Saturdays with Seniors: Life at the Corner Drug Store

I am pleased to introduce Lola Hotchkis as our Saturdays with Seniors guest blogger today. Lola’s cousin Nancy is a friend of mine and describes Lola as “the writer in the family.” Retired after a successful career in business, Lola lives in the Chicago suburbs with her husband and joined our class once I started teaching via Zoom. This week’s assignment (in honor of COVID-19 vaccines) was “Shots” and prompted Lola to write this sweet slice of Americana.

Editor’s note: I am fortunate to have a few dear friends named “Nancy” — read closely and you’ll discover which one of them is Lola’s cousin.

Fred Gaier’s Shots

The hand cream recipe.

by Lola Hotchkis

My father Fred earned his pharmacy degree at the University of Illinois Chicago in 1940 and worked in a neighborhood drug store until drafted by the U.S. Army in 1942. Safely stationed in a Skagway, Alaska, hospital pharmacy, his memories of war time were good ones.

After the war, all Dad wanted was his own drug store. He found a store for sale, borrowed money from his uncle, and Gaier Drug Company, Inc., was established in 1947 at the southwest corner of Rockwell and Leland in Chicago’s Lincoln Square neighborhood.

Young Mary Faust’s uncle Bill sold insurance to the Gaier family. Knowing that Fred was single and a good catch, he brought his niece Mary to the store for a soda. The rest is history: Fred and Mary got hitched in September 1948. The drug store became the family business and the family fun.

Mom’s sister Jackie also had a family business. Uncle Eric rented organs and Jackie would play for events. Aunt Jackie recognized the talent in their daughter Nancy and trained her in the profession. To attract Christmas business, Eric would move an organ into the drug store window and grade-school-aged Nancy would play.

One of Dad’s friends dressed as Santa to entertain neighborhood children. He was positioned in a back corner in front of the public telephone booth and close to Dad’s domain in the back. Dad kept a bottle of bourbon conveniently located among the medicine bottles.

When he saw winter on the horizon, Dad brought home flu vaccine to his family. He would boil needles, carefully fill a syringe, and each of us received an annual flu shot. That’s why I’m not shot adverse.

Dad also made his own hand cream to sell in the store. The family helped produce it in our kitchen. Dad boiled the ingredients on the stove, then poured the hot liquid into thick white jars. Each family member was assigned a share of jars at the kitchen table. Our mission: Stir the liquid in each jar with a wooden tongue depressor until it solidified. We’d keep asking Dad, “Is it solid enough yet?” When the answer was affirmative, he’d give us new jars of liquid to stir while he capped and labeled the finished product.

Dad’s health suffered over the years with that bottle of bourbon in the back. His friends loved to come and visit. Each was offered a shot of bourbon. Each had one shot, but Dad had one shot with each friend.

Dad loved his store but the competition from Walgreens and Osco won out. No one would buy a corner drug store in 1968, but Osco came calling with a job offer. The district manager was smart. He helped clean out the store, bought the inventory that could be used, and placed Dad in the Osco closest to Rockwell and Leland. His customers followed, but I’ll never forget the day Dad put the key in the door for the last time.

He cried.