My neighborhood had a new Target store open this past week; it’s a smaller, “curated” store which has nicknames such as “Son of Target,” Target Junior” and “Mini Tar-zhay.” It opened with no fanfare at all. Sign of the times, I suppose, but I remember when store openings were much different.
When our first regional mall in Cherry Hill opened in 1961, it was a major affair. Dignitaries were there. People wore nice clothing. They dedicated an engraved boulder (you read that right: a boulder with a plaque which still sits at the site). The mall, of course, had fountains and birds in immense aviaries, and to a child like me it was immense. Malls are still big, but people shop there in bum gear.
When the Target opened across the street from Cherry Hill Mall, on the site of a defunct RCA building, there were lines and special discounts and free donuts. It grew on a lot of us, and now is as essential as a gas station.
I don’t know what our mini-Target had. They opened quietly in a space which used to hold a Thriftway, a Super Fresh, a Clover, and a few long-forgotten stores of yesteryear whose names have been lost in their own dust. I only knew about it because the local paper announced it the next day.
Stores are having trouble because, as I’ve said before, it seems that we human beings can’t stand each other anymore, so we shop in private except when we need a loaf of bread or fresh underwear.
I’ll check out the new store eventually. It is, after all, bringing new life to a shopping center which was showing signs of inevitable decline, like a bleeding wound. Target, fortunately, is and sells bandages.
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