Cheese and Doughnuts

While I was in Fort Wayne two weekends ago, I retraced the very path that my grandparents and I used to take for cheese and doughnuts.

After crossing Third Street over to Wells Street, we would walk down the sidewalk - past 2nd Street, past 1st Street - and we would come across Richard's Bakery.

How to describe the baking smell coming from Richard's Bakery? I'm not eloquent enough - that's for sure. Let's just say - this place was in competition for best smell ever (with the bread people).

We would walk past the building (no, let's stop!) because grandpa said that glazed twisties would ruin our cheese sampling abilities.

We would round the corner and there would be the building that housed The Mouse House.

The Mouse House was the very last shop on this strip. The very last shop before you'd get ready to cross the old Wells Street Bridge.

We would walk in, and my grandparents would always be greeted by their names.

Wayne. Irene. How are you this fine spring morning?

I wasn't sure how they knew the folks who ran The Mouse House. I just know that every time we went in there, we were greeted like old friends. After sampling various cheese, we would walk out with at least one round of colby and a slab of another, unknown (to me) cheese.

We would walk back to Richard's Bakery and again - I would be greeted with that heavenly - please never leave me smell.

Again, my grandparents would be greeted by their first names. While I would stick my nose against the see through glass display mmmmm - doughnuts...mmmmm - pastries..... they would chit chat about everything and anything.

My grandpa would get his cake doughnut. I always got the glazed twisties. My grandma would get something with a filling in it.

The walk home always seemed longer than the walk there. Just cause I wanted to eat my doughnut - right there!

To distract myself, I chatted. (Chatting = forgetting the glaze part of the twistie - but only momentarily).

Me: How come we always walk down to the bakery and the cheese shop to get doughnuts and cheese? It's easier if we just pick up this stuff when we shop at the grocery store.

Grandma: Well because Krissie. These are honest folks, trying to make a living for themselves and their families. They put their heart into what they sell and I know that they wouldn't sell us anything that they wouldn't want their own families to have.

Me: So the grocery store sells rotten food?

Grandpa: Not exactly. I think what your grandma is trying to say is that we think it is important to patronize local establishments - family owned businesses. Many years ago, before you were born, that used to be the way of life. Bakeries, and cheese shops, and drug stores, and shoe stores...they all used to be owned and run by the families who lived in the community. Back then, everybody knew everybody and that's the way it was. When we moved to this neighborhood and we saw that there were some of these places close by, we made sure to visit them and give them our business.

Me: How come not more of these places exist?

Grandpa: Everybody is in a hurry these days. They want everything now, without waiting. These shopping centers popped up with national chains and people drive out to get what they want. Most family businesses don't stock up what you'd find in K-Mart and Murphy's.

Me: Well grandpa, we're only in a hurry because there's so many things we have to do!

Grandpa: When you get older, you might see things differently...

The Myth: Colby Cheese Makes You Fart

Picture: Me and my cousin Wendy, at the house on 615 W. Third Street (1986).

We're doing dishes and my mom is pestering us to turn around for a picture.

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There was once a time when I didn't like cheese. Now mind you, I liked macaroni and cheese (as in Kraft), and I liked cheese as a garnish. But a hunka chunka cheese by itself?

Yeahhh - not so much.

Until I started spending time with my grandpa.

At his house on Third Street, there would always be a hunk of cheese. Sometimes a half moon, sometimes an entire round wheel. That was his snack. He'd go into the kitchen, unwrap it, cut off of a slab, and sit down in his overstuffed chair, watching the news.

Me: Grandpa. Isn't that gross?

Grandpa: Nope. Best colby cheese in the world.

Me: Don't you need to have some macaroni or a hamburger with that?

Grandpa: Nope. All of that stuff would ruin the taste.

Me: Doesn't it make you have the farts? Grandma says cheese makes you fart.

Grandpa: Your Grandma doesn't know what she's talking about. She thinks everything produces gas.

One day, as he was cuttin' himself off a slab, he cut me one too.

Me: What am I supposed to do with this?

Grandpa: I thought you were the smart one in this family.

So I ate it.

Colby cheese. It had a slightly sourish, but creamy taste to it (remember - my cheese experience to this point had been KRAFT). Interesting. Not a total turnoff. But I didn't say that to him. Nope. It would have been like he was right and I was wrong. I'm not admittin' that.

A couple more times, he would bring me slabs. I ate. Said nothing. Ditto for him.

Then somehow, I was the one fetching the slabs for both of us.

Grandma: Krissie, don't eat too much of that. It'll give you horrendous gas like your Grandpa.

Grandpa: Irene... don't be tellin' the girl that. You're just makin' up stories. In a whisper to me Your Grandma just doesn't have appreciation for cheese. She was born in Ohio - what does she know?!

Me: Giggle. Roll my eyes.

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Next up - it was time for him to introduce me to the place where he purchased his cheese - The Mouse House.

And that's when me, him, and Grandma, would take our walk "down to the bridge" to get some cheese and doughnuts.

This is a birds-eye view of the area.

Walking "down to the bridge" was about walking to the shops that were located close to the Old Wells Street Bridge.

We wouldn't have to walk across it for this particular trip - but that's how they referred to our walking excursion to Richard's Bakery and The Mouse House.

Wells and Third Street - Then & Before Then

PTC Bus Stop

Corner of Wells Street and Third Street

Fort Wayne, Indiana 46808

My Grandparents (my mother's parents) lived in Fort Wayne almost their entire life (with the exception of a few years where they lived in Jackson, Michigan).

My Grandpa was born and raised in Fort Wayne. He always lived in the downtown area - Main Street, Clay Street, DeWald, Union Street.

The last house that my Grandparents lived in (before Grandpa died) was on Third Street. They picked it because it was a duplex, it had a huge yard, and it was within walking distance of everything that they cared about.

