Catherine Sevenau is a writer and storyteller who is out to capture your skittery mind. She's penned three books, compiled numerous collections of family genealogy, and has been a regular columnist in the SUN since 2016. She can be reached at [email protected].
Sweeney’s Penny Candy
1950s San Francisco… On Haight and Belvedere, tightly wedged between my father’s dime store and the Superba Market, was Sweeney’s candy shop. The Sweeneys were a sweet white-haired couple who lived in the flat above their Haight Street store. Actually, now that I think about it, Mr. Sweeney was on the crusty side, a balding barrel-chested man with these wild eyebrows; he always wore a white but rather grungy half-length lab-coat style jacket. His wife was short, wore wire hexagonal glasses and a white apron, and called me “dear.”
The store, once an old soda fountain, still sold milk shakes and ice cream. When it was hot, which was seldom during the summer in San Francisco, Dad and I’d pop in for a single chocolate cone or a cold orange soda pop after having lunch at the Glen Ellen Diner across the street or at the Russian restaurant down near the Panhandle.
Sweeney’s was a dingy narrow establishment with rows of begrimed glass cases filled with penny candy. The long candy counter was to the left, and to the right were perpendicular tables loaded with kites, PeeChee folders, and wrapping paper. As you stepped through the front door a swirl of stale vanilla, banana taffy, musty cocoa, and a hint of mice wafted up your nostrils.
You were greeted by gumballs and gumdrops in tumbled mounds, by lollipops standing quietly waiting to be adopted, by elbowing jumbles of jelly-beans and jujubes hoping to be chosen instead. The chewy Abba-Zabas and Sugar Daddys begged for attention while the Tootsie Pops were shy, their scarves wrapped tightly around their long skinny necks. The caramels joked around with the strawberry taffy and the bubblegum teased the jawbreakers. And whenever Mr. Sweeney turned his back, the red wax-lips flirted shamelessly with the candy cigarettes.
Aloof at the end of the counter were the bins of stale cherry, raspberry, and coconut bonbons, thinking they were something else, having no idea that they smelled or tasted nothing like the buttery velvet of See’s. The pedestrian Mallo Bars jealously jousted with Peppermint Patties dressed in their elegant silver jackets, while the button candies stood in polite lines on paper strips, glad not to be part of the fray. The worldly licorice whips slumped side-by-side, naked and bored by the whole thing.
The black licorice never called to me, nor did the Fireballs, but the Pixy Stix did, doing the Hokey Pokey in their tall glass jar and frantically waving their folded ends, aflame with hope, shouting: PICK ME! PICK ME! They leaped into my pocket as I flipped my nickel heads or tails and clinked it on the glass countertop.
In the 1950s, a nickel bought a kid a small brown paper bag of their heart’s desire from a penny candy store.
Catherine Sevenau is a local writer, humorist, and storyteller. She is currently working on her history and genealogy, which, along with her third book, Through Any Given Door, a Family Memoir, is available as a web series at Sevenau.com. A longtime Realtor and Owner/Broker at CENTURY 21 Wine Country, [email protected].
3 thoughts on “Sweeney’s Penny Candy”
Leave a Reply
I grew up in the Haight Ashbury from 1958 to 1971 (ages 2 to 15). I have such fond memories of Sweeney’s Candy Store. Every Saturday, when I was maybe 7-9, my mother would give me a dime and my friends and I would go there and painstakingly pick out our 10 pieces of candy each. Mr. Sweeney would count out our candy and place them in a tiny bag. Then we would run to the Haight Theater and for a quarter we would watch a double feature with cartoons. A whole day of fun for 35¢. But our all time favorite place was the library on Page St. We went to Dudley Stone School on Haight St…best teachers I ever had.
I lived on Haight from age 6-11, went to Dudley Stone School and every week my friends, my sister and I would take our red wagon full of bottles down to Sweeney’s ( our bottle brigade) and dive in to the penny candies. Fond me.ories of Mrs. Sweeney.
My grandparents were Russ and Alice Sweeney owners of Sweeneys Candyland during WWII through the hippie era and into the 70s. I spent many days when I was little helping them in their store. Remember all the hippies. I remember they’re rock candy and soda bottles and the store windows filled with toys. I remember making a penny sale and pushed $1 on the large old fashion cash register instead of 1 cents. Or eating ice Cream sundries in their flats