Old School Boston for the Girls

This came from a woman writer from the Melrose Post outside of Boston

Memories of a time gone by

Dear Santa,

This year all I want for Christmas is for you to take me back in time about 45 years so I can once again experience the thrill of the sights, sounds, gaiety, and hustle and bustle of downtown Boston as it was in the 1950's and 1960s. I don ’t need any money, I just need for you to re-wind time so I can run into S.S. Pierce to buy a few jellies or jams, walk through R.H. Stearn’s — or was it R.H. White’s? — and have a moment to stop to buy flowers from the vendor outside of the subway stop on Winter Street. I always meant to do that, but never did.

I’d also like to go to the original Windsor Button Shop on Chauncey Street to find a replacement button for my favorite coat and resist the urge to buy a new one at either Raymond’s or Conrad & Chandler’s instead.. Also, having the opportunity to buy something at the Jordan Marsh basement store on “Dollar Day,” or to once again see my aunt standing behind her counter selling Van Raalte lingerie would mean so much.

Please, Santa, if only for a moment it would be fun to return to the afternoon I met my girlfriends — where else but under the clock at Filene’s on the corner of Washington and Summer Streets — and once again laugh with them as heartily as we did when we invaded I.J. Fox to try on fur coats none of us could afford to buy. At the time we barely had enough money to go to the lunch counter at Kresge’s, Neisner’s or Woolworth’s for a hot dog, let alone to buy a mink. If we could do it again, I wonder if any one of us could — or would want to — purchase one of those now politically incorrect fur coats.

It would be nice, too, if before Christmas Day, instead of standing outside to meet someone, I could walk into Filene’s, get on the escalator and as the scent of the perfumes on the street floor fade away, have one more chance to look down at the breathtaking view below. The twinkling white lights wrapped around shimmering garland hanging in perfect loops from the tin ceiling and the decorated Christmas trees at every counter were more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen before or since. You were there, Santa. Do you remember that sight?

I don ’t want to appear greedy, but most of all I’d love to relive the evening I met up with my steady boyfriend — now husband — on the corner of Temple Place and Washington Street .

On that night in December 1965, we went down to Filene’s Basement and bought toys for our nieces and nephews. After we loaded up his car, which was parked on Temple Place in front of the branch of the First National Bank where he worked, we went up to Tremont Street and walked through the lighted Boston Common trying to decide where to have dinner. I’m a little fuzzy as to where we went, but I’m pretty sure it was either Dini’s on Tremont Street, or Café Marliave on Bromfield Street .

I know for certain that we didn’t go to Locke-Ober’s because, as you must remember, Santa, in those days unless Harvard won a home game against Yale, women were excluded from the main dining room.. However, where we had dinner doesn’t matter because even though it was cold and snowy, we ended our evening at Bailey’s to devour ice cream and hot fudge from not only an overflowing sundae cup, but from the silver tray underneath it as well.

If you can pull any of this off, I promise I won’t leave the past without bringing home either a blueberry muffin from Jordan Marsh or a couple of the famous almond macaroon cookies baked on-site at Gilchrist’s. Further, while I’m back in time I swear to you that when I drop a coin into the slot to release the latch holding the shopping bags at the entrances to most of the stores, I’ll be nice and not naughty. As tempting as it still may be, this time around I’ll make sure my sticky fingers take only one. Work your magic, Santa, because although I know I can go to Jordan’s Furniture to see the Enchanted Village, I’d rather take my grandchildren to its birthplace; the Jordan Marsh department store in downtown Boston.

Realistically, if I’m asking for too much, perhaps the next time I see you at a mall you could give me a wink and a nod just to confirm that you got my letter and that you too believe it was a wonderful life!

The youth of Boston will never know what they missed with the coming of the consumer age and it's probably better that way, because while you can rent happiness, you cannot buy it.

ps the photo is from my prom night