Back when the Edgewater Mall on Beach Boulevard was
definitely the “It Place” to shop and eat back in the early years of my life, no
matter where we lived, I think all my parent’s cars came with an autopilot
option that automatically steered itself toward there; and if Mom was driving,
it was at a much more rapid pace than if Dad were at the helm. Whether it was
when we lived on Byron Drive in Windsor Park, driving a beige 1971 Pontiac Grand
Ville with a big V8 motor and a four barrel carb (Mom’s all time favorite car)
or eleven years later, when I learned to drive in a tan Buick Century with a
gold vinyl half-top, that was garaged not a mile from our beachfront shopping
mecca, our cars seemingly held a reserved spot in each lot at the mall. I was
very young when we started going to the mall and this time period holds some of
my earliest and fondest memories.
Though we would go to many, and I heavily stress the word
many, of the stores each visit, I know that Gayfers, Godchaux’s, and Newberry’s
were always the mainstay of our expeditions to that wonderful place; whose
corridors were lined with huge trees in planters and pale green indoor fountains
in the common areas where I was allowed to throw pennies into the water. The corridor that held these fountains, had
immense glass roofs that acted as skylights.
Very close to these sunlit expanses is where the Mall management would
set up stages for special events such as concerts, fashion shows, contests or sales
displays for many years. In this area was
where I met my very first celebrity, Mark Spitz, the Olympic swimmer, as he was
stumping for pool chemicals. I remember
this distinctly because this is where I had my picture first taken with Santa
Claus and the animated Christmas displays; the place where Charles and I had
our pictures taken with a “real live,” as we called it, lion cub, and the place
where, dressed in homemade Batman & Robin outfits, we held hands with
dozens of other kids, as we all walked in a ring around the fountain to be
judged in a Halloween costume contest. Even in later years, I remember singing
there with Mrs. Ann Miller’s choir from Fernwood Junior High, and if I’m not
mistaken, later with The Biloxians Concert Choir, with Beth and Robert Wiles,
Kathleen Smith, Lewis Gamble, Nancy Wilson and many more very talented friends
and acquaintances. Even as an adult, I
remember when my company got the Hummer franchise and I called Terry Powell,
the Mall manager, and signed a contract to display one of those huge beasts in
the northern most corridor, but not too far to the north of the food court. So, as you may see, this 66 acres of hallowed
ground on the beach in Biloxi, holds a special place in my heart for countless
reasons.
There was not a food court back then, but there were many
places one could go and get anything from a full meal to snacks and
refreshments to battle the shopping fatigue that often set in the youngest of
patrons. Many times, we would go into
Newberry’s first. Though long gone from
the Mall, it was a discount merchandiser that had everything from dollar store
items to things found in a stationary store.
It was there that I was introduced to gardening, when Mom purchased “Punch-N-Grow”
tomato trays, and we grew cherry tomatoes on our patio. The thing that Newberry’s immediately brings
to my mind though is the memory of their cafeteria. It was located on the southeastern corner of
what is now JC Penney, where Penney’s once had a hair salon. I don’t remember much about many of the
things they served, but as for my chosen menu when eating there, I can speak
with professional authority about the homemade macaroni and cheese, often
accompanied by a smothered steak with brown gravy and a homemade roll. The macaroni was made to the specification of
those served at a traditional southern dinner.
It was creamy with what I’m sure would have been a heavy cream béchamel sauce
and topped with inordinate amounts of perfectly browned sharp cheddar cheese in
every serving. It was generously scooped
out and served in a bone white bowl made to hold just the amount a heaping
scoop would convey. If we arrived at
Newberry’s after having already eaten, Mother, often accompanied by my grandparents,
Meme and Gran, would have coffee and a piece of pie. As we as southerners often call any
carbonated beverage a Coke, older people of that era, referred to “having a
piece of pie” as the catchall phrase for eating a dessert. I wasn’t left out by any means in this
ritual; in fact I often had coffee, though mixed with more milk than that superb
tasting Arabica bean blend. And while
most kids would have focused on the dessert, I was ever so excited to get my
own personal container of half-and-half.
This cream was served in those triangular shaped packages that were
sealed tightly on either end. They had a
hole in the side of the package that was protected by a little waxed paper
cover, that one peeled back to access the opening of the container. With the same anticipation as women at a
Bourbon Street bachelorette party doing shots, I would grab that little
triangle and empty its contents into my mouth in record time.