I've mentioned before that my Grandparents didn't drive. Ever. They always got around on foot or - sometimes - we took the bus. When they lived on Third Street, this is the bus stop we used to stand next to in order to catch the PTC bus.

As you can see from this picture, it almost looks "park" like. It has two nice benches and beautiful shade trees. I remember when those shade trees weren't tall enough to shade anything. And one day, while waiting on the bus to pick us up, I mentioned to Grandpa that they should have planted bigger trees so we had some shade during the hot weather.

That's when he told me about why these trees were so brand new.

It turns out, that just a few years before, a Firehouse - specifically Firehouse #6 - used to occupy the space that we were standing on.

A Firehouse?! Neat!

Me: But what happened to the firehouse? Did it not have enough fires to put out?

Grandpa: The city needed to put that firehouse out on Coliseum Boulevard. People moved out of the inner parts of our city to the suburbs and in case there are fires out in the new parts of the city, they've got a fire house close by.

Me: How come there can't be both (fire stations)?

Grandpa: Sometimes, when you only have one pot of money to pull from, you have to make a decision - one or the other.

He told me that it was built in the late 1800's and that before there were shiny trucks - there were horses which used to take the firemen and their equipment to whatever establishment needed them.

Me: Wow! Horses used to walk on these streets?!

You can tell, I was easily fascinated as a child :).

As I drove by this spot this weekend, I stopped and took the picture you see at the beginning of this blog entry. I sat on one of the bench's and I thought about the time that I spent in this area as a child. You never think - in the moment - how much time you spend "waiting" for something (and back then - it was a bus) and how those moments are great pockets of opportunities that should never go to waste.

In my case, I was such an inquisitive child and I often wonder - if handheld games and other modern things were around then - would I have turned them off and had these types of conversations with my Grandparents (especially as we walked downtown or waited for the bus)?

Sadly - probaby not. So I guess I'm thankful that my Grandparents didn't drive. I'm thankful that the PTC bus program operated during that time, and I'm thankful that my parents let me spend oodles of time with my mom's parents.

1401 Wells Street - Firehouse No. 6 - 1920

1401 Wells Street - Firehouse No. 6 - 1975

Greyhound Union Bus Terminal

Greyhound Union Bus Terminal
Jefferson Street
Fort Wayne, Indiana

Photo Credit: Postcard from mid 60's

There was a short period of time when my grandparents lived away from us - in Jackson, Michigan. I don't know the exact dates however, sometime in the early 70's rings a bell for me.

I remember the economy not being all that good and my grandparents moved out of town for some job that Grandpa had accepted at a place called the Wayne Box Company (?).

Since neither one of them could drive, they would take the Greyhound Bus to Fort Wayne and I would ride along with my mom and dad to pick them up

The Greyhound Bus Station was gorgeous...its 1940's art deco architecture was quite unique - but as a child who was probably 6 or 7 years old at the time when I visited the place the most - I took its beauty for granted. Located on Berry Street, the Bus Station was a cool place for a kid like me to hang out.

If I could cajole some loose change from my parents, I would sit on the plastic chairs with those tiny television attached and carefully place my coins inside the silver turnstyle - full of anticipation for when the television would magically turn on.

The television stations were of course - the same ones we got at home (15,21, and 33) but being able to have it there...attached to a public chair - WOW! What a huge treat for a kid!!! Sure, you had to click on dial but you had to do that at home too. And sure, it only stayed on for about 20-30 minutes but hey, that was okay too.

When we didn't have the change to watch the televisions, my sister and I would run up and down the stairs, chasing each other across the open areas of the terminal. There was lots of echo to be had and in place that didn't frown on loud noises, it was nice to be able to yell, hear your voice bounceback - and all - in the presence of your parents who didn't yell at you for it.

As each bus would arrive, a voice would come over the loud speaker announcing its presence.

I loved looking at the buses. They weren't like the ones that we rode to school in.

These were HUGE. If you were sitting in one, it was like sitting on top of the world. The buses (which I would ride myself a few times in the 70's and even twice in the 80's), were air conditioned... HUGE DEAL to us chicks who didn't have air conditioning in either our parents cars or houses. There was also a bathroom too!

The buses would pull up in a diagnoal direction and when their grand doors opened, it was a spectacular event.

The driver, all dressed in his crisp uniform, would exit the bus and proceed to the side (opening up one of the silver side doors where additional luggage was stored) as the passengers would step down to greet their family members.

My grandparents were always towards the front - I guess - so they could stay away from any of the riff raff :). It never got old seeing them step down from those bus stairs. I would run into the arms of my grandma - who always smelled like ivory soap. Her skin was soooo soft and her hair was red and shiny.My grandpa always smelled like his cigars (which in a bizarre twist - I never minded - in fact - I came to like the scent very much). He would always give me a quick squeeze but he knew that I was grandma's girl and that she and I had some very serious hugging to do (which we proceeded to do - in the car - on the way home - I sat on her lap).

My grandparents would stay at our house for about five days at a time. Eventually though, they had to return and the trip back to the big blue building on Jefferson Street was something I never looked forward to. Saying goodbye was hard hard hard.

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So as many of you know, the Greyhound Union Bus Terminal in Fort Wayne, Indiana no longer exists.

It was torn down in the 80's (had sat vacant for years prior) to make way for new construction efforts.

It's sad that a building which held so many memories for so many families in Fort Wayne - fell by the way side - and was scrapped for new construction. If it had only fallen under the historical society like the baker street depot - wow - we might have something cool - a restaurant - some other entertainment facility within those art deco walls today.




Greyhound relocated to a different facility - to an old gas station facility located at the corner of Berry and Clay (across from City Glass?).