General Store Stocks Memories
On the north wall of Harrison’s Brigman Building, a blue sign with black, gold-tinged letters reads “Harrison Trading Company” and, underneath, “Groceries - Hardware - Hunting and Fishing Supplies - Beer - Wine - Ice.” That’s only a fraction of the goods inside, ranging from steel roofing (a special order item) to escargot (on the shelf).
Joan Cornell, in a day of mushrooming mega-operations, runs a country general store, a type of business that is fast vanishing from the American scene.
Once, customers ran charge accounts, bought tools, seed, clothing and almost all other necessities. Step off Harrison’s (population 260) Main Street and into Harrison Trading Co.’s 3,200 square feet and move back into that time. The bell overhead jangles as the door swings open. Joan or one of her three clerks will greet you with a smile and by name.
The command center of the store is the counter just inside the door. Grab a minibasket and wheel it to the left. You’ll find a cash machine and a copier. Farther along is paint; higher up hang shovels, rakes and picks. Below are pipes, plumbing and electrical supplies. Shelves hold hand tools, nylon rope, reels of chain and hoppers of nails. So much in a small space.
Then come the freezers filled with ice cream and frozen steaks and TV dinners. A delivery man whose name just happens to be Tony restocks the supply of frozen pizza, wiped out by the boat crowd over the weekend. He says he services small groceries all the way from the Canadian border down to Lewiston, driving the back roads. He pauses to volunteer, “It’s a nice clean store - one of the nicest little stores on the route.”
The next aisle displays a variety of current video rentals across from the dog and cat food. Down another aisle, Joan is helping a customer up from the marina on the lake find an antihistamine to curb a sudden allergy attack.
Wheel your cart up the last aisle where tuna, beans, Spam, Chinese food and Mexican food form a cultural mix along with the more exotic anchovy pate and escargot.
Up front, you can pour a cup of French vanilla coffee or if you’re starved, pop a frozen sandwich into the microwave. While Joan or Debbie rings up your purchases she’ll likely check up on your activities and general health and offer to carry a heavy sack to your car.
Twenty-one years ago Joan and her husband, John, bought the brick building, a former hardware supply, and together ran the grocery across from the Harrison city park. The partnership ended little more than a year ago when John died, the victim of a fast-moving cancer. Customers remember John for his neon shirts, friendliness and fine sense of humor.
With a chuckle, Joan tells about the time a casual customer, a woman, came in when John was behind the counter. “She flipped up her T-shirt above her head, and … well …” Joan pauses, “She had nothing else on.”
What did John do? “He laughed. He thought it was funny and made some appropriate remark. You couldn’t shock him.”
The past year hasn’t been easy, but Joan managed this past June to edit and print The Harrison Trader, a monthly publication.
Does she like her business?
“Oh yes. I love it,” she says smiling. “It’s hard work but I like it.”
What about it does she like particularly? “The people,” she replies without hesitation.
You can believe it. Harrisonites tell stories such as the time Joan and John filled the kitchen shelves of a single father who was out of work.
Shopping done, you gather together your purchases and head out the door. The bell jangles behind you.
True, the merchandise was different at the general store you remember - if you’re old enough. But the spirit is the same. You come away with the feeling of being part of a community.
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