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I buy a majority of my athletic shoes and clothing at our local Habitat for Humanity store. It’s both a pleasure and necessity these days. And, having spent many years working in the athletic footwear industry, I know that the “landed” cost (what a manufacturer pays to produce and ship an item to the U.S.) of most items is pretty close to what I pay at the Habitat store.
For me, in this economic climate, that’s about the right price to pay for non-US made products.
Buying at Habitat feels good for several reasons. I know I bought something, albeit used, that I really need (not just want) and got a tremendous deal on it. And my purchase helps local families achieve the American dream of home ownership. With the threat of losing my own home still hanging in the balance, it’s comforting to know my purchase is helping someone buy an affordable home. Purchasing from a big box retailer just doesn’t have the same immediate pay back.
And, as one of the forty-five plus million people without health insurance, I consider my purchases of athletic gear (mainly shoes and running apparel) to be my “insurance premium.” Much less expensive than traditional health insurance, I’m hoping that my proactive approach to wellness will pay off. (Unless, of course, I get hit by an eighteen-wheeler while cycling down Cascade Avenue.)
OK I admit it; I’m addicted to shopping at Habitat. But I’m not alone. Many locals make a weekly trip to the store hoping to snatch an item before someone else does.
Back to my story about those Bauer’s.
One of the bonuses at our Habitat store is the “free” table located just outside the front door. These are items that just don’t sell. Mostly it’s filled with knick-knacks.
Leaving the store after a recent visit, I glanced over at the table and was shocked at what I saw. There sat a pair of Bauer Supreme men’s hockey skates.
Now, for those who didn’t grow up in New England playing ice hockey, this is like finding your very first car, forty years later and in perfect condition, parked in downtown Sisters. I wore this same model during my high school and college playing years. And youth ice hockey in New England is as popular as soccer is here in the Northwest.
Standing there stunned, I was instantly transported back to my youth hockey days in the Boston area. Stunned because, had these appeared in a Habitat store in Boston, grown men would have been fighting over them. (If that culture is foreign to you, listen to Car Talk sometime on National Public Radio, Tom and Ray joke about crazy Bostonians a lot.)
Back in the 60’s and early 70’s, Boston-area youth hockey players wore the skates that their professional hockey player idols were wearing. If you were a hard-hitting defenseman you probably wore Bauer’s. But if you considered yourself to be a flashy forward you likely gravitated toward CCM Tacks.
Picking the Bauer’s up, my first impulse was to smell the leather. Bauer’s have rich, deep leather smell that’s unique to skates. And hockey arenas have their own distinct smells which permeate everything. Sweat-soaked equipment mixed with the sickly sweet smell of the popcorn machine. And, of course, in the larger arenas, the scent of spilled beer. If only these skates could talk.
Old rink rats like me can smell a skates’ history - the dank concrete locker rooms with rubber mats all around where they were laced-up. Transported back to the late sixties, I swear I smelled a player’s sweat, mixed with the sweet smell of Gatorade splashed on the boot after a hard period of play.
The compression and curl of the padded tongue told me how tight the player laced his skates for competition. I ran my fingers down the blades, feeling for nicks that told me these skates had glided only over indoor ice, not frozen ponds, and had been used in light competition, perhaps a senior no-checking league.
Standing there in front of Habitat, memories of Massachusetts high school hockey flooded my brain. Lugging a large duffle bag full of gear into Lynn Arena for 5:00 am practices – the only ice time available. Practicing on Phillips Andover Academy’s outdoor ice rink in January, with the temperature hovering around twenty degrees, fearing that a slap shot would hit your nearly frozen foot.
Like playful wolf cubs, on the team bus we practicing our fighting skills (a part of hockey that, unfortunately, fans love even today) by pulling another guy’s jersey over his head – so you could then pummel a straight-jacketed opponent. Again, a part of hockey culture foreign to most North westerners.
Our Habitat store serves many functions in our community. It’s making the American dream possible for many who could not otherwise afford it, provides gently used clothing and household items at reasonable prices, and it’s providing a place for volunteers to serve the local community in a meaningful and direct way.
And for me it’s a place where wonderful memories are rekindled.
