Benson Memories
Submitted by: Joe Watson
I grew up in Minne Lusa. A trip to Benson meant going to West Omaha. To us at least, although the sign on the appliance store near the post office still says, West Omaha Appliance. If I came to Benson with mom, Benson meant crowded busy sidewalks, window shopping, lot's of treat's for the senses, lunch cooking at the Diner with it's jukebox's at every table, doughnuts frying at the bakery. It meant the Hobby Shop, shoes at Haney's,(I'm not sure she ever bought shoes anywhere else) stopping in the five and dime, and finally to the drug store, where I got a quarter for candy. A quarter bought a lot of candy in those days.
Now, if I came to Benson with dad that meant Louis Bar. We would sit on the saddles along the back wall near the cowboy mural. That mural is still cool but could use a good cleaning. I'd get to play the jukebox, some BBQ potato chips and a Nehi. In 1957 Louis Market was the biggest grocery store in the city. It was crowded, bustling. We would pick up groceries for mom. I was not to mention stopping in the tavern. |
Benson column
Submitted by: Rick Padden
How convenient, yet lamentable, a place like Sam’s Club is.
Convenient, because nearly everything one might need can be found under one roof; lamentable because of what’s missing — people.
Oh, there are lots of people; the long lines attest to that. But I don’t know any of them -- and they don’t know me. As a boy, growing up in Benson, Nebraska (a suburb of Omaha), I remember going down to the little main street with my mom.
She’d go into the butcher store, where a man in a stained white apron would smile, greet her, and reach right for the pork chops. He didn’t have to ask her what or how many she wanted, because he knew her and her habits -- which matched the day she arrived. He’d wrap the chops in white paper and hand them to her, and then try to look busy – knowing that my mom was a talker. And I, knowing that my mom was a talker, would sneak away next door to the hobby shop. In those days, in a place like Benson, we didn’t worry about getting kidnapped, or running into weirdoes in raincoats.
I loved that store. It was my store, built, staffed and maintained especially for Ricky Padden. It must have been, for it contained every item I could ever have dreamed of wanting, and nothing else. It even smelled good. It’s where I got my kites, my balsa- wood gliders and my plastic model cars and glue. It’s where dad went to get me the Erector set.
Oh, there goes mom by the front window. She must be going down to the five and dime, which gives me plenty of time to check out the new trains (she knows tons of people at the five and dime). It’s across the street from the hardware store – the one with the creaky wooden floor and the missing knotholes that I like to peek down into. I wonder what’s down there? When dad goes there for more paint, the man at the counter knows the color, and he knows where the house is, and he knows dad would rather be up in Minnesota at the cabin instead of painting a house this summer.
I don’t recall anyone in the family ever complaining about walking the sidewalk to get from one shop to the other, even in cold weather. The ’55 black and yellow Pontiac would be parked right out in front of the butcher store, and would sit there half the day while we roamed around town shopping. No, we couldn’t buy everything in one building, like at Sam’s, but we could buy anything we needed in one neighborhood. The people we saw on those days were our neighbors, and it was nice that they knew us and we knew them. My wife and I live in an old building in downtown Loveland, and I commute to Estes Park to work at the paper. I’d consider moving here, but we live in a neighborhood that is like downtown Benson in some ways.
No, we can’t get our groceries there, or our paint, or kites, or motor oil or toothpaste, or socks or underwear, but there is definitely a neighborly feel created by the merchants. My wife owns and operates an antique shop there, and has a creaky wooden floor with knotholes in it. There is a shoe repair shop half a block away. I don’t recall having a shoe repaired in years, but since we live downtown now, I took a shoe in last weekend; cost me $3 to have it re-stitched. We’re doing the mom ‘n pop thing, living in the back of an old building, in an apartment I built with my own hands, from plans my wife drew up in pencil.
Last night we went to Sam’s and picked up household items and gifts that would have taken six or seven Benson shops to yield. Very convenient, very fast, very economical. But I miss the old downtowns, the family- owned shops, the corner drug store. At Christmas time it bothers me more I suppose, because shopping can be so much more pleasant when you know the merchants. I’d give up my membership card, and even the discounts, to see it go back to the way it was.
First appeared in the Estes Park Trail-Gazette |
Grund's Drug Store
Submitted by: MaryLou Noble
I attended Benson High School - graduating in 1956. One of my favorite memories was going into Grund's Drug Store to have a coke after school. Then, it was popular to have flavored cokes, such as cherry coke, chocolate coke, etc. We would sit at the little round tables inside, and discuss the days events at old BHS.
I also worked next door to Grunds, which was at that time - Larry's Shoe Store. That's where I met and later fell in love with my (late) husband Lou. His Dad was the owner, and so I guess you could say I loved my Father-in-law before I met and loved my Husband. |
