Being a Primer on A&P Centennials.

Anniversaries were always very important to the A&P. Every year for much of the 20th century, the company’s stores held a special anniversary sale, proclaimed with banners in the stores and trumpeted in newspaper ads. “Come celebrate A&P’s 87th Anniversary” – that sort of thing. Five year anniversaries were an even bigger deal. Ten year anniversaries – huge. Twenty-five or Fifty years, forget about it. Gigantic. But when A&P’s 100th anniversary rolled around in 1959, they really blew it out of the box.

Not content to just hang banners and place six-page newspaper spreads for this momentous event, A&P opted instead to construct a series of monuments to celebrate the company’s centennial. These “monuments”, of course, were stores, and the “series” went on for more than a decade, tallying hundreds of stores. And interestingly, a great number of these still stand, as home to all manner of retail establishments, community centers, churches, and just about anything else imaginable. A handful even continue to house A&P stores.

The celebration was kicked off in January 1959, but a few Centennial stores had already been opened by then. The Centennial store made its "official" debut in mid-March at New York’s International Flower Show, where a special A&P 100th Anniversary exhibit was...uh, exhibited. An 18-foot tall, four-tiered cake was the centerpiece of the exhibit, surrounded by a Victorian garden. A mock-up of the original A&P store on New York’s Vesey Street was on display, along with dioramas depicting A&P’s Jane Parker bakery and Eight O’Clock coffee operations. The last display featured the Centennial prototype, a colonial architectural design that A&P would soon begin rolling out all over, and of which they were justifiably proud.

The design, which A&P generally referred to as “Early American” in its promotion, was based on the architecture of 18th century Virginia. This style was most prominently exemplified in modern times by Colonial Williamsburg, the historic section of the one-time capital of colonial Virginia, which was restored to its original appearance in the 1930’s. One of America’s most popular tourist destinations, Williamsburg has done much to foster a love for colonial architecture among many Americans in the decades since the restoration.

By the late 1950’s, A&P had settled into a fairly plain style of architecture for the majority of its stores, with nothing that really stood apart from those of other grocery or variety chains. They had the typical rectangular, boxy appearance of the day, with brick or tile veneer and a row of large picture windows across the facade. There were the occasional pylons, but for the most part the only distinguishing features were the famous round “A&P” signs, which usually were either internally lit Plexiglas or neon, with beveled “rays” jutting out to the right and left of the round sign. It was obvious to anyone that the Centennial design represented a substantial increase in prestige over what had gone before.

And A&P knew this full well. In reading a number of late 50’s/early 60’s newspaper articles on various Centennial store openings, the same phrase continues to pop up, nearly verbatim, from the pen of the local A&P vice president – “We are certainly proud to dedicate to the _______ community a modern Super Market to serve the people of this area; and we are doubly happy that the new store could be the company’s latest approved design, this handsome ‘Early American’ style”. The key is in the last part of that sentence – A&P wisely promoted the prestige and “scarcity” factors as a way of making sure that customers were aware of their good fortune. They ate it up, as evidenced by the hundreds of Centennials that would be built over the ensuing decade, although A&P did continue to build the standard non-Centennial style in selected markets (along with some unique designs for their Southern California stores, but that’s a story for another time) for various reasons.

In the first years of the Centennials, an effort was made to carry on the Early American theme inside the stores as well, with pediment-style departmental signs and colonial murals on the walls. This was discontinued a few years later, as competition heated up and a more modern interior look, with bolder colors, was virtually forced upon them.

Also in earlier years, not surprisingly, the “colonial” theme lent itself to all kinds of patriotic-themed promotions, from grand opening ads proclaiming “Here ye, Here ye”, to giveaway copies of the Declaration of Independence on “genuine aged parchment”. (I had one, not from A&P, that I thought was extremely cool.)

