(Excerpt from Finding Thalhimers, p. 211-213)
On the day they begin demolishing The Store, it’s Grandpa’s ninetieth birthday, but he’s far too weak to attend. Assorted members of the Thalhimer family sit on a stage erected in the middle of Broad Street in front of the derelict downtown Thalhimers building. Throngs of children eat cotton candy as they gather around a juggler on a unicycle. Faces in the crowd tilt upwards to see the huge illustration plastered on the aluminum façade depicting the performing arts center to be built in its place.
I can sense Dad’s emotions stirring as city government officials and performing arts foundation members pull a velvet sheath to reveal the massive clock that hung above Thalhimers’ entrance at the corner of Sixth and Broad Street. The crowd claps as our family accepts the clock as a gift.
The clock looks lonely sitting on the street, its hands still and its pulse no longer ticking. I think of all of the events it has witnessed: the move from Fifth Street with the red rolling cartons, the Toy Parades and giant candlesticks at Christmastime, the Reynolds aluminum panels going up, the Civil Rights boycotts, the crowds gathered for Thalhimers’ closing day. I wonder how we’ll get the clock home; it’s bigger than my car.
Dad said he could never go back to the downtown Thalhimers building after it closed because he didn’t want to see it without customers. When I see the clock sitting there on the street corner, I understand what he means. Sometimes it’s best to remember things at the peak of their glory.
I return to The Store about a week later to have one last look. No one in the family accepts the offer to join me, and Ryan says he’s too busy to take a break from work.
It’s a muggy summer day, and the workman who unlocks the delivery dock door looks puzzled at my request to go inside.
“It’s over a hundred and five degrees in there. You sure you wanna go?” he asks.
“I’m sure,” I tell him. “I just need to see it one more time.”
Growing weary from the heavy heat, I slowly climb five flights of stairs to Dad’s office where we used to play with Snow Bear and Val’s typewriter. My mouth feels dry but my shirt sticks to my back, drenched with sweat. On the fifth floor landing, right where the old Thalhimers delivery wagon once stood, a large blue plastic tarp blocks the entrance to the executive offices.
“We’re removing asbestos,” the workman says. “It won’t kill you just to walk through, but be quick.” He lifts the plastic and I duck under.
Then I see it – the barely recognizable doorway to Dad’s office. A few scattered plastic letters remain on an office sign in the hallway, but they don’t spell anything. I don’t know what I expected, but Dad’s office is just an empty cinder-block room with sagging roof tiles, a box of nothingness unworthy of even a photograph.
I turn around and run up two flights of stairs to the roof of The Store, the bewildered workman following close behind. I step over a partially decomposed pigeon, a pile of skeletal remains and sticky feathers, before bursting out the door to the roof for fresh air. The air is heavy and hot, but I gulp it in and look around at Richmond’s skyline.
I finally realize that the city will be more beautiful when this building is gone. It no longer has a purpose.
Finding Thalhimers 
Nice article Elizabeth. I’m glad that you started this again. Lot’s of future articles from TBI Talks. Love Dad >
Thanks for helping me find these pictures, Dad! You know better than anyone how to navigate my organizational systems. 🙂
I just read this again. I visited the downtown Store often while growing up when my family would head from Staunton to Richmond to shop. Years later, I worked in special events and training both in Roanoke and then Regency in RVA. I recall your Dad’s/Grandfather’s store visits and we all prepared proudly for those days. So many fond memories of Thalhimers for me. I have two copies of your book…one I bought myself, the other a gift…I kept both. 💙
Thanks for taking the time to comment! I love hearing folks’ memories of Thalhimers. So glad you enjoyed my book…twice. 🙂
Elizabeth,
I loved working for your family and loved working in the downtown store, I believe it was referred to as store #10. Thank you for your work on keeping this institution alive.
One of the old timers,
Carolyn Clements
Thanks for your beautiful comments, Carolyn, and for your years of work at Thalhimers! The “Old Timers” live on.
I remember this almost word for word. It’s elegiac.
This comment almost makes me cry. Wait…yes. It does make me cry. Thanks for helping me write these words, Charlotte. When I picture my muse, she looks a lot like you. 🙂
Thank you for the great story. I felt I walked side by side with you through the store. I have wonderful memories of riding the bus from Highland Springs up town to visit your store. I would spend the next 3 hours just checking out every, then headed to the bakery for a tastee treat ! Thanks for memories. Tom Stokes,Jr.
Glad my words resonated with you, Tom. Thanks for sharing your kind comments and Thalhimers memories!
Very bittersweet photos/memories here from the perspective of a former employee (’86-’92) who became a fan as a young shopper in the early 1970s. Glad you were able to get in one last time to look around.
Thanks for posting, Mitchell! It was a sad excursion, but I’m glad I explored “The Store” one last time. I only wish I had gone on every floor. But it was awfully hot in there.
I remember the Richmond store so well. I trained at the Military Circle store and then became the Inventory Controller at the Hampton Store. I miss those days so much!!! I remember all the Inventory Controllers going to Richmond twice for special training and being treated royally. It was amazing meeting all the others from the different stores and then the main group up in Richmond. Thalhimers’ really gave me an appreciation for retail and the people that work in retail.
Thanks for your comment, Linda! I really wish I’d had the opportunity to work at Thalhimers, too. I had to write about it instead. 🙂
I remember reading this when it (parts of it?) was your thesis and I stumbled upon it on Google.
I can’t believe Bruce the Spruce is gone though 😦