Flea Circuses, Ping Pong Balls and Parachuting Santas
When shopping centers were fun — and funky
From the Mall Hall of Fame blog:
Some may deride the contemporary American shopping mall as a shop till you drop, cathedral of conspicuous consumption; a manifestation of our society's affluenza epidemic. … However, this was not always the case. In the early days, the typical mall-type center was markedly different than the modern model.
In the 1950s and ‘60s, the shopping mall was an ‘everything in one place place.’ …Tenant mixes were geared more toward middle market stores, providing things that people actually needed. Also, fashion shows, pageants and public events were held regularly, making the early shopping mall a true community center.
After reading another story about the drawn-out death of the American shopping mall, I thought back to the of my childhood. It was a strip mall, actually, but when it was built it was the biggest thing around, and a place of endless fun for a kid.
Until Springdale Plaza opened in 1959 everyone in Mobile went downtown to shop. Situated in what eventually became the city’s midtown, at the intersection of the Belt Line (I-65) and Airport Boulevard, two major arteries, Springdale drew shoppers from across the Gulf Coast.
I watched it being built. Our house was two blocks away; like our neighborhood, the shopping center was constructed on drained swampland. (That drainage project, undertaken by the city in the early 1950s, would be labeled an environmental crime today.)
One day when my uncle Richard was visiting, he, my brother and I decided to check out the construction site. Our dog Mitzi tagged along. Richard was only a few years older than I, so we were all just kids.
At one end of the main shopping center building we found a stairway leading to the roof, and climbed it. From there we made our way toward the other end. The roof was a convoluted affair, with different sections rising to different heights, so negotiating it took a lot of climbing and scrambling. We had to lift Mitzi over more than one firewall.
By the time we found the stairs at the other end of the building, dusk was falling and we were getting scared, wondering if we would be stuck up there all night. My brother cried. We eventually made it out and home, of course. Now I recall it fondly as an adventure.
We kids spent a lot of time at the shopping center after it opened. For one thing, it was the most interesting place my friends and I could access by bicycle.
The Hobby Shop was an especial draw; I saved up my money to buy scientific kits and Tom Swift Jr. books from there. My brother preferred toy guns. The Woolworth’s ran a close second for me. That’s where I bought my pet parakeet and the toys I overcrowded its cage with.
There was an Allbright & Wood drug store with a soda fountain, where you could pop a balloon containing a slip of paper with a price typed on it, in the hope of “winning” a banana split for just 3 pennies. The usual outcome was that you ended up having to pay the pocket draining regular price of 33 cents.
What really made Springdale exciting, though, was that its marketing wizards made sure there was always something going on. It was like the circus coming to town, only every Saturday.
Speaking of the greatest show on earth, for a mere dime I got to see a genuine(!) flea circus there.
One time someone was giving helicopter rides from the parking lot, and my brother and I went. This being long before the days of Google aerial views, it was a thrill for me to see our house and neighborhood from above for the first time.
I saw my first IMAX-like movie at Springdale. Inside of a domed structure set up for the purpose, we saw what I hazily remember as an extended Chevrolet promo. One of the sequences was from the point-of-view of a roller coaster rider. Sitting on a seat that tilted in synchrony with the action, I completely felt it. So did my stomach.
Local radio stations did remote broadcasts from the shopping center. When my heroes, deejays from the local teen station, WABB, asked me to hand out flyers listing that week’s top 40 songs, I treated it as a privilege and set about the unpaid work with enthusiasm.
I remember some guys in a glass-fronted tank demonstrating SCUBA equipment while goldfish supplied by Woolworth’s swam around them (I took home a free goldfish that day). I remember the stage hypnotist who demonstrated how a hypnotised woman stretched over the space between two chairs could be sat on by my, er, husky brother without bending.
Springdale Plaza went all in on Christmas, of course. One year a helicopter rained ping pong balls down on the parking lot and the gathered crowd; each ball had a number on it that corresponded to a prize or special discount from one of the stores. The sight of frenzied people madly grabbing at the bouncing balls was entertainment in itself.