To me, one of the most interesting aspects of the Centennial program was the way A&P adapted the design for an incredibly wide range of store types, both for new stores and for retrofits of existing stores. The popularity of the Centennial design and resulting public demand prompted A&P to remodel scores of existing stores with the colonial theme, with results ranging from the attractive, to the slightly odd, to the funny but endearing.

The only Centennial store that I recall shopping at personally was in Glenview, Illinois, a near north suburb of Chicago, where we moved in 1970 when I was in second grade, and I have to admit that the store’s design made a striking impression on me even then. I don’t remember much about the inside of the store, save for all the slush that had been tracked in by shoppers during those snowy Chicago winter days. And the Jane Parker fake Oreos, which my little brother and I used to crush up in our ice cream, creating what I believe was the first Cookies and Cream ever invented. To my knowledge, that is…

From the top, the photos depict: (1) An unknown location from 1962, with a lovely red logo, (2) Edmonds (Seattle Area) Washington, from 1968, (3) Columbus, Indiana, also 1968, where the colonial design fit the larger store extremely well in my opinion, (4,5,6) Three views from the West Hempstead, Long Island, NY store, 1968, (7) Somewhere in Queens, NY, 1966, (8) Jackson Heights, Queens, NY, 1966 (Ok, now the “Car 54, Where Are You?” theme is running though my head. No, I wasn’t born yet when that show first ran.), (9) An unknown location from 1970 – someone who remembers “Hoeffer Drug”, please help us out!, Note: Thanks to Bill, who informs us: "The A&P by Hoeffer Drug was at West Boulevard and Lorain Avenue in Cleveland, OH. The building was torn down and replaced with a CVS drugstore a few years ago." (10) Southampton, Long Island, NY, 1972, with a really sharp-looking treatment of the side of the store. Below, a mother and daughter show their affinity for A&P brands in a circa 1960 scene, where the colonial pediment signs are visible on the wall above. All are A&P publicity photos with the exception of the "Hoeffer Drug" photo, which is from Progressive Grocer's A&P Study, and the Queens, NY night shot, which is from a Crouse-Hinds Lighting ad.

Lastly, some newspaper ads from the early years of the Centennial era - 1959 ads from Annapolis, Maryland and Logansport, Indiana. Next is an article with an artist’s rendering of a forthcoming A&P store that appeared in the Sandusky (Ohio) Register in 1959, followed by a grand opening ad for the store from the following year. Following that are 1959 and 1962 Grand Opening ads from New Castle, Pennsylvania and Valparaiso, Indiana, respectively. Last is a 1964 article from the Oshkosh Daily Northwestern, showing off their newly Centennialized (remodeled) A&P store.

Wow, getting real close to December 25, and I haven’t started my Christmas blogging! We’ll shift gears for the next few posts. Hope your week isn’t too hectic!

One Small Step For Woolco

By the end of the 1960’s, Woolco had finally picked up the pace of new store openings, with 33 stores opening in 1969 alone - adding up to 92 Woolco stores in the United States and 33 in Canada at the close of the decade. A few more multiple store markets, so critical for market presence and maximizing advertising dollars, were now part of the mix, including Atlanta and Houston (3 stores each), Indianapolis and Jacksonville, Florida (2 stores each). An even more ambitious program was put in place for 1970 and 1971, with 70 new stores slated, including additional units in Houston, Atlanta, Richmond and Toronto, and multiple stores in new markets Toledo, Miami and Sacramento, the first appearance of the Woolco name in California. Also, Woolco’s first (and only, for a while) store in the New England states would open in Bangor, Maine in 1970.

