To the Editor:

Market Street was the hub of activity in the 1950s in Potsdam. It was Potsdam’s modest version of “5th Avenue.”

On Market Street you could find wonderful one-of-a-kind stores independently owned by customer-focused entrepreneurs. There were stores like Harriett’s, Harold’s Men’s Shop, Herman’s Men’s Shop, Kaplan’s, Cowen’s, the Surprise Shop, Anderson Furs, and Lewis & Company which boasted a bridal salon on the second floor. There were two drug stores: McGowan’s by the first bridge and the grander B.O. Kinney’s further up Market.

There was also a bakery, Corbett’s and Carey’s Jewelry stores, two “Five and Dimes,” and a few restaurants, including the venerable “Towne House” with its white linen tablecloths. There was also the majestic Arlington Hotel at Market and Main and another big white hotel called the Albion around the corner on Elm. But best of all there was the Weston Book Shop where I would stop each month with money saved from my allowance (25 cents a week) to buy one of the Nancy Drew detective novel series.

On my trek home from the Congdon Campus grade school on Main Street to Diaper Hill, if I had some extra change on me, I would stop at the penny candy shop on Main near where the Clarkson Inn is today. The candy was loose in glass jars or bins. I would point out what I wanted, and the clerk would pick out my selections and place them in a small brown paper bag. Usually I asked for licorice sticks, Turkish Taffy, Mary Jane’s, Nik-L-Nip wax bottles filled with mystery liquid, or chewable red wax lips and black wax mustaches. Candy cigarettes in packs were a favorite too, as were bubble gum cigars in imitation cigar wrapping complete with a label ring. If you were really daring you might buy a peashooter to terrorize some deserving classmate.

Then if I still had money left over, I would walk down Market to B.O. Kinney’s and go to the soda fountain where I’d order a root beer float served in a glass placed into a metal holder with a handle. Along with that came a long, skinny spoon and a straw. I felt pretty darn grown up and special twirling around on a fountain stool all by myself.

Kinney’s was a magical place back then with an extensive, fragrant perfume counter where you could buy the latest Revlon Futurama case lipstick in the new and very popular shade “Fire and Ice” or “Evening in Paris” perfume in a midnight blue and silver bottle. Kinney’s was also the place where we bought our back-to-school supplies: three-ring lined paper, pencils, and a zip-around fake alligator skin notebook to hold the three-ring paper and maybe one small book too. There were no knapsacks then, but you could buy a long rubber strap with a buckle designed to hold your stack of books together for carrying.

But undoubtedly the most special place of all on Market Street was Calipari’s music store where I would stop in to look over the 45s on the rack of Top 40 hits and pick out something to play on the new “Hifi” my parents had just purchased. Usually it was a record I had heard on our one radio station WPDM (Con Elliott signed off at about 6 p.m. nightly back then; maybe a Brenda Lee (I’m Sorry), or a Chordettes (Lolly Pop), or a Monotones (The Book of Love), but most likely it would be Pat Boone’s latest hit (April Love maybe).

As an aside, there was a debate raging among us kids at the time about who was better: Elvis or Pat Boone? I was solidly in the Boone camp. My best friend Diane Lawrence considered Pat un-cool compared to Elvis the Pelvis. Our strong bond was able to overcome this rift eventually.

Having made my coveted purchases on Market, and maybe topping them off with a black & white cookie from the bakery, I would trek back up Market, turn at McGowan’s Drug Store, walk over the two gray sandstone bridges, cross over Maple, then walk through thick woods which required fording three streams rigged with narrow boards for crossing, finally emerging into the grassy clearing near my home on Diaper Hill.

Personal safety was not a huge issue in the Potsdam of the 1950s. Kids were carefree and roamed without fear. Potsdam was an innocent place to grow up--a sort of Camelot--and if there were any threats lurking out there, we weren’t aware of them. We were free to be little kids and that’s all that mattered in that time and place.

Sandy Sorell

Delmar