Toyland

I can pretend that I am still 26, or even 56, but, of course, I am not, and I know it.  Then something on the landscape of life changes, and reality opens my eyes with one quick blink.  This time it was the announcement that F.A.O. Schwarz is closing its store.

At the very beginning, I would like to clarify two things.  First, I am well aware I am far, far too old to be interested in toys of any kind.  Secondly, there is no blood relationship between me and Frederick August Otto Schwarz or his family.  Still my heart sank this weekend when I heard the fabled store was closing in July.

The F.A.O. Schwarz company became a part of my life the year I was 12.  One hot August afternoon, my Mother and her friend, Emily, answered an ad for office workers in the F.A.O. Catalog Division located on the very same street where we lived.  They were hired immediately.  Until then I had never heard of F.A.O. Schwarz, but since one of the perks of Mom and Emily’s employment was the purchase (for a miniscule amount) of damaged or returned items, it soon became a household word.

Being 12 in those years in Hell’s Kitchen also meant you had left childhood and were close to becoming a responsible adult.  On a personal level it also meant I would not be given any of the incredible toys Ellen, my younger sister, soon acquired  In the interest of truth I must say I was always given something of equal value, but not a toy.

Of all the gifts Ellen received, the one I remember most was the doll house.  If I close my eyes I can still see it, a miniature wooden replica of Tara, Scarlett O’Hara’s fabled home in “Gone With the Wind.”  I dearly loved my sister, but I also truly coveted the doll house.  It didn’t matter that I had also been given a gift, a green leather case containing all the accouterments required for a professional manicure.  Despite being on the brink of adolescence, the doll house was what I wanted, and of course, it wasn’t mine.

Shortly after the manicure set was opened, and I performed my first self-inflicted manicure, the gift became the cause for an emergency trip across the street to Roosevelt Hospital.  I wasn’t a masochist, but totally inexperienced with the tools of the trade.  When I returned home with both hands heavily bandaged, the green leather case with all the scissors, files and other sharp pronged paraphernalia had disappeared never to be seen again.

Many, many years later when my own four children were still young, we made a yearly pilgrimage to the F.A.O wonderland.  Each child was allowed to save some allowance, and purchase an item of choice before enjoying a midtown lunch and heading back to the suburbs.  I don’t know who enjoyed the excursions more, the Mother or the youngsters.  Some days we spent hours in the store while selections were made, but that was fine with me.  I just filled the time looking at the doll houses.

When our first grandchild was born in South Carolina, his youngest Uncle and I took the LIRR to F.A.O. in search of a Unicorn to ship to Gregory.  And, of course, we found the perfect one without any trouble in our favorite store then standing on the corner of 5th Avenue and 58th Street.  Several times in the years that followed when friends or family visited from out of town, I always made certain to include a quick visit to the newer Flagship Store of F.A.O. Schwarz on the opposite corner.

All things change with time.  I am aware of that.  Certainly the New York landscape is far different than what I knew and loved.  I no longer have youngsters in my life anxious to receive doll houses or Unicorns.  They prefer IPads, IPods, or video games.  And now I begin to wonder if the enchantment of Toyland has become obsolete, what does that say about those of us who loved it.