostly under his breath then abruptly swept me up and over his shoulder and carried me to the front of the now deserted store. Telling me to stay put, he deposited me on the sales counter and recalled the sales ladies from the sidewalk outside. In they came, huddled together like a small swarm of bees, hushed and awestruck by the destruction of their workplace and walking timidly, wringing their hands, eyes rapidly scanning for the first sign of mice. This, the policeman said quietly, is what's going to happen. And he listed my choices for the offense of creating a nuisance and vandalism - apologize, catch each and every runaway mouse, restore order to the merchandise, and show up every day after day after school for thirty days to help out. Or, he tapped his fingers against his gunbelt, I take you in. The ladies gave a collective gasp and began protesting but he silenced them with a stern, narrow eyed glance. This is a very serious offense, he reminded them, this is how juvenile delinquency gets it's start.

It took the remainder of the afternoon to catch the agile mice and I was late to supper and had to explain arriving home in a police car - my mother didn't question that the officer had seen me running and taken pity on me and given me a ride as it was getting dark - and I pleaded not feeling well and escaped to my room without much notice. I spent the next thirty after school afternoons at the five and dime, sweeping and taking out trash, stocking shelves and washing dishes at the lunch counter. The sales ladies were quick to forgive and forget and in the end I learned a valuable lesson about accountability, a new respect for street cops, and a distinct dislike for mice. It was a one-of-a-kind lesson in growing up.