In 1971, F.W. Woolworth Co., Woolco’s parent company, made the somewhat surprising decision (to me, at least) to eliminate Woolco’s separate division status and consolidate the Woolco operation into the Woolworth variety store regional management structure. While this may have made sense on paper, I can’t help but ponder the psychological effect on Woolco managers – did it lessen their drive, knowing their operation was “lumped in” with the variety store operation, which despite Woolworth’s leadership position was by now widely considered be an antiquated retail concept? Within a few years, the shift in status would even be noticeable on Woolco’s shopping bags, of all things. By the mid-70’s, the bags sported both Woolworth and Woolco logos, with Woolco’s new stylized logo in the subordinate position. Multitudes of products were advertised on TV as being available “at Woolworth and Woolco stores”, in that order. Again, the comparison with S.S. Kresge couldn’t have been more striking, with the near totality of that company’s resources being invested in Kmart, to stunning results. And even Woolworth’s other longtime dime store competitors had jumped in by now – G.C. Murphy with its growing line of Murphy’s Marts and W.T. Grant Company’s 1972 vow to open only large “Grant City” department stores henceforth (sadly, it wouldn’t be enough to save Grants, but more later on that).

Another factor that would take on much more significance as the decade of the 70’s rolled on was Woolworth’s burgeoning specialty store business. In 1962, the Federal Trade Commission invalidated the six year old merger between Brown Shoe Company and the New York City–based G.R. Kinney Corporation (Kinney Shoes), the largest shoe store chain in America at the time, and the following year it was acquired by Woolworth. At the time, Kinney had 584 stores in a mix of locations – some downtown, but a large number in the all-important shopping centers and free-standing “roadside” sites in high-traffic areas. By 1971, as Kinney Shoe Corporation, a wholly-owned Woolworth subsidiary, the chain had grown to over 900 locations, with many of the new ones in enclosed shopping malls. Two successful nameplates (among a few less than successful ones) that were launched under the Kinney umbrella were Susie’s Casuals (1968), a fixture of 70’s-era malls, and Foot Locker (1974), which would be the eventual successor to the entire Woolworth organization. In 1968, Woolworth acquired Cleveland-based Richman Brothers, a 245-store men’s apparel chain. In line with a common practice of the day, both the Kinney and Richman operations had in-house manufacturing capacity, which allowed a higher degree of control over styles, manufacturing quality and pricing. Richman also operated men’s stores under two main banners (Woolworth would add a third called “Adams-Row”) beside its own – Stein Stores, a chain of southern apparel stores that it had acquired in 1959, and Anderson-Little, a Fall River, Massachusetts-based chain bought in 1966. My grandparents hauled my brother and me off to Anderson-Little at least once a year on our summer visits there, usually the Walnut Hill Plaza store in Woonsocket, RI or the one at the Auburn (Mass.) Mall. When I was fourteen, they bought us leisure suits there - brown for my brother, and a startling powder blue for mine. I’ve never been so anxious for a growth spurt in my life. Unfortunately, that suit was followed up with a forest green one (with a vest!) from JC Penney.

It would eventually become clear to most observers where Woolworth’s corporate priorities stood, and Woolco was not atop the list, nor was it in second place. As a Business Week article would later put it, “The (Woolco) discount unit slipped as specialty retailing got the principal attention”. The opportunity to profit from the immense volume the Woolco stores could have produced with a stronger effort, potentially multiples of what a successful chain of shoe stores or menswear shops would ever yield, was slowly allowed to slip away.

Nevertheless, at the beginning of the seventies, the arrival of a new Woolco store was happy event for any community they entered, with sizable crowds and the type of Grand Opening hoopla joyfully described on this site time and time again. Woolco’s slogan at the time was “a new fashion in modern retailing”, and the emphasis continued to be on apparel, which in light of the sister businesses described above isn’t surprising.

The photos above are circa 1968-70. The first one is a night exterior view of the Northtowne Plaza Woolco in Claymont (Wilmington), Delaware, which opened in 1968, followed by a daytime exterior of an unknown location (possibly the Town and Country Shopping Center Woolco in Marietta, Georgia, thanks to J.T. for mentioning that possibility) on its 1969 opening day, complete with a crowd, outdoor sale items, pennant streamers, a Wise Potato Chips truck, and a parking lot full of iron and not much plastic. The majority of the other shots depict the Asbury Park, New Jersey store (sorry, no Springsteen sightings) at its grand opening in 1970, including the main aisle crowd shots, the cosmetics department, the “Sweater Shack”, the (definitely analog) watch display, and the final photo, a peek under the “cheerful red-striped awning” of the Red Grille cafeteria. Five of the photos – the wide view of the front of the store, the checkout line (from those proud days when Woolco had “exclusive” shopping bags), "Miss Credit" (these people were big on beauty queens, weren't they?), the auto center view and the “University Shop” shirt section are of unknown locations.

