It has been 35 years since I owned a bicycle. My first few yards riding one recently were laughably wobbly. The silver helmet strapped to my head felt awkward and limiting, but it was important for my 4- and 6-year-old sons to see me wear one, as they are required to. The 10-speed Schwinn, a secondhand bike purchased from a repair shop, felt uncomfortable in my hands and under my frame as I picked up speed. I found a rhythm much sooner than I had expected, and I soon found myself racing down the street, leaving houses and people behind.

Then I saw a car backing out of a driveway about 15 yards ahead, and in my panic to stop, I braked too quickly, without planting a foot on the concrete.

I flew over the handlebars, with just enough time to wonder if I was about to break any bones before I slammed into the ground.

Freedom on spokes

She was a sturdy bicycle, a Free Spirit purchased in 1978 at the Woodville Mall Sears. She was as blue as the mid-July Ohio sky, rust-free and sleek, built to carry a 12-year-old boy on the sidewalks, across bridges and down the summer roads that ran between school years.

We lived in a duplex apartment in Walbridge, on Cedar Court, a cul-de-sac with spokes of driveways that backed up with rainwater after even modest storms.

That bicycle, as I suspected through instinct and eventually learned from experience, embodied freedom, an opportunity to stretch the boundaries and borders of summer. I treasured that means to run and race and leave home behind, as I would one day cling to the cars that open even broader horizons.

She was sturdy, blue, as fast as anything with pedals, and I named her after the fastest vehicle I could think of — The Millennium Falcon. “Star Wars” was barely a year old, and it filled my imagination and playtime. I carefully applied stickers to the bike from the red series of Topps “Star Wars” cards — one of the Falcon soaring through the galaxy, one labeled “Han and Chewbacca” and a third of the droids R2-D2 and C-3PO. The stickers were undoubtedly duplicates in my collection, as I prized the full set of cards and stickers I collected from dime purchases at Blanton’s and the Rexall Drugs in “downtown” Walbridge and never would have broken up the set.

I must have ridden that bike for thousands of miles, heedless and helmetless, through our Walbridge neighborhood, around the Clinton and Clayton street loop and down S. Main Street. Her bell was a dinky little chime, but to my ears, it sounded like a powerful laser cannon aimed at the Empire’s evil agents. I would pedal faster and faster, expecting the wheels to leave the ground any moment, to propel me through the atmosphere, past the clouds and into deep space.

It seems inconceivable now that parents would let a child just take off for the day with no cellphone to check in, for eight hours or more, but it was a different world then, with less awareness of and attention to the dangers of perversion that keep children in virtual backyard prisons today.

Most often, my destination was between Wilber and E. Union streets to my best friend John Bleau’s house, where a summer day would be spent playing ball, listening to records and splashing in a backyard pool. The Falcon carried me there, never once failing to transport me through what seemed like a universe of open space and freedom.

I would pull into John’s yard and rest the Falcon in the shade, knowing it would be there when it was time to go home.

For several summers, I cherished that bike, keeping it clean and oiled and carefully storing it in the shed every winter. Its first damage came from a confrontation with three bullies outside Blanton’s. I do not recall what started the fight but I have a clear memory of scuffling with them, being knocked down, not hurt, but panicking when they grabbed the Falcon and began pounding on her seat to bend it, kicking at the chain guard and laying her on her side to stomp on and bend the rear tire rim. They had not landed any significant punches on me, and as I was never much of a fighter, I certainly had not yet caused them any harm. But I welled with rage when they attacked my bike, and I know at least one of them left the scene with a bloodied nose and another left large sections of his forearm skin on the sidewalk.

I pushed the wobbling Falcon home, crying, grieving at her damage and shaking from the post-adrenaline letdown. The bike was eventually fixed, although she never rode quite the same.

The Falcon continued to serve me well, through subsequent moves that accompanied my father’s descent into alcoholism and his eventual abandonment. The rust grew on her visibly and uncontrollably, her deterioration echoing the slow collapse of our family. I insisted on taking that bike with me as our family slipped from Walbridge to a tiny apartment in Northwood to a sudden and culture shock-inducing move to Toledo’s South Side. She was sitting in a hallway storage area on the July 5, 1985 night our apartment building caught fire and burned to a husk.