A few years later when the Mall had a renovation and
Gayfer’s added a second floor of shopping space, they also saw fit to add one
of my favorite restaurants of all time, The Copper Kettle. It was on the top floor, directly behind the
furniture and kitchen departments, just past the doors of the elevator. While a majority of the time, it was just
Mom, Charles, and me, this was one of the few places Dad would join us for a
meal during the day. Back in those days,
men were working during the day and couldn’t meet the family for lunch, or
would choose not to go to a restaurant that was not a steak or seafood
place. Even though this was a restaurant
inside of a department store, The Copper Kettle was unique in that they had a huge
menu that covered the gambit of what most anyone would ever want to eat. They had real milk shakes and malts, served
directly from the stainless steel mixing cup into a special glass, with a red
and white striped paper straw; hot fudge sundaes and banana splits, reminiscent
of those I had only seen at mom-and-pop ice cream parlors; homemade chocolate
chip cookies, and a list of specialty sandwiches ranging from a double-decker
club to fresh made tuna salad on rye toast.
I had gotten older and had already acquired a taste for foods that were
generally the fare chosen by older teens and adults. While I did enjoy their huge hamburger with
fresh cut French fries, I generally chose their Blue Plate special. Most times this consisted of a country fried
steak smothered in a peppery white cream gravy, meatloaf in red gravy or some
other diner type entrée that was always served with homemade mashed potatoes, a
vegetable of either green beans or English peas and a garden salad; of which I
chose their house made thousand island dressing.
There were other places we ate in the Mall or procured
certain treats while shopping. If we were in the “new part” of the mall, we
would have an orange or pineapple smoothie with a hot dog at Orange Julius;
Jaime Commander’s family operated the place, I believe. If we were in the original Mall section, patty
melt plates at the Walgreen Drugs Sidewalk Café, directly across from the
fountain was always welcomed. Or we
would go to Karmelkorn, a popcorn and confectionary in the corridor between
Food Center (later, the Jitney Jungle) and the pet store, owned and operated by
the family of John, Candy, and Lacy Middleton.
This is where we would get a dipped cone of soft-serve ice cream or an
Icee and one of their giant pretzels. If we were there on certain Saturday’s at
lunch, we would have a pizza or a reuben sandwich from the Swiss Colony Café, whose
back kitchen wall backed up to the front corridor of where Bernie’s used to be
located. Ah, who could forget
Bernie’s? Eating at Bernie’s signifies
to me, that time in my life when my parents recognized I was leaving my childhood
and moving toward manhood, as it were.
Bernie’s was a bar and grill that had fabulous food, but still to my parents
with a “tweener” aged son and a kid attending Popp’s Ferry Elementary, Bernie’s
was not a place we got to go very often after 5:00 in the evening. While they were known for and still are known
for their steak sandwich, nine times out of ten we all would order a taco salad
and Mississippi Mud cake for dessert. As
so many of these great eateries, shops, and stands have come and gone, I find
it very special that the first name mentioned by my children when asked where
they would like to eat is Bernie’s, in its present location just across the railroad
tracks, north of the mall; taco salads for us, steak sandwiches for them, and
Mississippi Mud cake for everyone. Dammit, David Bull, you have my mouth
watering now.
I know it seems that many of these great memories of
Edgewater Mall surround food, but I am guessing that a treat was a way for Mom
to keep us from being hellions while she shopped, and this was our magnificent
prize for being good. I remember all of
those distinct flavors and wonderful aromas that permeated the air, not knowing
at that time these would be those smells and tastes that acted as cement to concrete
these memories of my childhood in my mind.
These random thoughts are solely my interpretation of what going to
Edgewater Mall meant to me as a child, as there are many more stories of the
great merchants that operated establishments in the mall and built vast amounts
of local capital. Hopefully at some
later date, I will have more time to pen the tales of what these special
retailers meant to us and how great local talent served the shopping public in
ways that have yet to be duplicated. Where
a majority of stores that inhabit malls all over the country today are big
chains and worldwide purveyors of goods, Edgewater Mall was quite unique in
that nearly all of the stores, even the big anchor Gayfer’s (where we all
reverently bow our heads when that great name from our past is mentioned), were
either local or regional merchants that allow it in its present form, to
continue to be a regional destination and a draw, as it is still one of the
largest indoor (to be read, air-conditioned, by fat men everywhere) shopping
mall in the region.
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