And now some of us are 64? Will you still need me, will you still feed me…
Where the hell did all the time go? Have you listened to Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire” lately?
How appropriate that this center of our young lives was also on Route 66. It adds to the romance. We could, and did, walk here, but it was a long cement trek. It was very near to our high school. The Grandview Cinema (which would materialize about where the little floating sign suspends above) did not open with the shopping center; it was built a little later. There, we dated. We shopped at Penney’s. We stared into the mostly matte black windows of the Jet Lounge, and wondered what was going on in there.
The most evocative part of the picture above is what is surrounding Grandview Plaza: the pattern of houses. They marched on for miles. No one lived much differently than anyone else.
I begged my father’s new 1967 Le Sabre Convertible soon after I got my license for some unimportant task. Took that car top-down to Grandview, parked it and strolled around Penney’s. It wasn’t until looking for my keys on the way out that I realized they were left in the car. With the top down.
You can see the sign in this postcard in the lower left of the first image, across from the gas station. Image is sure more important now.
Much more fun to take the bus, changing once at the exotic Ferguson Loop and go to Famous-Barr in the Northland Shopping Center in Ferguson.
We’d save up our money, have lunch in the mezzanine between floors; there were drawings of women shoppers; angular, a mix between Audrey Hepburn and Barbie carrying hat boxes. Later, during the British Invasion, there was a shop for juniors mimicking Carnaby Street. You just had to use the bus to get that kind of fashion interface!
Glenn had his first accident in the area just under the Kresge sign. Years after this picture was taken, but we remember the Christmas candles on the roof. And it was Santa in the helicopter. This was probably the first year Northland did this.
Northland was destroyed in 2005.
My now thirty year old son was maybe six when he realized that my youthful world was not actually black and white. He was very perceptive. In a way, the sixties WERE very black and white.