The magic began about six weeks before Christmas. It came in the mail.
A thick, heavy tome was squeezed into the mailbox, and it was filled with all the wonderful things in the world that kids might want - or not even know they wanted until they saw it.
Shawn RyanIt was the Sears, Roebuck and Company Wish Book, the annual pre-Christmas catalog that was full of ideas for presents. Sure, it was a shamefully materialistic - and very smart - move by Sears to get kids all over America to start turning down the corners of pages so Mom and Dad would know what to buy.
I heard a piece on NPR a few weeks ago that discussed how the catalog of the Chicago-based Sears was a major participant in the drive to racial equality and civil rights. In the early 1900s, when Jim Crow laws were keeping a foot on the neck of blacks in the South and elsewhere, the catalog offered a work-around. Instead of being turned away when trying to shop at some white-owned businesses, blacks could order items out of the catalog that were the same items that whites could buy.
Yes, that infuriated racists at the time, who sometimes held bonfires to burn the catalogs. Good. Let those people sweat. Let them feel panicked. Let them be fearful.
But back to Christmas. I remember the holiday visits to the Sears store on Ponce de Leon Avenue in Atlanta. To say the place was gigantic doesn't come close. It seemed to be floor after floor after floor of stuff; escalators carrying you up into what felt like the lower reaches of the atmosphere where Christmas trees, lights and cheer all lived.
And there were these mysterious "Dings!" that came over the intercom system every so often. I had no idea what they were then and, while I've been told they summoned managers and others to various parts of the store, no one I've talked to is 100 percent sure that's true. But the dings remain in my memory.
All this gazing down Memory Lane comes as a result of the continuing collapse of the Sears franchise; it filed for bankruptcy on Oct. 15. At its peak, it had more than 3,500 stores in the U.S.; now there are a little more than 500. While Walmart and Amazon increased the speed of Sears' decline, so did its terrible business decisions, many coming after it was bought by Kmart in 2004, and many led by its sense of entitlement and arrogance.
I confess that I've only been in Sears stores a few times in the past few years, mainly to buy tools or lawnmowers. But I can keep the memory of that big, fabulous Wish Book showing up in my mailbox a few weeks before Christmas and the excitement it brought. And I can remember that big, beautiful store in Atlanta and the dings heard every so often.
Thanks, Sears.
Contact Shawn Ryan at mshawnryan@gmail.com.