Another time I watched Santa Claus sail over my house as he parachuted toward a field behind the shopping center. The word among my friends was that he died on impact or, maybe, just broke his leg, but to be honest I think that was a bit of fable making on the part of 10-year-olds.
If consumerism and the commodification of experience is spectacle, as Guy Debord and the Situationists (the only Marxists I find the least bit interesting) had it, then Springdale Plaza was … spectacular. Shopping centers and malls of more recent vintage have their events and promotions, of course — take your kid to see Santa and the Easter bunny — but they lack the carnival exuberance of having a fake jail built for “imprisoning” men who defy civic orders to grow a beard for a historical commemoration.
Springdale’s glory days began fading even before its first decade was out. A proper enclosed shopping center, Bel Air Mall, opened across the highway, providing stiff competition for shoppers and hanger-outers; air conditioning makes window shopping significantly more enjoyable in a hothouse climate like Mobile’s.
The nice old couple who ran the Hobby Shop retired or died. Woolworth’s left, and with it our primary source of both parakeet millet and paintings of children with big eyes. Years later, Gayfer’s, the locally based department store that anchored Springdale Plaza, eventually was sold to a national chain, as was the locally based Delchamps grocery.
The offbeat promotions and events became fewer and less offbeat. Instead of hosting a literal mini-zoo (where one of my friends delighted in shaking a Beatle wig to torment a poor monkey), the parking lot was given over entirely to … parking spaces. Springdale became just another place to dash into a store for something and then leave, rather than a festival-type destination.
Rechristened Springdale Mall following what appears to have been a half-hearted effort to enclose a part of its space, the shopping center lives on today, but it’s a dispiriting place. Chopped up and reconfigured a dozen different ways over the years, it’s now home to some of the same boring stores one can find anywhere. I can no longer even tell where the Hobby Shop used to be.
I gather, too, it has struggled at times to find and retain tenants, a problem the mall industry as a whole is dealing with.
For me, the symbolic final break with Springdale’s past eccentric glory and sense of locality was the removal of the Comic Cowboys plaque from in front of where Gayfer’s stood.
The Comic Cowboys is a Mobile Mardi Gras krewe whose floats satirize local politicians and offer rude commentary on the city’s scandals du jour. The Cowboys were said to have their headquarters deep in Wragg Swamp (ironically the swamp that was drained to make way for the shopping center) and this legend is what the plaque commemorated. Now even this little piece of whimsy is gone.
Why care about any of this?
It’s a cliché, a trite one, but true, that the only constant in life is change, which I fully accept. Yet I honor the memory because even the most trivial recalled events — ping pong balls raining from the sky, say — become a part of our life’s story.
Nostalgia is often denigrated, but according to some psychologists, it has mental and even physical health benefits:
“Nostalgia can also help us find meaning in life, build self-esteem, and allow us to focus more on being true to ourselves, rather than getting caught up in extrinsic standards; plus, it can make us happier. Interestingly, it’s as much about building a better future as it is the past … .” [Link]
“[P]eople who were instructed to write about a nostalgic event subsequently scored higher on measures of health optimism and health attitudes than those who wrote about ordinary events. The nostalgic group also increased their physical activity … .” [Link]
“The mental journey back through time adds a fourth dimension to the present. If mindfulness is the focal point of the Eternal Now, nostalgia forms a special continuum to the timeless past, expanding our concept of the self. The future may be vague, inchoate and unpredictable; but the past represents a finished whole that cannot be harmed or tampered with.” [Link]
Although Monachopsist (this Substack) has no fixed subject, I find myself frequently writing about events from my past. Drawing from the well of my own experiences ensures a unique perspective, if nothing else. I hope that by offering some universally applicable insights along with the reminiscing — such as, in this instance, the discussion of the value of nostalgia — I avoid boring my readers.
Time and memory fascinate me; perhaps they do you too. See here and here for other essays of mine touching on this.
In the meantime: I once saw a genuine(!) flea circus, and no one can take that from me.
Permission is given to republish this article with these provisions: 1. You must credit me, R. Stephen Smith, as the author. 2. You must include a link back to this page or to my home page.