Mall Ketchup

My mall shopping days began back in the early ‘60s when I was 10. Mom and I would make a day of it, leaving the younger ones at home with dad. Sometimes she’d invite friends or maybe her sister and her eldest daughter, who was my age. One such trip ended up being more than memorable and, in hindsight, probably even a Godsend, that it was just the two of us shopping at the mall.
In the early days of malls, shopping inside versus outside was a significant thrill. Most St. Louis stores were downtown and lined up along city blocks with entrances just off the sidewalk. One always had to brave nature’s elements — pouring rain, blistering sun, biting cold, or extreme winds — to go from store to store. A few suburban shopping areas existed but were modeled after their downtown counterparts with accessibility still via the elements.
That fateful day drew us to visit the latest mall development, a completely enclosed shopping experience. Stores were still reachable from the outside, but why brave the elements when one could now move freely between stores in a climate-controlled garden of tile, artificial plants, and lights? The biggest challenge shoppers faced was where to park for free in the lots surrounding the mall. That day mom parked near a main street which provided an easy in-and-out to the mall stores. That was a wise decision.
I remember this excursion not so much for the purchases but for the shocking event that still gives me chills. Mom and I had shopped all morning for Easter dresses, shoes, gloves, and hats; I even got a matching purse. As we made our way toward the mall interior, mom decided it was time for lunch. We sat at a lunch counter facing the mall stores and watched a lot of people gathering just nearby. Because I had been so well behaved, I was promised I could order anything I wanted.
Earlier that week, I watched my older, teenaged, Beatle-loving cousin eat French fries with ketchup. Feeling grown-up, I defied sensibility and ordered French fries with ketchup only to be retorted by mom with “That’s disgusting, young lady!” Despite her protests, I jumped right into the crinkled fries dousing the plate with red ketchup. I heard the server telling mom the nearby mall jewelry store was about to give away diamonds. As I crunched on my sticky red concoction, the server went on to say several hundred balloons were being dropped down from above the jewelry store onto the crowd below; the same large crowd we noticed when we sat down for lunch. The server explained only a few of the balloons contained loose half-carat diamonds which would be obtained by popping the right balloon. It was time for the balloons to drop; mom quickly paid for lunch, and we headed toward the excitement.
What happened next still replays in slow motion in my memory as it did live 60 years ago. I still can see the balloons tracing a silent path down along the storefront glass windows where the excited crowd waited. The crowd fell forward into the tall windows trying to pop balloons but the balloons were popping instead on the deadly shards of glass now raining down onto the crowd. As we simultaneously approached the chaos from the back, mom suddenly stopped and gripped my hand while we both gazed in horror as the glass exploded from above and into the crowd. Our exodus to the car was swift.
Instead of hearing popping balloons revealing a shiny prize, I remember hearing screams of agony as bodies met the sharp glass. As we hurried past the bloody ketchup-red gore, the crunching sounds of the accident were soon replaced by police whistles followed by wailing sirens outside. By then, mom was already driving out towards the main road exclaiming “Oh, the ambulances!” I peered out the car window over my red ketchup-stained fingers which now reminded me of bloodied balloons and a screaming crowd falling onto the plates of glass.
Even at that early age, I realized how lucky we were to have gotten away safely with only an injury to our psyche from the bloody horror. I learned too when in a crowd, always have an out, listen to your heart and not your head when things don’t appear to be right; or, as in this case, when sparkling diamonds don’t appear to be so bright.