Welcome to Depew

My hometown has a population of around 550 people, not counting cousins who visit extended family members until their earlier transgressions subside enough for them to return home. The population of Depew, Oklahoma, America has neither swollen nor retracted to any noticeable degree over the past fifty years, but I prefer to use the cousin analogy. I would rather spin a story than recite dry facts.

I attended a class reunion a few years ago, after decades of avoidance. I remembered the hot summers that buckled the asphalt-covered streets, and the needle-like sleet on bitter cold walks to school in winter, and the urgency to shake the dust of my sleepy little town off my shoes. Not everything had been bad; in fact, I had good memories that bubbled up like a spring from time to time throughout my life. I simply was too busy with life in the present to want to revisit the past.

Then one of my classmates encouraged me to return for an anniversary reunion. In Depew the average senior class size is around 35 people, so the town and school throw a reunion every other year and all alumni are invited. Whether it was out of fondness for her or out of an overriding sense of curiosity, I gave in. I am glad I did. Enough time had elapsed since fleeing my small town to give me a chance to remember what I forgot I missed.

Depew has two blocks of Main Street. In the center of Main is the bank, a brick edifice with the same exterior as always but an interior that has been renovated over and over, depending on current use.

This town bank was built in 1910 and remained the keystone of the town until the bank closed 100 years later. The building was then occupied by the town council. They kept the murals painted inside on the walls and over the doorways, proving that you can never tell what sort of treasures are hidden inside a plain façade. The building was closed that day or I would have taken photos of them.

The Martin’s-and-then-Spangler’s Grocery Store boasted aisles of canned and dry goods, a full-service meat and dairy counter (where schoolchildren could buy cold cut sandwiches at lunch) and a produce section that was often stocked with fresh local produce. In Martin’s day it had a grand assortment of candy and a truly terrific selection of superhero comic books. The Spanglers acquired the middle shop next door, and this second area held everything from clothing to shoes to canning jars to new kerosene lanterns to bags of chicken feed and dog kibble. Out in front of the store were benches where retirees like to sit and recall their own ‘good old days’, or kids could sit and read their new comic books.

The little shop on the corner was once a bank but is now a roofless haven for sparrows and jays. At one time daily newspaper bundles were dropped off so the newspaper boys could ready them for bike delivery. It could have been torn down like other dilapidated structures, but everyone liked the old-time look of it so they scooped it out, boarded it up, and painted it to add charm to Main Street.

This appropriately identified little shop used to be sandwiched between an old auto repair garage and an independent automobile manufacturer now Event Center. The sandwich shop’s cozy little booths and home-cooked menu were a minor luxury for the townspeople, who splurged every now and then on a meal they did not have to cook themselves. It was the main hotspot for pre-Class Reunion gatherings.

The true gathering place of every small town is its post office. Depew’s is no exception. There is no hand carrier service so eventually everyone in town comes here. They get their mail, of course, but they also get that most welcome of bonuses: contact with their fellow man. A hearty greeting of “Well, I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age; how’s the family?” can kickstart a minimum of thirty minutes’ recount of all the latest doings, all the brags and all the woes since their last meeting. This conversation might very well continue if a third party approaches. This is where the heart of the town beats. Reminders of the next Garden Club meeting, school fundraising invitations and lost pet notices were taped to the glass windows periodically, and neighborly how-do-you-do’s rise and fall like a gentle rain on parched soil, and every bit as welcome and needed.

Another local hot spot was McKinzie’s, a hamburger joint in what used to be the town Masonic Lodge. McKinzie's served lunch and dinner and held a beer license and an outdoor patio for evening karaoke contests. Inside, the ceiling fans silently turned, and the wait staff kept iced tea glasses or coffee cups filled, while Clifton McKinzie joked with his many siblings who wandered in and out of the establishment at any given moment. It was the kind of place where you could join in on the joke and no one took offense, while you ate a deliciously tasty (and rather greasy) burger and fries. On pleasant summer evenings, the patio was lit by strings of decorative bulbs, like obedient little fireflies giving a warm golden glow to the scene. On rainy summer evenings in that warm glow, you could pretend you were anywhere you wanted to be in the world. Knowing you were relaxing at Clifton’s place was usually fine enough.

Depew hosts a classic silo-styled water tower, the kind that inspires endless writers to pen scenes of youthful hijinks. Depew’s water tower rises at the highest part of town, a block from Main Street – in a town this size, most things are only a few blocks from Main Street. It does receive its share of hijinks paint from the local pranksters, giving credence to the trope.

A friend of mine once visited Depew and after a careful study of the town, he gazed at the water tower and dryly remarked, “I suppose they light that tower every Fourth of July?”

“Not exactly,” I shot back. “Everybody in town gets lit on the Fourth.”

The town hospital is now a private residence. It closed in the middle of last century, and the renovation occurred in the mid 1970’s. The renovation was sumptuous and the hospital never looked better. There are no doctors, no medical centers, no clinics of any kind now. In my childhood Mama had bandage strips and mercurochrome in her own little clinic in the bathroom, just like every other family in town. I doubt much has changed since.

Looking out from the town Senior Citizen’s Center is a row of last century’s intentions. These two-story buildings once housed thriving businesses, and there are a handful of businesses still in operation. One is a small bar; another is a laundromat and a third is a storage building no one calls a junk shop because nothing is ever sold from it. Items are simply kept there until a time known only to the owners.

On this side of the street, the Senior Citizen’s Center is usually abuzz with retirees looking for some pleasant way to pass the time, maybe have a lunch. Senior Centers are less frequented than the Post Office but the potential for brutally honest opinions is exponentially increased.

Every American town usually has them: monuments to honor the sacrifice of our veterans. Depew’s version is a dignified piece of ground on Main Street, hallowed by the love and memories of the service families. It is one of the more well-designed memorials I have seen, and I do not say that out of blind loyalty to my hometown. I say it out of looking at the symmetry of the layout and the beauty of the stones, and feeling the gratitude and respect emanating from the site.

Some buildings, like the old Kohler Automobile Company, have been repurposed into attractive, useful businesses, such as the Kohler Event Center. Its redesign embraced the age and history of the building, resulting in a popular gathering place for family events and civic celebrations. Where cars were once manufactured, people are brought together.

Also in town are the remnants of yesterday’s economic times, a hard reminder that even proud buildings outlive their usefulness and purpose. This genteel erosion of the town’s pharmacy is such a reminder. Once upon a time, Depew was a bustling oil boom town complete with several stores, banks, bars, hotels, movie theaters, a hospital, and a pharmacy. When I first moved to Depew the pharmacy was closed up but still had its windows intact. When I peered in, I saw the long service counter with a row of padded stools along it, and behind the counter the wall was covered with empty glass shelves. The floor covered in small black and white hexagonal tiles, as proper pharmacies were decked out in the 1920’s. The windows have long since been replaced by painted plywood and the roof and all interior appointments are long gone. I see that blue sky beyond, and I do not feel sorrow for the times that will never return. I see that blue sky and realize that with every turn of destruction is the hope of rebirth.

My mother passed away years ago and our house was sold. I do not know who bought the house or who lives there now. It does not matter. The hometown I grew up in and the house where I lived are still in existence, only now they are making memories for others now. That is the beauty of a hometown. Hometowns create memories, memories that are captured in photographs that can transport someone to another time and place that only mean the most to the individual at hand.

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