Next door to Crook's corner grocery was the first of the Davis Hardware stores on my block. Its windows were drab, unwashed and unattractive. There were no beautiful posters or lights--or anything I wanted--but--what the Davises had that I liked were three kids, Harry, Florence and Adele, known as Delly. Mr. Davis had Mrs. Davis, one of Mama's Saturday go-to-visit friends. The store had shelves piled high with Dutch Boy paint and bin after bin of nails, bolts and screws. The wooden floor was rough and full of splinters. There were saws, hammers, ladders, plungers and PUTTY-wonderful putty. Sometimes Mr. Davis was very nice and let me have an oily piece. I can still feel its graininess. It was better than modeling clay and was free. Mama got angry when I got the grease on my clothes but that didn't keep me from asking Mr. Davis for some.
The Davises lived up the street from their store. Four marble steps (creamy and veined) led to their vestibule. Inside, to the right, was the living room with shutters almost always closed so the dark brown sofa would not fade. Delly and I were never allowed to stay in there. As many times as I played in that house, I can't recall anything else about it other than the cellar. Because Delly could use her mother's clothes lines running from end to end down there, we strung our 'show' curtain on them and the cellar became our theater. True, it smelled sour and was kinda dark, but we didn't care. Our costumes were beautiful (made of crepe paper that sometimes faded on us), towels and old clothes. We sang; we danced; we became movie stars, comedians, acrobats. Giggy did her expressive recitations that were really good (she took elocution lessons once a week). I was jealous and wanted to be as cute as she was, have curls like she had. Admittance was one pin or one button. If the show was extra good we charged one cent.
One day we charged a pin AND one cent. I was the Star.
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