Where to go to get down to nuts and bolts

I found myself at our local hardware store just before the Fourth. The flagpole bracket, attached to the upstairs windowsill, had broken off, and I was in search of a replacement. That, and some screws and a drill bit that would cut through stone.

My hardware store has been around for 111 years. It says so right on the sign out front. "Serving Your Needs Since 1891." I think some of the men who work there might have greeted the first customers on opening day. Each comes with what seems like a century of experience.

The store is higher than it is wide. Ladders line the walls, and every now and then you'll see someone climb to the rafters to bring down a hose, or a humidifier, air conditioning filters or a stash of vacuum cleaner bags, types A through Z.

If you had never been there before, you might think the place had been ransacked by thieves the night before, but it wasn't. Like anyone with a cluttered desk, the men who work there know exactly where everything is, even if they have to trip over the toilet plungers with sturdy wood handles to get to it.

They are men of few words. I asked the first man I encountered if they had such a flagpole bracket. He nodded and slowly made his way to the back of the store, past the hinges, past the bins of nails and screws, past the rakes and brooms and buckets. And then he stopped. He stood and stared at the wall for a few seconds, moved his hand just a bit to the left, and brought down my bracket: $1.99.

I told him I had to screw it into a stone windowsill. Without saying a word, he slowly walked back up the narrow aisle, eyeing the screws in the bracket as he went, then pulled out a masonry drill bit to match: 3/16 x 4. He said I also needed three plastic fasteners. Seven cents each.

And then he walked away.

I'm not quite sure why, but the $7.60 purchase brought me more pleasure than the four shirts and two bow ties I bought a couple of weeks ago in Chicago, a purchase I might add that came to considerably more than $7.60.

Maybe it's the idea that there are still stores out there where the people who work in them know something about what they're selling. And while they might not talk much, they are proud of their product and what they do.

Or maybe it's the idea that nothing is on display, niche-marketed, or set aside as "today's special." It's all just there, the nuts and bolts of life lined up along the walls, waiting for us to take them home and use them until they wear out, when we will return to rummage all over again.

A few months back, I found myself in the suburbs, adrift in one of those huge "home" centers that claim to have everything under the sun except someone to help you find it.

I can't remember now what I was looking for, but I do remember I never found it, despite the fact the aisles were wide, the lights were bright, the stock in perfect order.

I also remember that everywhere I looked, there were "specials." But nothing was really special at all.