JULY 28, 2022 – You know you’re hearing from a codger when the story’s about the “good ol’ days” and bygone institutions such as . . . Matheny’s Corner Store.
Matheny’s, as everyone called it, was at the corner of Benton and Ferry—one street up from ours and two long blocks to the east. My earliest memories of the place were with our mother, who stopped there on the way home from running errands in bustling downtown Anoka. Before I could read, which wasn’t until first grade, Mother often sent me alone to Matheny’s to pick up a light bag of groceries—items that couldn’t wait for her next trip to the IGA supermarket at the Anoka Shopping Center, seven long blocks away, or the National Tea supermarket clear across town on the other side of the Rum River.
As a kindergartner, I had the drill down when it came to Matheny’s. To turn it into an adventure, I’d pretend I was taking the long way to China, which my older sisters said you could reach a lot faster by digging a hole. Once I reached Hong Kong, the only Chinese city I’d heard of, I dug Mother’s hand-written list out of my pocket and hand it to “Beryl” who worked the cash register and was the older sister of my oldest sister’s friend Connie. Because I couldn’t yet read, Beryl walked the aisles, with me in tow, to collect the things on the list. My job was to hold the jars of Sanka, pickles, and mayonnaise, as Beryl hunted them down and pulled them off the shelves.
Inevitably, there’d be a stop at the meat counter in the back of the store. There you’d always find Bill Matheny with his very bald and pointed head, which hosted heavy-rimmed glasses that made his eyes appear very large. A year or two after I learned to read, I remember, Dad mentioned offhandedly one day that Bill Matheny had been a star quarterback for the Minnesota Gophers. Routinely, Beryl told Bill that “Orrell [my mother’s name] needed a pound and a half of ground round ground twice.” On every walk home from China I’d get my tongue all twisted up trying to say “pound, ground, and round,” then one of them—I could never quite remember which—a second time.
Bill always ground the pound and half of ground round (twice), wrapped and sealed it, marked it with a think black marker and handed the package to Beryl. He was a nice man, who greeted everyone cheerfully. His elderly father, meanwhile, worked in the background, usually chopping a cut of beef down to size. Often I’d get to see him unlatch the heavy door to the meat locker adjoining the large butcher block and enter the big cooler for another cut of meat. I remember the sound of the door closing behind him. The locker had large windows, which eased my fear that he might get locked in without anyone knowing. (Cont.)
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