The last time I saw her, she was a blackened frame with melted tires. The “Star Wars” stickers had long ago faded and peeled but there was no sign of them at all. Her chain hung loose, her handlebars were charred, her bell was a lump of fused metal, silent forever.

Spokes of freedom

I sat up on the grass, mildly shaken but in one piece. My new bike lay on the sidewalk, unharmed. My sons pedaled over to make sure I was OK, my 4-year-old’s training wheels rattling on the sidewalk. I needed to show the boys the importance of getting right back on the bike after a fall, so I did, knowing I would be sore later but making no accommodation for that at the time. I straightened my helmet and started pedaling. The three of us slowly made our way around the block, watching for cars in driveways and pretending championship racing was at stake. My boys and I rode under a mid-May blue sky, pedaling to nowhere, enjoying the ride.

Their bike bells are dinky little chimes, but as my sons rang them, I could see in their eyes that they were imagining far more adventurous sounds.

It did not occur to me to name my new bike. But as we rode, I felt like that 12-year-old boy again, expecting the wheels to leave the ground any moment, to propel me through the atmosphere, past the clouds and into deep space.

Michael S. Miller is editor in chief of Toledo Free Press and Toledo Free Press Star. Email him at mmiller@toledofreepress.com.

Tags: Blanton’s, C-3P0, Chewbacca, Evan and Sean, Han Solo, John Bleau, Lighting The Fuse, Michael S. Miller, R2-D2, Rexall Drugs, Sears, Star Wars, Woodville Mall

This entry was posted on Friday, May 24th, 2013 at 12:00 am and is filed under Lighting The Fuse, Opinion.
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We’ve all seen the bumper stickers that say, “Out of a Job Yet? Keep Buying Foreign” with a patriotic American flag backdrop. It sure is a decent sentiment to encourage buying American-made products, but is it really possible?

A while back, my microwave stopped working and I decided to buy a new one. It was the perfect opportunity. I would buy a microwave made proudly right here in the good old USA. I did not need anything too fancy, just a regular microwave that was made by the greatest work force in the world. I had even decided that I would gladly pay a little more for my new American-made appliance, as it would most likely cost me a little more than its Chinese counterpart.

That evening I headed out to the store. I figured I would start at Menards. They usually have decent prices and often proudly advertise their “Made in America” sales. When I got there, they only had one brand, and it was made in China. I began to think that this might be a little harder than I anticipated.

My next stop was Best Buy. They had roughly six brands with various models to choose from, but each and every one of them was made in China. I should mention that it was not that easy to find out where the microwave was made. The display tags do not say, so you usually have to pull the box off the shelf and flip it over to see. In many cases, it only said “Hecho en China,” which my high school Spanish taught me means “Made in China.”

I wasn’t giving up. Now I was on a mission to find one single American-made microwave. I wondered if Target sold microwaves. They do — all of them made in China.

I left Target and decided to try again the next day, but then I saw Walmart. I did not hold out much hope since Walmart is notorious for selling Chinese-made products, but I stopped and went inside anyway. Before I even looked at prices, sizes, power levels and all of the other options available, I just started pulling boxes off of the shelf, flipping them over and hoping to find that precious “Made in America” stamp.

Then I found one! A microwave that was not made in China! Unfortunately, my enthusiasm was short-lived. It was made in Malaysia. Not exactly what I was hoping for. I left discouraged and thought about having a beer. At least Budweiser is still brewed here in Ohio.

That night I mentioned to a friend how much trouble I was having trying to find a microwave made in America. She said, “You should make your own. I’d buy it.” I thought about this for a minute, but then remembered something that I had recently seen on TV. A guy in England decided to make his own toaster from scratch. He even tried to smelt his own metal in his mother’s microwave, which was most likely made in China. As you can imagine, things did not turn out well with his toaster, so I decided against trying to make my own microwave.

The next day I started at Meijer. Once again, there were no microwaves that were not made in Asia. I was seriously starting to run out of stores in Toledo that sold microwaves. I decided to try Lowe’s, but ended up at Home Depot instead. I was again disappointed to find nothing made in the USA. However, they were having a good sale, and I did find by far the best deal I had seen on a microwave that fit my needs. I gave up. I bought a microwave that was made in China. I went home discouraged, but knowing that I had tried.

