A Faithful Reader (verily, there are no more reassuring words to a beginning blogger than faithful reader. Thanks, George) asked if I remember a silver dollar that was embedded in the sidewalk in front of a grocery store on this block:
I remember. The other day I did a little slow, head-down walking and discovered a coinish circle near the door of B. J. Taylor & Co. 
I’m pretty sure that the silver dollar once nested there, but, like the grocery store that once occupied the building, the coin is gone.
I’m not surprised. Collectible coins can’t be expected to stay in one spot on a public sidewalk forever. Neither can grocery stores. The thought that leaves this Modern—though somewhat unenthusiastic—WalMart Shopper breathless is the suggestion that folk once procured the weekly provender from small stores in the middle of main street blocks. The notion of buying groceries from Mom-and-Pop on the square is almost as foreign to me as the idea of hiring a hack from the local livery stable.
But not quite. I can easily remember another downtown market—Mrs. Jack Moore’s store—around the corner on South Main. It was a cool store. Mrs. Moore presided over the cash register and occasionally slung slabs of beef behind the meat counter. I stopped there many times. Even now, when I stroll past the bank parking lot that absorbed her building, I get a mild craving for an ice cream sandwich from her freezer case.
Truth be told, my knowledge of downtown grocery stores should be much more complete. My great-grandfather owned one. I’m not sure where it was, but I have an unverified impression that it was in the same block as Citizens Bank. Armed with that uncertain fact, this photo intrigues me:
Could that be my great-grandfather’s store tucked between Citizens Bank and Reeds Department Store? Could that be my great-grandfather lounging in white in the doorway?
I wish I knew. I recall only one other thing about the store. My grandmother was fond of telling that “Papa’s Store” was the first modern grocery in Henderson because it had (or didn’t have–I can’t remember which) screen doors. For the life of me, I can’t decide if screen doors on a grocery store represent technological progress or regress. I can argue the case both ways.
Dennard’s Grocery (if that’s what it was called) was gone long before I was a gleam in anyone’s eye. It’s not too surprising that I can’t wax eloquent about the modernity (or lack thereof) of screen doors on grocery stores or about watching parades while lounging at a screen door (or not) in white. I could have known more, though, if I’d listened when I had the chance. My memory could have been full, flowing deep and wide like the fountain in the old Sunday School song. Instead, I can only sing the second verse, replacing certainty with hmmm and hmmm as I go. My lot is to peer through the glass darkly. I wish I had paid more attention to my grandmother.
Rounding the Square 