Inside the New Wards Stores, Late 50's

These are some of the scenes that greeted customers of the new Montgomery Ward stores in the late 1950’s. A far cry from the stodgy interiors that shoppers had grown to associate with Wards, they represent nice examples of fifties modern design, color styling and craftsmanship.

Just as the exterior design and materials differed from store to store, the new Wards interiors varied as well, although some common themes carried through. The elongated oval signage, visible in several of the photos (and also in the remodeled Sacramento store in the previous post) was extensively used. It kind of echoes the “long, low” trend that was all the rage in automotive design at the time.

Larger, mall-based Wards stores featured “central decorative display islands, surrounded by upholstered benches, provid(ing) a haven for the weary and a meeting place for all”. Pictured in the first photo above, these islands featured a unique motif keyed to the store’s locality – an Oak tree for the Kansas City, Missouri, Blue Ridge Shopping Center store, an Aspen tree in the Denver Lakeside Mall store, a vertical steel I-beam at the Gary, Indiana Village Shopping Center (They also were great for holding up the roof!), and a sundial in a new St. Petersburg, Florida unit. Exteriors of all stores except the last are pictured in previous posts.

There were nods to the past as well, in the form of vintage Wards catalog merchandise pictured on the walls of the furniture department (called the “Modern Shop” – how cool is that?), as shown in the second photo, the tool department (photo three) and the mens' department (back wall of last photo), among others. It was a small, early example of marketing through nostalgia, a trend that would gain much more steam in the 60’s and especially the 70’s.

Montgomery Ward still had tons of ground to make up from the “lost years”, where they were routinely trounced by Sears and later by J.C. Penney as well. These fine stores, with their long-overdue added comfort of air conditioning, did much to put Wards back in play.

For me, I can’t decide what I like better – the Airline TV and Hi-Fi department or the “Modern Shop”. I’ll take both!

Top to bottom, the photos depict: (1) a typical themed “center island”, (2) the “Modern Shop” contemporary furniture department, (3) the Power Tools section, (4) the Childrens’ Wear department, with mannequins for all seasons, (5) the “real gone” Juniors department, (6) the Sporting Goods department (suits and ties to sell golf and archery equipment – now that’s class!), (7) the Airline Hi-Fi and Television department, a strong selling brand for Wards, (8) the Shoe department, where the older gentleman is holding a strange form of payment – oh yes, of course, it’s cash - and lastly, (9) something that would certainly be hard to come by in department stores today, shown in appropriate black-and-white, the ladies’ millinery department (That means "hat department" to folks like me), seen in the foreground of the photo.

A New Day For Wards

Shown above are some Montgomery Ward stores from the late 1950’s. They are among the first stores the company opened after a 17-year moratorium on new construction. Radically different from the quaint, outdated stores that Wards shoppers (a steadily decreasing cohort through the 50’s) were familiar with, they represent a herculean effort to reintroduce and redefine Montgomery Ward in the eyes of the buying public, and to compete in a retail world that had changed in so many ways.

Sewell Avery, whose leadership had saved the company in the 1930’s, was poorly suited to lead the company during America’s phenomenal economic expansion in the postwar years. Convinced that another depression loomed around the corner, Avery “put Wards in a ‘storm cellar’”, as Ward’s 100th anniversary publication put it. No funds would be allocated to new stores or modernization, and even inventory was skimped on. The anniversary book cites $270 million that the company was forced to refund to catalog customers in 1946 due to out-of-stocks, a horrendous sum in that day (or this one, for that matter). The massive refund payout kept Wards from attaining what would have been its first billion-dollar sales year.

