The deal to keep Macy's in St. Paul expired on Dec. 31 at 11:59:59 p.m., and no doubt the company agonized over what to do next.
Sure, they could start demolition at 12:00:01 a.m., but there might be some security guys inside. Give it a day or two.
Are you surprised?
No. When I worked in St. Paul, we'd go to Macy's for lunch, and if you bought a pair of socks the manager would throw himself at your feet and clasp your ankles in gratitude. For the last three years almost half the cash registers were staffed with manikins; no one noticed. You know how some stores have clerks folding things to make them look neat? They had clerks walking around unfolding things to look as if a human being had drifted through in the last fortnight.
This is bad, though. The loss of a department store is always a punch in the heart. There are the jobs, first of all. There's the loss of retail for people who live and work in the area. And there's the history. Always the history. Cue the recollections:
"I remember coming down to the store with my Mom on the streetcar and seeing a color television for the first time. We had a popover in an elegant restaurant, and we heard JFK was shot. I know things change, but I still don't believe Oswald acted alone."
It's human nature: Even though the closing was as surprising as the return of Halley's Comet, it's change, and there's always sadness in loss.
Why, there was an old-timer shaking his fist when they knocked down a small store to build the Dayton's store: "By cracky, I remember coming down here on a donkey with my Ma to get horehound plague medicine, and we got licorice rock, which was what we called a stone dipped in tar and rolled in sugar. That's when I first saw a telegraph machine. Now they're tearing down the store, and I've additional reasons to be bitter, disappointed and suspicious of new things."