A Storehouse of Memories
by Earl Smith

Not so long ago, a pretty fair football player flunked out of Colby and, after a year away, returned for a session with me to prepare for the requisite readmission interview with the Committee on Academic Standing. I tutored him on questions he might be asked and gently added that a sport coat and tie might improve his chances. The student appeared the following morning, resplendent in a new blue blazer. I intercepted him as he was about to enter the meeting. "You look great, but let me help you cut this thing off," I said, pointing to a bright yellow LEVINE'S / SALE tag hanging below the vent. "Better not," the student said, tucking the tag into the back of his trousers. "The jacket's on loan. So's the tie."

America can build all the shopping malls it wants, but none will produce a store that will make loans to students temporarily in need of dressing up. These kinds of places--if there ever were other places like this--are gone. Gone for sure with the spring closing of Levine's on Main Street inWaterville.
Founded by Russian-born William Levine, the store had its beginnings as a horse-and-wagon enterprise, peddling dry goods throughout the Kennebec Valley. The first store was opened in 1891 on the main floor of the Levine home (where the sons still live) on Ticonic Street. Within a half-dozen years it had moved to Main Street, near City Hall, and then to its final location at the south end of Main Street. Through those years ownership passed from the father to the sons, Ludy Levine '21 and Pacy Levine '27, and, finally, to the nephew, Howard Miller '40, where the remarkable string has run out.
It was something of a miracle that the store lasted so long--105 years. For the last decade or so it was struggling against the tide of national chain and discount clothing giants. Still, the closing of Levine's was a terrible loss for Waterville. On Mayflower Hill we consoled ourselves by telling and retelling Levine's stories. Teachers who brought up young sons nicely dressed with clothes that were freely charged--without interest--year after year. Pacy absolutely refusing to sell a particular coat on sale because it was "not good enough" to be worn at the College. And the occasional student of slim means, quietly outfitted at no charge.
The magnet that drew customers to Levine's was not so much the prices (which were fine, thank you) as it was the personalities of the proprietors, precious Colby jewels who, for so many students and alumni, were nearly as much a part of the Colby experience as the faculty who taught them. Indeed, for many alums of all ages, no return to Colby was complete without a reunion at the store where a tour of the Colby Corner museum was obligatory.
There was no such thing as a quick stop at Levine's, never a mere shopping trip. Sometimes, if you wanted to, you could even wait while the tailor made alterations (no charge). You wouldn't be bored. The ever-inquisitive Ludy (now 97), inches from your face; Pacy (91), interpreting, repeating answers. And Howard, a wan smile and a measuring tape around his shoulders, patiently waiting to make a sale. Is not the campus the most beautiful place on earth? (Having seen the miracle of Mayflower Hill from its beginning, they think so.) Will whatever team beat Bowdoin? (Oh please, Lord.) What's the look of the freshman class? (Are there big ones for foot-ball? Tall ones for basketball? Fast ones for track?)
Today, the rhythm of life and enterprise on Main Street is changed forever--and Colby has lost something as well. No doubt we should be grateful that we've known the store and the men who ran it--and we are--but we are sad, too, that future Colby students will not share the experience.