I still see those bumper stickers from time to time. I still appreciate the sentiment, but I have a little bit of a different viewpoint on the subject now. Who knows, maybe Sears had the American microwave I was looking for all along. I will stop and look sometime just for curiosity’s sake. I will also continue to try to be a conscientious consumer, but I will always know that it is a lot easier said than done.

Email columnist Matt Opperman at letters@toledofreepress.com.

Tags: Best Buy, Matt Opperman, Meijer, Menards, Pursuit of Truth, Sears, Target, Walmart

This entry was posted on Thursday, January 26th, 2012 at 4:10 pm and is filed under Opinion, Pursuit of Truth.
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Sears is seeking potential investors for opening Sears Hometown Stores in northwest Ohio, advertising for locations in Toledo, Fremont, Ottawa, Port Clinton, Upper Sandusky and Wauseon.

Sears advertised for a Toledo location through its Authorized Retail Hometown Store Program with other listings for Canton, Cincinnati, Lebanon and Rochester, Ohio.

“Sears is looking specifically for a location for a Hometown Store along Alexis Road in north Toledo. We’re still interviewing candidates to own and operate a store there,” said Charles Todd, regional market development manager for Sears.

Todd said they are looking in that area to replace a Sears Appliance and Hardware store formerly located at Lewis and Alexis that was closed earlier this year. He said they are also looking for owners and store locations in Milan and Tecumseh, Mich.

“We recently opened a Sears store inside the Ashley Furniture Store in Bad Axe (Mich.) that is the first one located inside another store,” Todd said.

Sears already has Hometown Stores operating in Bowling Green, Bryan, Bucyrus, Tiffin and Van Wert.

Tim Wilkins opened the Sears Hometown Store on North Main Street in Bowling Green in 2001. Wilkins said they are holding their own in the today’s economy and their holiday business this year is about the same as last year.

“The Sears store has been accepted well by the local community,” Wilkins said.

The Sears Hometown Store concept was introduced 16 years ago and is designed for small to medium-sized markets. It has an overall goal of 3,000 independently owned and operated stores in 500 communities across the country. There are currently 900 Hometown Stores in the U.S. and Puerto Rico, according to the company.

Sears Hometown Stores carry all of the top home appliance brands, consumer electronics, tools and lawn and garden equipment.

The Hometown Store Program gives entrepreneurs an opportunity to invest in owning and operating a Sears store in desired locations listed by the retailer.

An initial investment for a Hometown Store may run from $55,000 to $100,000, depending on the size of the store and any leasehold improvements required. Owners must have $100,000 available without borrowing and a minimum net worth of $120,000, according to the company.

Sears claims its program is unique because it doesn’t include any initial franchise or licensing fees. The company may invest in the business with qualified owners.

The store owner is expected to devote his or her full-time personal efforts to the daily operation of the store. The owner may hire a manager but is ultimately responsible for all employee and staffing decisions.

The ideal candidate should be outgoing, results-oriented, committed to success and willing to focus their energies exclusively on the retail business. They would benefit from previous retail management or sales experience with a basic knowledge of business financial principals, according to the company.

A team from Sears will guide the owner through the market analysis, site location, financing options, lease negotiations, and construction or retrofit work. The retailer also provides help preparing the store for opening with instruction on fixtures and merchandising.

Sears training staff will instruct each owner in the daily operations and management of the store. Initial training would include three days in one of its certified training stores followed by a week of intense training at the company’s headquarters in Hoffman States, Ill.

Sears offers owners extensive advertising and marketing support, store inventory at no cost, merchandising and promotional expertise with exterior and interior signage.

Store owners earn a variable commission rated based on the merchandise they sell. Each store receives deliveries of Sears and other brand name products by truck every week.

The program differs from many franchise operations where owners have full responsibility for all capital outlay related to the business. Sears store owners are not charged any inventory fees, transportation costs or royalties by the company.

Profitability varies depending upon numerous factors including sales, location, number of households in the market, operating expenses, lease or real estate costs, and the ability of the dealer to manage the business.

Sears currently operates two department stores located at Westgate Shopping Center in Toledo and at Woodville Mall in Northwood.

Sears, Roebuck and Company has been a leading retailer of general merchandise for more than 100 years in the U.S.

For more information about store franchises, go to www.searshometownstores.com.

Tags: Sears

This entry was posted on Thursday, December 17th, 2009 at 1:11 pm and is filed under Breaking News, Retail, Toledo Business Link.
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