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There is no truth to the rumor that this author never leaves the confines of Caroline County. Why, only recently I was called to sit idly by while a loved one underwent a surgical procedure down in Salisbury. This was a repeat performance from a couple dozen months ago, and I spent the hours not in some stuffy waiting room but exploring. Part of that time involved a walking tour of the downtown.
Now, as a child of the eighties, I grew up on shopping malls and centers. It was only in the nineties that I started venturing to the old downtowns of Delmarva, eventually experiencing the majority of them. Most were in sad shape by then, with some remnants of the old stores still hanging on. Take Salisbury, for instance: the first time I really recall being on its downtown plaza saw me shopping in the Woolworth’s. During its going-out-of-business sale. Today? Just a vacant lot. There had been some great antique malls early in this new century, but they too are gone by now. It occurred to me that a roaming auditor for the state Comptroller’s office would be wasting their time to search the block for unpaid sales tax, for there is barely a retail good in sight. Stunning old storefronts stand broad-shouldered-and empty. Massive bank buildings, most with names still emblazoned upon the front, sit and wait. Once, behind their granite walls, in darkly paneled rooms, the captains of Eastern Shore industry built this place. I wonder who’s in charge now? Perhaps the newest bank building within sight, over near the medical office, sat deserted on my last visit and still was this day. I peered inside, at a spiral staircase and massive palm trees that somehow are only half-dead. Sometime, back when I was in high school, this was something to be proud of. On this particular day some workmen were installing fiber optic cables. I suppose it still has something to give.
The street through the heart of downtown had been closed off for decades, creating a pedestrian plaza. Eventually they gave up and opened it again. The cross streets on both ends bustled with traffic; people traveling elsewhere. On my walk, not a car one drove by. Indeed, I was the only one I spotted on foot. It might as well have been a ghost town. Much of the square yardage on those blocks is now taken up with parking spaces; most seem to stay empty. I’d love to have seen what was razed to build those lots.
Having much time to kill, and no shops to venture through, I jumped in the SUV and puttered around a bit. There are a couple fine seed and feed stores within a stone’s throw, both with a fine selection. I bought a couple odd pieces at the Habitat Restore. There is a harbor of sorts, up north of business route 50, and tugboats still bring barges up there to be unloaded. There’s something very special about that, something that doesn’t get talked about much. Centuries pass and still, our land’s original highway is in business. The streets in that part of town have some odd curves, partly because they were laid out around railroad spurs. One of those catches my eye: I suspect it hasn’t held a steel wheel in my lifetime, but still at the ready it sits.
I went to an antique mall, over on business route 13. I tried to imagine what establishment had once thrived there; were I more outgoing I would have asked if anyone there knew. Certainly, they should care about the past. As I walked through the door there was a fine display that included a few vintage hats. Now, I lingered there. One of my myriad hobbies is participating in old time radio plays with a group way over yonder in Sussex County. When we do shows in public, I’d really like to look the part, but as of yet none of my hats quite fit in. A good friend gifted me a Panama but it’s several sizes too small. Slowly I’m working on enlarging it; alas, most that I find seem to have this problem. I like to think my head grew to its current circumference thanks to the Flintstones vitamins I took as a kid, and not from any swelling as an adult! Anyway, in this display was a dandy Stetson Fedora that fit alright. I put it on. I took it off. I came back and did it again. A third time, I picked it up, ambled over to a mirror for sale in another booth, and took a look. I just wasn’t quite sold.
Our radio group, for Valentine’s Day, did a production of Our Miss Brooks in which the women of the cast were snookered into some unnecessary purchases by a charming salesman. The gentlemen of the case snickered at them, until they were equally duped by a cunning saleswoman. Let it be known: had the lady behind the counter at the antique store fawned over me, brushing my ego with talk of how ruggedly handsome I was in that tan Stetson, it would be mine now.
But she didn’t say a word.
No, they don’t sell much down there these days. You know, they call it the capital of Delmarva. I know folks who would call it a small town, but it looks more like a small city to this old boy. And I hope some of what they got never makes it over our way. Or...is it already here?
Back downtown, with just a bit more time to waste, I noticed a branch of the county health department. Ah, yes, the good old gummit, ready and willing to fill up any vacant buildings around town. I often wonder where all those folks used to work? I digress. The taxpayers of Wicomico County (and likely us up here, too) paid for a modern LED display out front. It reminded those passing by to contact them if you were pregnant and in need of dental care; it spoke of Black History Month. Oh, and one more thing. It let everyone know that February was...National Condom Month. Nice, brightly colored examples, too. I thought of some random seven year old girl, in the backseat of an SUV, asking mom & dad just what...or am I caught in another time? Oh, don’t you suppose they already know? Either way, how sad. How very, very sad. I wonder if anyone even bothers to bat an eye, anymore. I wonder what the men who used to sit upstairs in those banks, wearing Fedoras bought downtown, would say?
