When I was a mere slip of a lad, in what’s now Sears there were two businesses. One was Woolworth’s, and the other was J.J. Newberry’s, and they both bastions of adventure.

I think the stores were referred to more as “the five and dimes” than their proper names. But that only made sense since Newberry’s, Woolworth’s and other stores of that ilk had been called “five and dimes” since they started, back in the 1870s. In fact, on the sign in the building’s front, after the business names, it said “5c & 10c.” The sign was black, the lettering was old-timey, in relief, and made out of what I thought was brass.

Originally, Woolworth’s (the first of the variety stores) wasn’t a five and dime in name only. Its merchandise didn’t cost more than 10 cents – until 1932, when they opened a 20 cent line.

By the time I came along, the 20 cent price limit was far in the distant past. But still, I could go in there with a dime and get some treasure or other. In fact, I could score with only a nickel, with their candy.

They had a gargantuan candy counter, with all the candies in bins, sold by weight. For my lordly five cents one of the women (all of whom I remember as being as sweet as their wares) would hand me a bag of M&Ms or malted milk balls in a small white paper bag. It wasn’t a huge stash, but it was enough to keep my candy jones at bay till I could manage to scrounge some returnable bottles, cash ’em in, and cop another sugar high.

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Most bang for your buck

The five and dime itself is long gone, but it has been successfully channeled by the dollar store.

Or at least by some of the dollar stores, because there are dollar storesand there are dollar stores. Luckily, My Home Town has the Kohinoor Diamond of dollar stores – The Dollar Tree. It is, hands down my rave fave.

First, of course, everything in there costs a buck. Period.

Second, the place is neat and clean, and the staff is always friendly. For all I know, they’ve been reincarnated from the folks at the old Woolworth’s candy counter.

And finally, there are deals to be had.

At the head of the list is brand-name stuff, which the place is full of. It doesn’t matter what it is, but if you regularly buy the same item for three bucks elsewhere, why oh why not get it for one-third the cost?

Then there are the generic things that don’t involve any fine points of difference, no matter what label is on them: envelopes, notebooks, markers, and sponges, for example.

Plus there are items that are seconds but who cares? For example glasses, mugs and plates. A buck a pop for a good solid plate, or for a wine glass or coffee mug? Elsewhere, they’re going to cost a lot more, and the only differences will be minor cosmetic details which you probably won’t or can’t notice. Besides, let’s get real: Fancy shmancy glasses and plates when the only people using them will be shmendricks like us? Gimme a break, willya.

And then there are those fabulous surprises you can only find at dollar stores.

My biggest score there was the fixins for a redneck wine goblet. If you don’t know what that is, let me explain. It’s a mason jar on a stem – a goof and a drinking vessel at the same time.

Ok, so I go in Dollar Tree and I see cases of mason jars. And then, right next to them, I see cases of glass candlesticks. I look at one, then I look at the other, and it hits me: Holy moly, I’ve got a buttload of do-it-yourself redneck goblets. So I bought a bunch of each, glued the mason jars on the candlesticks and – Voila! – I had some classy gifts for my upscale friends. In fact, my first recipient was Dr. Tiffany Bombard, presented to her with a flourish at her med school graduation party. I could all but about guarantee she’s the only doctor in Albany Medical Center who can rock one of those.

Then I gave them to other friends. They made a good present, I thought – something practical, aesthetic, and with status (though what kind of status, I’ve no idea). And catch this: Each one cost me a grand total of two bucks. Buy ’em online and they run about $15, not counting shipping.

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Doubts dispelled

I love the dollar store, but some people disparage it. I can come up with only two reasons why that is: One is they’ve never really been in there. Oh, maybe they wandered in and out once or twice, but they never paid attention to the wonders contained therein.

The other reason is they really don’t care about saving money on small purchases.

This became apparent in a recent phone convo with my pal Goldie Ruhle.

Though normally imbued with the sunniest disposition, when I mentioned dollar stores, she dismissed them as if they were in the same category as infomercials, faith healers and driveway sealing hustlers.

“What’s wrong with dollar stores?” I asked.

“Everything,” she said.

“Everything?” I said. “Just like that?”

“Yep,” she said. “Just like that.”

“And you got a degree in science from an accredited university?” I said, annoyed at both her snottiness and her Philistine disregard for statistics.

I let that sink in before I continued.

“You like Koops mustard, dontcha?” I asked.

“I love it,” she said. “You know that.”

“Right,” I said. “And how much is it a bottle?”

“I dunno. Two or three bucks?”

“In the grocery store,” I said, about to drive in my first banderilla. “And guess how much it is in the dollar store?”

“A dollar?” she said, her condescension obvious.

“Ko-rect,” I said.

There was a pause. Then she resumed her attack.

“And is it past the expiration date?” she said.

“I assume not,” I said, bristling. “They’re not supposed to sell any food stuff that’s past the expiration date. You know that. “

“They’re not supposed to,” she sniffed. “But do they?”

It was too much. There she was, not only dissing my shopping astuteness, but questioning the ethics of my beloved dollar store.

“I gotta go,” I said, tight-lipped, knowing I was about to slam the receiver.

And in truth I did have to go – to the Dollar Tree.

Once there, I zoomed to the condiments and grabbed a jar of Koops.

Expiration date? December 2015!

If I said I couldn’t wait to call back Goldie with the news, I’d be lying.

I could wait, and I did – till very, very early in the morning on her next day off.