"Pretty Much the Same": The Survival of Stickles Variety Store
by Kathleen Everett

In 1946 Alfred Lee Stickle bought a Ben Franklin variety store business located in what is now the entrance to the Rhinebeck Savings Bank parking lot. When a nearby grocery store was destroyed by fire he bought the property and had a new building constructed. In 1951 A.L. Stickles Variety Store, the Market Street treasure Rhinebeck has come to know and love, opened its doors for business. Fifty-seven years later it's one of a handful of variety stores that have endured. What is the secret? "Well, we own the building, that's a big thing", said Al's grandson, Matt, who currently runs the business.

I inquired as to how the store has changed over the years. "Back then we had a lot more fabric," recalls Al's wife Jan Stickle, who comes in to help a couple of days each week. "And the whole front of the store was candy. We sold a lot of candy back then." There was a grocery store across the street and many customers made their daily rounds of the shops in the village. She noted that few women worked outside of home, and most made their own clothes. "We had a lot of patterns and fabric. Many of the items which at one time were metal or glass are now made of plastic. Matt has brought in a lot more toys. Other than that, the store is pretty much the same." I would venture that "pretty much the same" is at the root of Stickles lasting appeal.

In the early years Jan stayed home raising their young family. She recalls that all the members of the family would pitch in when needed. As her children grew up and chose different paths, she and her husband continued to run the store. Ten years ago illness prevented Al from working anymore. "We went through a time when we didn't know what the future of the business would be," she recalls, "We didn't want our children to work here if that wasn't what they wanted." During this time grandson Matt came to work at the store, and stayed on after his grandfather passed away.

When asked about the challenges particular to his business, Matt describes how difficult it is to keep a variety store stocked, saying that it is getting harder all the time. To maintain the variety of products that Stickles carries requires over 50 suppliers. That means 50 bills to deal with each month, each with its own shipping charge. And now, the fuel surcharge. Times 50. While there have been ups and downs in the economy in the past, Matt feels this year will be a pivotal one for the store. Increasing costs and competition from chain stores pose a threat to all independent store owners. Many of Stickles' regular customers are from local families, some who have been shopping there for generations. Others are tourists, wandering in or brought in by friends and family who say, "you have to see this place," promising a trip down memory lane.

Which begs the question—in addition to all of the inventory on the shelves, is nostalgia part of the Stickles product? Matt said that he has wondered about this—and whether the appeal of the store and the memories it invokes are particular to those of a certain age. On entering the store, the first-time visitor will invariably respond by commenting on the smell, on how it brings up memories of another time. And just what is that smell? Matt believes it's made up of "mothballs and dust," and his grandmother concurs, "It's the smell of old." But closer inspection might reveal much more. One can detect beneath those layers of mothballs and dust the smell of hard-earned quarters pedaled over to Market Street in a cotton sock, transferred to a sweaty fist, and not handed across the counter until every option had been considered and reconsidered... the smell of then-kids, who today are fretting the future of our 401Ks, grappling with far more weighty decisions: what to get Dad for Father's Day this year? Will it be that woodsy smelling shaving kit? Or those classy embroidered handkerchiefs with his initial in the corner? And will I have enough left over to get myself some fireballs?

I asked a sampling of longtime local residents to describe the smell. One woman responded, "Stickles? It smells like mothballs, memory and necessity." A lifelong resident recalled going to Stickles in the '60s: "Mr. Stickle had a magic basement. We couldn't go down, but he would come up from there with the most amazing toys. It was like he had a tunnel to the North Pole." Another reminisced, "I remember how the screen door would squeak and then slam as I flew around the corner by the register. Mr. Stickle would look at me sternly as I inspected the toys—cars, trucks, airplanes, jacks, marbles... back then Stickles always had what I needed. And you know, 50 years later, it still does...."

I suspected that the sheer number of products in the store would mandate a complicated inventory process. Since my sole exposure to that art was a regrettable business course taken in college to win the heart of an accounting major, I braced myself as I asked Matt to describe his method. My fears were unfounded. Matt employs the "if-it-ain't-broke-don't-fix-it" technique taught to him by his grandfather:

1. Get a notebook.

2. Keep a page for each vendor.

3. When something runs out, write it down and order more.

How refreshing. A system whose only technical difficulty is a broken pencil point. And the solution is conveniently located right over there with the school supplies.

How lucky we are in this valley to have businesses like A.L. Stickles, which have withstood the challenges and managed to continue serving our communities for many years. These stores provide the character that makes these towns and villages so delightful to live in. They support the value of our homes by maintaining the desirability of our communities. May it always be so. Which reminds me—I'd better head into town, I'm almost out of fireballs.