For many decades, the southwest corner of Flicker and Catbird had been home to Donald’s Western Wear, but attrition ended that tradition. Founder Stanley Donald’s granddaughter Sylvia Donald Ward retired about 10 years back. With no buyer interest in the business, the building and lot were sold to Sheila Berry, who opened Tattoo Mania. Sheila, who is now Sheila Black Petrovich, continues to show a strong profit in that venture. In the end, Sylvia’s resources dwindled. There were the malls in Garfield, then the strip malls, then the big box stores. Finally commerce on the Internet strangled the store. This sad lament sounds like one of the country western ballads that would play continually at Donald’s.
Stanley and his wife Lucille started the store as young entrepreneurs in 1923. They ran the business, in the end with their son Wendell Ward and his wife Cybil, until 1957, when they turned it over to the younger generation. The son and daughter-in-law carried on very successfully until 2003, when Sylvia assumed ownership.
Traditions were strong and many in the store, floored in pine boards, which were regularly oiled with a mixture of linseed and cedar oils. That fragrance was powerful and stuck in customers’ minds. There was always fresh coffee in the percolator, not burned like you might find over at Wally’s Filling Station. Donald’s was a popular place for school shopping, in part because they kept their prices affordable. They also baked cookies all of August and adults to this day remember the tasty chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, and peanut butter cookies that were freely distributed to the squirming, impatient children headed for the fitting room.
During the Christmas season, Donald’s and the Chamber of Commerce would coordinate Christmas lighting ceremonies. On the given day, the staff at Donald’s would serve pastrami on rye sandwiches and root beer. Those in the know would walk around to the office, where they might likely be treated to a jigger of aquavit. One year it was slivovitz and during the World War II years it was homemade pear William. Donald’s treated customers with flair.
There was a memorable moment at Donald’s worth sharing. It was just after Sylvia took the helm. She was keeping an eye on things from the cash register, simultaneously ordering for the next winter season. Gus Chapman was over at the shirts, shopping. In walks Orin Holman, who is normally not a prideful man, but Gus had a way of egging even the most humble into embarrassing braggadocio.
While it may be beside the point both gentlemen served on the Warhaven City Council, and both were good at it.
When Orin walked up, Gus was preening, strutting in fact, before the mirror. He wore a specially ordered Chapman tartan pearl button shirt. Gus was very pleased. The plaid is primarily black and gray with white and subtle red highlights. Complementing the attire, he wore a bollo tie of obsidian ornamental clasp, red cord, and silver cord tips.
Orin stood by, appreciating the show.
Gus asked, “So what do you think, Orin?”
He says, “I think that outfit needs a hat.”
“A dunce cap maybe, with you acting so cock a doodle do. And by the way, Gus, do you know you left your trousers in the dressing room?”
“Maybe I do,” he counters. “Anyway, I needed the air.”
“I suppose so. It must get hot in there some days.”
Gus started back to change, but Orin called, “You know, I see that you’ve gone and special ordered. I bet you five bucks that I can pull something off the rack and look even more the dandy than you. What do you say?”
Sylvia had changed gears and was hearing all this, perking up into her saleswoman mode.
“Sylvia,” Orin called. “Would mind being the arbiter of a wager over here?”
Big old smile on her face, Sylvia approaches. “I’d be honored to assist.”
Orin placed his hand on her shoulder. “Could you aid me in finding the most dashing of shirts and the most regal of bollos?”
Well, this raised Gus’ attention considerably. Yet he felt his $5 were safe.
Not five minutes later, Orin stood in crisp Lee jeans before the mirror sporting an indigo blue western shirt with black pearl buttons. Around his neck hung a black string bollo, silver tips, highlighted by a large oblong piece of turquoise set in detailed Navajo sterling.
Orin’s smile was huge. He walked back and forth before the mirror, admiring Slvia’s haberdashery skills. “Well, madam, who is the fairest of them all?”
“It’s no contest, Gus. Orin’s the belle of the ball. Sorry, you’re last year’s model.”
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