The thumbless man and other childhood memories

One of my coworkers grew up in the same neighborhood as I did, around the same time. The area is nice, but it happens to be near one of the seedier thoroughfares in town. The street was originally one of the major highways through the city and it still has remnants of 40s and 50s roadside architecture--swooping neon signs, an abundance of glass block, gas stations whose Mod design Starbucks tries to emulate in its free-standing 'burban stores these days.

It's amazing, the things my coworker and I can conjure up from the glory days of Summer Avenue. There was the Dolly Madison factory with the big Snoopy on top. (Building still there, but Snoopy got blown away in a big storm in the 80s. No longer DM factory, either) Dottie's Shoes (now home to my favorite Mexican diner), a local forerunner to Payless, which had an inordinate number of clear-plastic high heels. The first-ever Holiday Inn, razed in the 90s and replaced with a funeral home. Skateland, a rink that had been declining since the 70s, but with a cool neon sign of a white-booted roller skate with wings--its tagline, "Skate for good health." The Imperial Lanes bowling alley where smoking is still very much allowed; all the employees stand around the front desk puffing away. It's also the scene of a yearly bowling party for my office, which originated from my boss's kitschy in-joke with himself.

And let us not forget, next to Lanes, the stately Admiral Benbow Inn, scene of several televised ("breaking news!") dramas and many more quiet ones.

Most of these places are gone or changed forever now. Except for Dottie's Shoes (since I'm addicted to the restaurant that now stands there), I don't think about them more than once every few years. It takes a fellow-rememberer to bring them back into existence for just a few moments.

Shabby, mundane spots like this would be overlooked completely if it weren't for childhood memory. Most adults would consider Skateland an eyesore and probably forget about it forever. Goodness knows I don't have the time to notice most of the quirks that pass my windshield every day. When I was five or six, I spent an early morning in the airport in Guam eying a thumbless man. The stop was a routine thing b/c we'd fly to see my family on the other side of the world every summer. The Guam airport was tiny. In fact, I remember only one small room. Did we take a jumbo jet (the kind with the 2nd floor cocktail lounge accessed by spiral stairs) to Guam? All I remember is watching dawn light filter through navy blue, streaky clouds, and talking to a man who was missing part of his thumb. I pretended not to stare, but took long looks when I thought he wasn't watching. I think I finally did ask him how he'd lost it, and he willingly told me. I've forgotten his story, too.