Avery’s pessimistic outlook, and his conviction that government policies were in the works to further penalize Wards led him to focus his efforts on building a large cash reserve for the company. To be sure, that goal was achieved ($327 million in cash by 1955, of which all but $23 million was invested in U.S. Government securities – ironic, don't you think?), but it came at the expense of the company’s retail business – its presumable reason for existence.

By 1955, as Fortune magazine later put it, “Montgomery Ward was a very sick cat”, with a “mountainous pile of cash and the company’s reputation for quality and service, but that was about all…”. Probably the most powerful indicator of Ward’s standing in the public eye came when contrasted with Sears. From the mid-1920’s through the early 40’s, as their companies gradually approached the billion dollar mark, Wards and Sears’ annual sales closely tracked each other, with Sears leading throughout the period by a fairly small gap. By the end of the 40’s, the “gap” had turned into a delta, with Sears at $2 billion and Wards at only one. Ten years later the “delta” had become the Grand Canyon, with Sears tallying over $4 billion and Wards still stuck at just over a billion dollars. Sears had taken the completely opposite approach to Wards when it came to expansion, snapping up choice suburban shopping center locations on which they would build huge, sprawling stores. While Wards languished in the past, Sears became the store of choice for postwar America, supplying all manner of goods –clothes, appliances, furniture, lawn mowers, you name it – to help usher in a new era of affordable luxury and leisure-time pursuits for the middle class. In the process, Sears came to symbolize America itself in the eyes of many.

By the mid 1950’s, pressure was building on Montgomery Ward to end Sewell Avery’s autocratic reign and archaic policies. In August 1954, Louis E. Wolfson, described in the anniversary book as a “youthful industrialist and promoter” came on the scene, announcing his intention to bid for control of Montgomery Ward. Wolfson, a forerunner to the corporate “takeover specialists” of the 1980’s, had reportedly gained control over corporate assets worth over $200 million by that time, according to author James Grant in his book “Money of the Mind”. Wolfson proclaimed that he saw a huge opportunity to restore Wards to greatness, putting the large cash reserve to use in expansion. Wolfson, while maintaining a modicum of personal respect for Avery, pointed out (as quoted in the Grant book) that “Ward’s management had blindly and obstinately hitched the company’s future to a depression”. The 81-year old Avery, for his part, batted back fiercely. In the company’s annual report to stockholders for 1954, Avery used the usually placid, non-controversial format of the annual report to outline his defense against Wolfson, a seven-point description of various investigations, alleged conflicts of interest and accusations of self-dealing on Wolfson’s part. Avery closed with: “In contrast, the character of your management has been reflected in the accomplishments of the last 24 years, during which the assets have been built up to $721,000,000 including cash of $327,000,000”.

In April 1955, one of the most famous proxy fights in the history of American business took place at Montgomery Ward’s annual meeting in Chicago. A confused and feeble appearing Sewell Avery took the microphone and attempted to lay out his case, with pitiful results. The whole proceeding was documented by Life Magazine's photographer, as can be seen here. Because of the structure of Ward’s board, only three new directors could be appointed per year, so while Wolfson failed to gain control of the company, his efforts were sufficient to oust Avery from the chairmanship. Wolfson and two associates were seated on the board. Sewell Avery resigned as chairman but would remain on the board for another four years, passing away in 1960. Wards vice president John Barr, a longtime company veteran who had been loyal to Avery but saw the need to expand and modernize, took over as chairman. Wolfson and his two associates, confident that Barr and the new team would revive the company and enhance his investment, resigned from the board early in 1956. Wolfson would later pursue a number of diverse ventures, including helping to finance Mel Brooks’ first film, “The Producers”.

