The fact that the hardware was owned and operated by my family does not alter the fact that the hardware store was the most interesting business place in town. It had loads of interesting stuff. This was a business that had been in continuous operation since the 1890’s and except for the 1953 addition to the south and the refurbish of the front façade to add brick facing, large display windows and a canopy, it was little changed in 40 years.
It was purchased from Stark & Anderson in 1916 by my grandfather and his Nelson brothers-in-law, hence, “Hoplin & Nelson Hardware”, although initially it was called Lowry Hardware, Furniture & Machinery Company (and Undertaking), although undertaking did not appear on the letterhead. Small town diversification principles suitable for a Harvard Business School case study. Here you could buy nails by the pound, a single screw or bolt if that’s what you needed - in hundreds of size/length combinations, a hog trough, a manure spreader, a vice grip, udder balm, bailing twine, a 4-10, dynamite, a Schwinn bike, a gopher trap, a P-trap, a pitchfork, a shotgun can, a can of paint - and linseed oil to stretch it, Melmac dishes, a spatula, a depression glass bowl, a Maytag ringer washer, ... and have your broken window or torn screen repaired while you waited. Or a coffin. And you could charge it without having a credit card. This was full service hardware, open 7 a.m. to 6 p.m. Monday through Saturday - except for closing at 3 p.m. on Good Friday and Christmas eve. Customers didn’t worry whether something was in stock. They knew this place would have what they needed – or, if not, some kind of workaround.
In the late 40’s, the undertaker business had been spun-off and was thriving in the county seat, if thriving is the right word to describe a funeral home. A successful spinoff a la Happy Days & Laverne & Shirley. Also, in the late '40s, a sister store was established - Hoplin & Nelson, Brandon - the town where the Hoplin and the Nelson immigrants landed, from Norway & Sweden respectively. The two stores were pretty much carbon copies but the Brandon store was new, roomier and more well scrubbed than the Lowry version.
The hardware was also an institution of learning. People didn’t come in just to make a purchase, they needed instruction as well. A trip to the hardware store was a chance to be educated on the intricacies of plumbing or electrical wiring or how to deploy ditching dynamite.
“How much paint does it take to cover a 9 x 12 bedroom? Should I be using latex or oil base?”
“Do I need the ½ or ¾ inch galvanized roofing nails.”
“Why is this green baling twine better and why the heck should I pay an extra 50 cents for it?"
Or scarier - “How much fuse should I use for this ditching dynamite?” “Depends on how fast you can run” was the stock answer.
One unfortunate dynamiter tried getting rid of his mongrel dog with a stick of dynamite tied to the tail. Effective, but the dog ran under the front porch. Back to the hardware store with a side trip to the Lumber Yard.
It was like a dime novel – every customer with their own story, arriving looking forlorn, holding pieces of a P-trap or wondering whether it they needed 14-2 or 14-3 UF or NM wire to hook up that light in the chicken coop. And by the way, how do you do that? And frequently, the desperate phone call at 5:55 pleading for the store to stay open – “I’ll be there in 20 minutes. I’m out of fuses and I’ve got cows to milk.”
But perhaps just as important, a trip to town afforded an opportunity pick up a bit of local “information”. This was a little different forum than the restaurant, less raucous, less public, more subdued, with the conversations usually involving Martin or Dave and one or two customers at a time. The customers were mostly men but Marian was there to help the ladies and she knew her stuff – she was actually the “handyman” of the crew. She generally handled assembling the hog troughs & bicycles, cutting glass and repairing broken windows and torn screens. I learned some valuable lessons about attitude from her – the willingness and fearlessness to tackle new tasks with the confidence that “we can figure this out”.
The hub of the action was the nail counter holding a dozen or so bins with nails of the most popular sizes built to hold a full keg. The nail scale, the rolls of wrapping paper, bag racks and the cash register sat atop the counter. Here was where the banter from the customers occurred. And I was amazed that Martin never had to use an adding machine, even when the charge list spanned pages.
