As a young boy stomping around the old West End of Findlay, Ohio, I was lucky enough to live near Mrs. "Maggie" Phillips' old white two-story house. Her first floor was a small store. It was a child's dream with its old creaky wooden floors, comic books, penny candy, and an aroma of fresh roasted nuts. For a returnable pop bottle I could get a small bag of those warm redskins or delicious cashews.

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