Thank you for your story about “The Poultry Man.” It reminded me of certain people in our lives who are not family or friends but who linger in our memory decades after we have known them.

In the 1950s-‘60s, small, family-owned grocery stores could be found in all big cities like St. Louis. My mother shopped at three such markets month after month, year after year, all within walking distance from where she lived. The grocers and their customers came to know each other on a first-name basis. Those markets remained in business for decades, but all are gone now. Half a century after my mother shopped at one of those markets, I stood at the gravesites of the three brothers who owned and operated it, remembering the reliable service they provided in that corner market for more than forty years.

Also in the 1950s, my mother had her snapshots and color slides developed at a small photo supply shop within walking distance from our home. The same man was always there behind the counter whenever we walked in to that little shop, always patient, always courteous, always helpful in response to her questions about cameras. Because of that, she continued to have her pictures developed there for more than 35 years. His shop, too, is now gone, and I imagine he is deceased.

Corner markets, merchant reliability, and customer loyalty are now, of course, mostly just a memory, like the safe city neighborhoods that many of us remember from the 1950s.

The rural character of your story also reminded me of the 1962 record “Old Rivers,” a story-song recited by the fine character actor Walter Brennan, backed by the Johnny Mann Singers. It is the poignant story of a man recalling his memories of a poor farmer named “Old Rivers,” who befriended him when he was a boy. He recalls walking through the fields with “Old Rivers” and his mule named “Midnight.” Many years later, he receives a letter from his mother, telling him that “Old Rivers” has died. That prompts him to rest for a moment in the shade and gaze out across the fields, where he sees in memory “that mule, Old Rivers, and me.” It was a memorable song in the spring of 1962, and who could forget the unmistakable voice of Walter Brennan?