Missing Filene's

Missing Filene’s

Bidding wars are big news around here lately. Two Boston institutions, The Globe and Filene’s Basement, are courting suitors to avoid sliding into oblivion. Though I was born in New York City I’ve lived here since 1976—long enough for me to feel like a native daughter and definitely long enough for these battles to feel personal. I can’t remember a morning that I did not read the Globe and as for Filene’s, well, it holds a special place in my transplanted, New England heart.

Steve and I were married in 1976. That summer my folks came to visit us in our North Shore apartment. Woburn was a bit of a shock for them. Mom and Dad had always gotten around by foot or public transportation and in Woburn that was a challenge. When they took a walk the neighbors would ask them what they were doing. No one walked in the suburbs—why bother when you’ve got a car? In desperation they asked us if there was any way for them to get into Boston by bus.

There actually was a T stop in front of our apartment complex and a schedule revealed that a bus came by about once an hour. That’s all my folks needed. The next day they were off. They came home that night telling us how they had walked around all day taking in the city sights. But the place that they enjoyed most was Filene’s Basement. They showed me a beautiful raincoat that they had bought for my dad and when they told me the price my jaw dropped. The next time they went, I went with them.
Dad, who was from Poland, pronounced Filene’s as “Fihlaine’s” and though at first I thought it was funny, I learned later that Filene’s was founded in 1881 by William Filene, a Jewish immigrant from Prussia who immigrated to Boston in 1848. I wondered if that wasn’t how Mr. Filene pronounced his name before the immigration officials changed it for him.
My first time in the Basement was love at first shop. The piles of stuff on the tables didn’t tempt me but I loved going through the racks. I also liked the fact that the clothing was not cheap seconds but good quality. That was due to the fact that Edward Filene had opened the automatic bargain annex, or basement, in 1908 as a way to sell excess, but still first class merchandise, from his upstairs department store. My dad’s tailor eye for fabric and workmanship helped me realize just how good the merchandise really was. And then there was the wonderful shopping moment when you looked at the ticket and saw the price. It was like hitting the lottery.
It took me a while though to get used to trying on clothes in the middle of the floor. The first time I saw a woman strip down to her underwear in the aisles I nearly passed out. But I caught on. I would wear leotards under my clothes on my shopping days and strip off with the best of them. I also learned to hold on to what I wanted.
One day as I was trying on a dress I put a skirt down next to me and before I could stand up a woman scooped it up and ran off with it. And even as I stood there flabbergasted another woman asked me if I was going to take the skirt that was draped over my arm or what? “I sure am!” I yelled at her, amazed at the predatory streak (and Boston accent) that had suddenly appeared. I didn’t even buy the skirt but I sure wasn’t going to give it to her! Then there were times when women would offer unsolicited fashion advice. You’d feel grateful until you realized that the reason she just told you that the skirt made you look fat was because she wanted it for herself. Ah the memories.
A large part of the pleasure of shopping the basement was that it was one-of-a-kind. It wasn’t a vanilla chain store that you could find in every mall in the U.S. It was crazy, unusual--each trip an adventure that you could regale your friends with later. Could you imagine a running-of-the-brides event at the GAP?
I know I’m prone to nostalgia but it saddens me that we lose originality each time another local business is bought out by a huge corporation. They call it progress. I call it laziness and a certain lack of courage. Why didn’t the Boston public protest Filene’s or Jordan Marsh’s closing like the resident’s of Chicago did when Marshall Field’s was closed in 2007? People there are still protesting. There is even a website, fieldsfanschicago.org, that organizes a boycott, leaflets, buttons, and publicizes polls taken by shoppers. Bostonians grieved for a bit but no one demanded that a piece of Boston’s history be revitalized. And now all we have is Macy’s. Is vanilla really our favorite flavor?
I’m tired of finding the same stores wherever I go. I travel to push myself out of my safe-zone. To find different, quirky, unique. And when I’m home I want to read my news with a Boston slant and shop stores that shout New England. I root for the Red Sox, pahk my cah and eat jimmies on my ice cream. That’s why I live here. I’m just not a Macy’s gal.