The Amazon Effect

The Amazon Effect

Malls are nearly empty. Supermarkets are losing money; some are merging. Everything from deodorant to furniture to milk is available on-line. I call it “the Amazon Effect.” Perhaps that is not the official name for the syndrome, but it seems to fit the situation: retail stores are suffering from the on-line market. Ironically, I wonder, “Is this really new?” Sometimes, I feel like I’m living in the 1940s when everyone ordered from the Sears catalog. Back then, ordering was a necessity. Most families preferred a brick and mortar store where the fashionable could “shop till they dropped.” Shopping wasn’t just for purchasing; it was a social event. Kenwood Mall near Cincinnati opened when I was a child. We thought it was the eighth wonder of the world. Certainly this topic could fill a book. I’m interested, however, primarily in the developments in the grocery business. We can order from the Amazon Pantry, or we may order from Kroger and pick up our purchases at curbside. Friends with large families who frequently pack three or four little ones in the car for a day at the supermarket are thrilled. No more temper tantrums in the aisles; no more bathroom stops during shopping; no more lost children; no more purchases of candy, ice-cream, toys and impulse items. Time saved! The small cost for the convenience out ways the disadvantages. But then I think back to my childhood. My mother did not drive. Even if she had become a licensed driver, she would still have been walking or taking the bus: we only had one car. Grocery stores (we didn’t call them supermarkets then) closed around 5 p.m. every day. In Ohio, they were closed on Sundays, a result of the “Blue Laws.” Saturday was the only day Dad could take Mom shopping. And Dad had better things to do—often with the entire family—than go food-shopping. The solution was simple: Call the local grocery in Silverton, Ohio (I believe it was White Villa, a two story boxy building right on Montgomery Road near Ohio Avenue), read off a list; wait for delivery later in the day. I have memories of Mom on the phone asking for a pound of ground round, a can of tomato puree, a package of spaghetti, flour, sugar, a cake of yeast, and a loaf of white bread. If she was short on cash that day, she’d say, “Put it on my tab.” Most days, she paid the delivery man in cash—always adding a generous tip. I learned my phone number and street address at age three by listening to her conversations with the grocer. Milk and cheese arrived daily from the “Milk Man.” A large insulated box sat by the back door and was filled automatically—without fail—a few days a week. The “Egg Man” delivered weekly. In the summer, a fruit and vegetable truck arrived on Wednesdays. It was the 1950’s version of the local farmer’s market—but it was portable; it came to us. My mother was an amazing cook. Mom was a rarity—she had graduated from college during the depression when few women had the opportunity to study beyond high school. Her college education focused on home economics, particularly cooking. My dad believed heaven smelled like a bakery. Mom must have been trying to please all his senses when she made yeast rolls, homemade Danish rolls, lemon meringue pies, cheesecakes, and chocolate rolls. She’d begin baking Christmas cookies around Halloween, making a new variety each day and carefully packing them away or placing them in the freezer. Plates of these festive cookies (crescents, turtles, cut cookies, drop cookies, pressed cookies, thumb prints, Hello Dolly Bars, chocolate drops, rum balls, buckeyes, and candy cane cookies) would be beautifully wrapped for gifts to friends, neighbors, relatives, and even the delivery people. I called her “The Queen of Christmas.” All the ingredients came from that little grocery in Silverton, Ohio. Then something happened. Suddenly, Mom, the little lady who was satisfied with the grocer in Silverton, discovered the new supermarket. There were products never imagined before: cake mixes, TV dinners, kiwis, black seedless grapes, frozen pot pies, ice cream flavors galore! “I’ve been missing out,” she announced. The supermarket had evening hours; and Mom had my sister, now a licensed driver with an old American Motors’ Rambler. Mom was a happy camper. What would Mom think about the shift back to the delivery days? Would she believe the world is moving in reverse?

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