Until the Malt Shop moved in, the brick, split-level Norshor building was home to professionals. As I recall it, the credit union took up the greater part of its square footage. The town’s lawyer and optometrist had offices in the Norshor. Also my dentist. Occasionally, the building boasted a beauty parlor.
No need for these small business persons to worry that non-client young people were going to clog their hallways. Instead of going in the main entrance that faced Outer Drive, a sign directed all Malt Shoppers to a side door. From that entry we walked down a half-flight of stairs to the partly underground, lower floor of the building.
A wall divided the Malt Shop into two halves. Both rooms were floored, as was the rest of the building, in twelve-inch vinyl in swirled toffee and white. First you entered the room that had the soda fountain and a long counter with stools that were against the wall that bisected the space. There were also tables and chairs in the room, but Denise and I usually sat at the counter as we’d done at the Carmel House (in previous blog)
Denise and I, fifth-graders, gave up our Carmel House sundaes when the malt shop opened. On our first visit Denise recommended a strawberry phosphate — flavored syrup with charged water, and that became my usual. If we heard one of our songs coming through the doorway of the other adjoining room, we downed our fizzy concoctions like thirsty fishermen with a cooler of cold ones.
A quarter in the juke box bought three songs. If I still had a quarter after buying my phosphate, I would pick Dion’s “The Wanderer, “Travelin’ Man” by Ricky Nelson and something with twist or twistin’ in the title.
The teens on the dance floor had more change in their pockets than those of us still in grade school. They kept the music going. Before long one of them would select Chubby Checker’s “Limbo Rock.” Two kids would pick up a broom that was always nearby and hold it horizontally, ever lower, above the floor. Kelley High students didn’t even object when Campton kids joined the limbo line and took our turn bending underneath. “How low can you go…?” In my case not too low, and was quickly eliminated. I preferred to “…twist again like we did last summer.”
The Malt Shop in the Norshor Building closed about two years after it had opened. A second malt shop on Outer Drive, newly-constructed, one-room affair was built next to the outdoor skating rink mostly as a hang-out for people to warm up and order a bowl of chili or a cup of cocoa.
I rarely visited this new place. With its windows overlooking the rink, it was bright on a sunny day. On gloomy days, or at night, it was lit-up by overhead fluorescent. There wasn’t a whit of danger – not like the dim dance floor of the Norshor basement.