Barr set two main goals – to rebuild Ward’s decimated management structure, and to expand and revamp the store base. The store program started slowly, with only $8 million spent on store remodels in 1956. More importantly, however, plans were being drawn for Wards stores with a completely new image – new styles, merchandising, color schemes, logos, and just about everything else. In late 1957, a new store opened in Portsmouth, Ohio. Shopping center stores, the company’s new main focus, were first opened in Denver, Colorado and Gary, Indiana in 1958, along with a new downtown store in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. By 1959, $150 million had been spent on new store development, with plans announced for another $500 million to be spent over the next five years.

Montgomery Ward, retail’s “Rip van Winkle”, had finally awoken.

Pictured above, from top to bottom: The opening (to-day) festivities of the new Wards store in Gary, Indiana, complete with a rostrum full of dignitaries, the Eau Claire, Wisconsin store (with dignitaries but no rostrum), The new store at Kansas City’s Blue Ridge Shopping Center, with cool looking trellises above the entrances, a wide shot of the Gary store, and a busy scene at the new Wheaton (MD) Plaza location from 1959. For those who prefer black-and-white, below are the 1957 Portsmouth, Ohio, store, another shot of the Kansas City Blue Ridge store, and finally the new Wonderland Shopping Center store, opened in Livonia, Michigan in 1959.

Wards, America's Cheapest Cash House

The 1872 founding of Montgomery Ward & Co. was not just the beginning of a company, but of an entire industry – one that thrives today, years after Wards ceased to be a major part of it, or to exist at all. Mail order pioneer, Chicago legend, and nationwide department store fixture, Montgomery Ward is part of the American story – mention the name “Monkey Wards” and most folks will know what you’re talking about, whether their family shopped there or not.

The company’s founder, Aaron Montgomery Ward, was not a Midwesterner by birth. Born in Chatham, New Jersey in 1844, Ward and his family “headed west” when he was 8 years old, settling in Niles, Michigan. Later on, Ward moved some 30 miles away to St. Joseph, on the shores of Lake Michigan, where he took a job as a retail clerk. Within three years, Ward was running the store. In 1866, at age 22, Ward moved to Chicago, where he accepted a position with the new wholesale “dry goods” firm Field, Palmer and Leiter, forerunner to Marshall Field and Company. After two years with the Field firm and one with another company, Ward moved to St. Louis to work as a traveling salesman for another wholesaler, calling on stores via horse and buggy. Before long, Ward was back in Chicago, working for yet another wholesale firm, C.W. Pardridge Co.

Over the previous couple of years, while in the employ of others, Ward was diligently developing his own business idea, one based on his observations of the farmers who patronized the stores on his wholesale routes. In those days, rural customers generally had to contend with high prices on a very limited merchandise selection. Ward came up with an idea for a “mail order store”, where catalogs (which were initially just “merchandise price lists”) were mailed out to potential customers far and wide. Orders would be mailed to and shipped out of a centralized warehouse. By 1871, Ward had saved up enough money to give it a go, and began to stock up on merchandise to sell though his own catalog.

On October 8, 1871, the great Chicago fire struck, destroying major parts of the city, including countless homes and businesses. While Ward’s employer’s (the Pardridge firm) business escaped unscathed, the stock of merchandise Ward had put together for his own fledgling business was destroyed. “Like the rest of the city”, as Ward’s 1972 100th anniversary publication put it, “Ward dusted himself off and went back to work”. By the following August, two of Ward’s fellow Pardridge employees had joined him, and with $1600 in hand Ward purchased new goods, rented an office on North Clark Street and issued his first one-page price list.

The rise of Montgomery Ward & Co. coincided with that of the National Grange of Husbandry, an organization dedicated to advancing the interests of the farmer. Known popularly as “the Grange”, local chapters were set up in rural areas far and near. Starting as basically a social organization, the Granges quickly gained power and political influence in their communities. Wisely, Ward closely aligned his company with the Granges, sending out price lists to each Grange Hall and encouraging members to pool their orders to save on shipping costs. For decades, even after the Granges’ influence had receded, Montgomery Ward was thought of by many as “The Grange Supply House”.

