In the days of the mid to late 1950's Mr. Deines still had the drug store. My childhood memories of him was of an elderly man with strong lens glasses, petite in build and he generally wore a white, neatly pressed shirt with suspenders to hold up his black trousers.
In the summers, large whirling fans above us blew our damp hair as we strolled with our mother through the isles looking at as much of the really neat things to purchase as we dared, most displayed in rows of beautiful dark wooden edged glass counter cases, of which our mother was afraid we'd touch and leave hand prints or nose prints of ours visit. In the back of the store were more of the same dark wooded cases, filled with bandages, iodine, and what us kids thought of as "yucky" stuff and hoped mom would not want some. Behind those cases, against the wall were shelves higher than I thought anyone could reach, filled with dark brown bottles of unknown sorts of medicines, which Mr. Deines would reach for when he needed to mix up medications for those who were sick.
I was always awed at his big beautiful gold cash register that made soft tapping noises as he rang up mom's purchases. My favorite place to stand while waiting for the purchase to be finalized, was in front of the comic book stand to look at the beautiful, brightly colored covers showing silly carton characters and wishing I could see more of what was inside.
When no one else was in the store, Mr. Deines would give my younger brother and I each a small sack of candy always containing a couple of our favorite choices while telling us we were such good children.
Pleasant Memories by Donna Merkel