Sears and Roeb(ankr)u(pt)c(y)k

Although the name was officially "Sears, Roebuck and Co.," my memory insists on "Sears and Roebuck." Founded 132 years ago as a mail-order watch company, it eventually became the Amazon of its day, selling everything from tombstones to barber chairs to wigs to build-from-a-kit houses.

And this week, the struggling company filed for bankruptcy. It will close 142 of its remaining 700 stores.

Those of us who are now at a certain age have some fond memories of Sears. Although the yearly arrival of "The Big Book" (the company's merchandise catalog which grew to over 500 pages in the good years) was an exciting day in American households, it was nothing compared to the arrival of "The Wish Book," Sears' Christmas catalog. Like many kids, I spent hours and hours pouring over that catalog, making my Christmas list. Although my memory can be faulty, I recall that my mother gave me a limit of $100 to select my gifts. We were not well-off by any means, so I question if I have that number right. One hundred dollars times three kids . . . where would my parents have gotten that kind of money? Oh, wait. I forgot. Santa!

The joyful task of making my list became a math exercise as well. I tried to choose items from the various sections of the catalog, making sure to include a mix of toys, puzzles, books, craft kits, and clothes. Tweaking the list to meet the magic number of $100 was a time-consuming exercise. I didn't dare go over the limit, but I also didn't want to leave any money unspent. On Christmas morning, I found everything I asked for under the tree.

While I can recall certain gifts from that time (like my Royce Union 24" two wheel bicycle in 1957), one that stands out was the Ideal Toy Company's "Mr. Machine." No, I did not put "Mr. Machine" on my wish list. But my brother did. The popular toy came out in 1960. I was ten, and my brother was five, much too young to put together the 44 plastic pieces that would turn the kit into a walking robot. (The clear plastic body allowed you to see the working gears!) To this day, I can still sing the advertising jingle:

Here he comes, here he comes, greatest toy you've ever seen
And his name is Mr. Machine
He is real, he is real, and for you he is Ideal
And his name is Mr. Machine
Mr. Machine, Mr. Machine, Mr. Machine!

And to those of you in my age group, I apologize for the earworm.

Anyway, Mr. Machine was like a bonus gift for me, getting to assemble it for my little brother.

By the late 1960s, Sears was no longer "cool." Their dungarees just couldn't compare to hip-hugger bell bottom jeans available elsewhere. Aside from the ever-popular Kenmore appliances, modern Americans began to eschew Sears for JC Penney, WalMart, and eventually, whatever new and hip retailers started up.

So it isn't a surprise, really, that Sears has filed for bankruptcy. And of course, that doesn't mean that the company will disappear. It's still there . . . but for how long? Of course, the demise of this great American retail institution does not affect me in any way, except for evoking some nostalgia that is, if nothing else, wistful. It harkens back to another time, long before this country became what it is today . . .

And you were thinking this would be a non-political post, weren't you?