Ward received an unlikely boost from what could have been a disastrous event in the young company’s life. On November 8, 1873, the Chicago Tribune published a blistering editorial about the company entitled “Grangers beware. Don’t Patronize Montgomery Ward & Co. – They are Dead-Beats!” The rousing headline was followed with a series of charges – “Another attempt at swindling has come to light”…”they keep altogether from the public gaze, and are only to be reached through correspondence sent to a certain box in the Post Office.” Ward’s customers were caught in the crossfire as well – “it is known that a certain proportion of the multitudes of circulars issued fall into the hands of credulous fools, who place boundless faith in anything which is set up in type and printed. If such fools would only consider how easy a thing it is to start a swindle of this kind, the dead-beats who get them up would be driven to hard work, or still better, perhaps, starvation.” Ah, the journalistic restraint of days gone by! Ward threatened to sue.

The Tribune’s retraction, published in the December 24th edition, would prove to be worth its weight in gold to Wards. An early paragraph read: “The (November 8) article was based on what was supposed to be correct information, but a thorough investigation by this office satisfies us that the article was grossly unjust, and not warranted by the real facts. The firm of Montgomery, Ward & Co. is a bona fide firm, composed of respectable persons, and doing a perfectly legitimate business in a perfectly legitimate manner.” Ward was so pleased with it that he reprinted the article in its entirety in his next price list.

In 1874, Ward, now joined by his brother-in-law George Thorne as a partner, moved his business to a larger building at the corner of State and Kinzie Streets. Through the remainder of the 19th century, Montgomery Ward & Co. grew impressively, and the Wards catalog, which had evolved from the simplest type-set sheet to a 150-plus page magazine with ornate engraved covers, was wildly popular with consumers across the entire country, but especially so in the nation’s frontier heartland. In addition to clothing and farm goods, Ward carried groceries, and for a few years, liquor. In these years, Wards advocated for their customers by battling a number of industry trusts, which had attempted to fix prices on such basic needs as sugar and binding twine.

Ward and Thorne gradually turned the day-to-day management of the company over to younger men, including Thorne’s five sons, all of whom would eventually join the business. In 1887, Montgomery Ward moved to a new six-story building on Michigan Avenue, which would be expanded many times by the end of the century. In June 1889, the Ward-Thorne partnership was formally chartered as a corporation.

In 1893, Sears Roebuck and Co. was incorporated, moving their offices from Minneapolis to Chicago the following year. In just a few short years, Sears, who adapted the mantra “Cheapest Supply House on Earth” (similar to Wards’ “Cheapest Cash House in America”) emerged as Montgomery Ward’s chief rival, and what would be a century-long rivalry was underway.

1893 was a key year for Ward in a number of other ways. The company gave away tens of thousands of a special “World’s Fair Edition” of its catalog at Chicago’s Columbian Exposition. Even more important than that was Congress’ passage of the Rural Free Delivery Act (R.F.D.) which opened the door to mail delivery to individual rural homes. Prior to that, most country dwellers had to pick up their mail from a post office. As R.F.D. was implemented, Wards’ catalog deliveries and sales skyrocketed, provoking the ire of local country merchants. A number of them staged “catalog burnings”, encouraging locals to toss their treasured Wards catalogs into a bonfire - something the founder took as a true validation of his company’s success.

That same year, Ward sold his majority interest in the company to George Thorne. By this time, Ward was devoting his full-time energies to a new passion – the preservation of Chicago’s lakefront as a city park, off-limits to developers. More than anyone else, Ward deserves the credit for the priceless asset that is Chicago’s Grant Park. Ward fought for twenty years and through four legendary court battles to achieve this, losing many friends among Chicago’s business and social elite along the way. Aaron Montgomery Ward, retail and environmentalist pioneer, known in his last years as “the watchdog of the lakefront”, passed away at the age of 70 on December 7, 1913.