The most imposing feature of the store was the north wall, a massive hand built oak cabinet structure with doors and drawers and cubby holes that held items for sale whose purpose was often a mystery to me, but endlessly interesting to explore. “What’s a zerk and why are there so many different kinds?” “Why do you need a dynamite cap? And why are they locked up?” I also innocently provided entertainment by asking what I thought were well reasoned questions like “What’s a ballcock for?” “Why are they called male and female couplings?” No answers, just chuckles. The north wall also had a wonderful oak ladder that rolled on a track and allowed clerks to climb to the upper reaches of the wall to retrieve the low demand items stored there. And it was taken for a ride along the rails quite regularly.
At the very back of the store and up three steps was the office, a tiny 10 x 12 space with a classic rolltop desk, a wall safe, ledgers, and the posting machine. Almost every hardware purchase was on credit and the daily routine included posting charges to the accounts of the patrons.
Here was where checks were written – to United Hardware, FOK, Janney Sample Hill, making sure that payments were made by the 10th so the 2% discount could be taken, the monthly payroll, Lowry Telephone Co., NSP, etc. And generally a daily bank deposit prepared and hand-delivered across the street to the Lowry State Bank. It was also where the traveling salesmen presented their wares and got their orders taken. No computerization - face to face.
But the visible part of the store was only the half of it. The upstairs held the seasonal merchandise, stashed away until its due time. The most interesting seasonal merchandise was the Christmas merchandise, that is, toys. In Lowry, odds were you could scout out your Christmas present in advance by visiting the hardware store in December. The electrical shack out back had all kinds of curiosities that the electricians seemed to have some use for. The gas dock held dozens of 100 lb. tanks of propane that could be delivered to your farm or residence. Or you could return the empty and load the refill in your truck yourself and save the dollar delivery fee. The main warehouse across the alley held the big stuff that took up too much room to display – conduit, soil pipe, and appliances.
The empty lots to the north and south held the farm products – manure spreader, hay rake, hog troughs, chicken waterers and the like. The store offered the "Minnesota Line" of farm equipment, rakes and manure spreaders assembled at the state prison in Stillwater, along with treated and untreated baling twine, also courtesy of the prison population
The empty lots to the north and south held the farm products – manure spreader, hay rake, hog troughs, chicken waterers and the like. The store offered the "Minnesota Line" of farm equipment, rakes and manure spreaders assembled at the state prison in Stillwater, along with treated and untreated baling twine, also courtesy of the prison population
And, then there was the dynamite shed, a tin shack behind the store with sandbagged walls and a padlocked door, holding several cases of 40%, 60% and ditching dynamite. In those days, farmers used a lot of dynamite for blowing drainage ditches, removing rocks or tree stumps from fields – it was just part of farming. I never heard of any injuries other than to pride when some dirt clogs rained down on the explosive experts who were crouched behind the tractor - a case of being a little too close to the action. There was a second similar but larger structure a couple miles out of town holding the bulk of the dynamite supply. I guess a half a dozen cases of dynamite in the middle of town wasn’t considered a serious threat to public safety. There was never a theft that I knew of.
I cannot testify as an eyewitness to this story, but I have it on good authority that Dave, being a creative practical joker, challenged the town’s braggart marksman to a shooting contest and set up bales of straw with targets in a farm field. Except, behind the braggart’s target there were several sticks of dynamite – with some resultant entertainment value for the watching crowd.
Another interesting feature of the place was the burning barrel. This was a 6-foot high barrel on the back lot, positioned on a metal grate and its fires consumed everything combustible, especially the hundreds of cardboard boxes that brought the freight to the store. There were some amazing flames from that contraption. The grate was raised so air could get to the fire from below and it burned hot and high. Put the fear of hell into me.
Every year between Christmas and New Years was inventory time. For tax purposes, every item in the store and its warehouses had to be recorded and priced. Invariably the weather turned bitterly cold, so the outside work was brutal. At age 10, I was given the job of counting the items in all the drawers and leaving a slip of paper with the total so someone could come along and record it. 76 #10 wood screws. 64 boxes of 22 long rifle shells. Six 1 ½ x 4 nipples. 42 feet of canvas webbing. Deadly boring stuff, but a lesson in stick-to-it-iveness. And Uncle Dave usually saw to it I got a few bucks to put toward my baseball card habit.
I’d like to believe the place had the makings of a good sitcom. At least as good as Cheers.
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