His namesake company continued to thrive. In 1908, Montgomery Ward opened its massive new distribution center, a 500-foot long, 9-story high, 2 million square foot colossus along Chicago’s riverfront, a facility the company would use into the 1970’s. Wards had opened its first of many branch operation “catalog houses” in Kansas City in 1904, replacing it with a much larger building in 1907. Later on, Wards would open more of these huge facilities – in Oakland in 1923, Baltimore in 1925, Fort Worth in 1928, and Albany, NY and Denver in 1929.

George Thorne’s sons had operated the company with varying degrees of efficiency in the early years of the 20th century. Today, the Thorne name is probably best known in Chicago in connection with the “Thorne Rooms”, a fascinating collection of miniature dioramas first exhibited in the 1930’s at the Art Institute of Chicago. They were conceived and funded by Mrs. James Ward Thorne, the wife of one of Mr. Thorne’s sons.

One brilliant hire they made was Robert E. Wood, a former World War I Quartermaster General, who shaped up their distribution system and advanced a new idea to help the company get the most mileage out of its gigantic branch warehouse operations – to open 40 to 50 retail stores within a radius of each “catalog house”, tapping the revenue possibilities of these facilities, adding a potential $20 million a year to Wards’ coffers. Alas, General Wood proved to be “the one that got away”, leaving Wards, whose top management was painfully slow to respond to his proposal, for Sears, Roebuck and Co. in 1924. Wood, who at Sears would become one of the most legendary retail figures of the 20th century, opened Sears’ first retail store the following year. 350 Sears stores would be in operation by 1930, drastically changing the competitive dynamic between the two companies.

By 1927, the Montgomery Ward management had come to view their lack of a retail store presence as a mistake. A decision was made to open a handful of “display stores”, under the assumption that customers would be favorably inclined to buy merchandise they could actually touch as opposed to making their decision based only in catalog pictures. The problem was, the term “display store” meant exactly that – customers could order but not bring home the merchandise! It would be shipped to them in the standard manner from the closest Wards warehouse. The goal was to rotate the selection of merchandise shown in the display stores, choosing from Wards’ then 33,000 different items carried. The first display stores were slated for “Marysville, Kansas, Plymouth, Indiana and Little Falls, Minnesota, all good mail order areas”, according to the Wards 100th Anniversary book.

The conversion of the Plymouth, Indiana store from a purely “display” store to a conventional retail store happened in an interesting way, as related in story in the Anniversary book. Although the Plymouth display store was well-received, there was a fair amount of frustration expressed by customers about the inability to buy and take home the merchandise on the spot. This led to grumblings to the effect that Wards’ display units might be superior quality to the actual products shipped, a classic “bait-and-switch”, that in this case was patently untrue. It all came to a head one day when a carpenter showed up at the store and noticed that a saw was selling for 75 cents less than he could buy a comparable one for down the street. When told of the store’s policy, the carpenter became irate, demanding to buy and take home the saw. Finally the store manager relented and sold it to him. When word of this got around, the store was besieged, and was forced to sell off their sample stock to the clamoring public.

Montgomery Ward brass, upset about this at first, began to come around when the profit potential became too obvious to ignore. A test program was put in place with eight more display stores, now allowed to stock and sell the actual products, was put in place. The following year, now satisfied with the idea, Ward’s board of directors put the pedal to the metal, approving a program to open 212 retail stores in 1928.

Were it not for that carpenter, would any of us have “Monkey Wards” store shopping memories today? It boggles the mind - almost too deep to ponder.

The photo above, from the book “1872-1972 A Century of Serving Consumers – the Story of Montgomery Ward”, depicts the Plymouth, Indiana display store discussed above. Below are two photos from the E.M. Ball Photographic Collection (1918-1969), Special Collections, D.H. Ramsey Library, University of North Carolina at Asheville depicting two early Montgomery Ward stores in Asheville, North Carolina, the first on Biltmore Avenue and the second on Patton Avenue, both circa 1930’s.