“Should auld acquaintance be forgot . . . .”

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?  Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne?”  Robert Burns.

The concrete of the parking lot reflected the last rays of the sun as it fell behind the businesses on the other side of the road.  A hard reflection in winter.  The Drake neighborhood sprawled out to the south and east.  The Beaverdale neighborhood to the immediate north.  And anchoring the end of the parking lot, nearly at the top of the hill, was a grocery store made of brick and metal and glass.  Indestructible materials.  When the Des Moines and Raccoon rivers finally flood this entire plain, future societies will excavate this hill and say, oh yeah, this was the famous Dahl’s Foods.  A marketplace where the rich, and the poor, and the in-between, all rubbed shoulders, all pushed shopping carts, all bought a donut for the ride home.  A Des Moines institution.

But there was no flood.  Dahl’s Foods is just an old man today.  Sagging a bit at the waist.  The top coat a little tattered.  Not moving too nimbly, nor with too much pizazz.  But still alive.  Still selling groceries.  Still watching over us as we make our way through the aisles.

“Bankruptcy” is the word whispered on the street.  $41 million in liabilities.  The chain of Dahl’s stores is going under.  It can’t survive in any form except through bankruptcy.  Various reasons are given as to why it has come to this.  Does it matter?

Driving by the Dahl’s store out on Merle Hay Road, the Dahl’s sign is blinking out.  Two letters gone today.  How many tomorrow?  Tick tock.


So I went to check on the Beaverdale Dahl’s.

The Salvation Army bell ringer looked hopeful as I approached the narrow entrance.  As he should.  Everyone dropped something in the red bucket.  Rich or poor.  Who wouldn’t?  This isn’t complicated.  The message is clear.  “We’re all in this together.”

And the double doors opened inviting me in.

The Beaverdale Dahl’s was humming.  People were smiling, bustling around, working, steady.  I asked for the manager.  He was at the cash register checking out customers.  Of course.

“There has been a lot of support.  This neighborhood has always done a lot to support this store.  And they have the same hope for us.  People are uneasy, but they’re still in shopping.  We have a lot of employees here who have been her 10, 15, 20 years.  The customers know them by name.  Hopefully they will continue to come and give us the support they have given us the last 83 years.”

Tom Day is not an old man.  He smiles and works and talks and gets the job done.   He has been the manager for three years at the Beaverdale store.  He is responsible for around 70 employees.  A lot of people.  A lot of families.  A lot of worry.


“My new years wish is that my employees here will continue to have a job at Dahl’s, whether it be Dahl’s or some other chain name, that is my biggest hope.”  He looks at me seriously.  This isn’t some ad campaign.  This is a man who wants to make it happen for his “family.”  And then back to work he goes as another customer comes to check out.

The deli is a Dahl’s trademark from years past.  Today, of course, there is a deli in every grocery store, mall, or gas station.  But not back in the day.  Dahl’s was at the forefront in serving those beans and fried chicken and salad.  Iowa food.

Sherrie, the Deli Manager, has worked the deli since 1991.  She personifies the tough, no-nonsense-but-kind Dahl’s women that staff the bakeries and delis and cash registers across the Des Moines metro.

“No last name, please.”  As if I was being a bit too forward.  Then she looked me over — to perhaps straighten my shirt or wipe a smudge off my face.


“My New Year’s wish?  I hope we all prosper and have jobs.  See Dahl’s come back to life again.  That would be awesome.  This is one of my favorite stores because of the neighborhood.  They treat you like family.  I love this store.”

On the other side of the store is Nick Hanian.  He is a young man, still unformed.  New to the meat department.  Proud of his job.  Tucked away in the corner, preparing meat, he can’t stop smiling when I approach.

What is your New Year’s wish?

“I want to keep honing my trade as a meatcutter.   I’m 5 months in and I’ve never had more fun in a job.  My coworker and supervisor have turned out to be my new best friends.  I’ve had a lot of fun.”


So, there you go.  Perhaps it is the end.  Perhaps not.  Life is fickle.  So I grab two Dahl’s donuts.  One for the road and one to savor.  Maybe that’s what you do.  Savor.

“For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne, we’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.”  Robert Burns.



One thought on ““Should auld acquaintance be forgot . . . .”

  1. My mom started shopping at Dahls when we moved to DM in 1962. There used to be one on University, just west of the Waveland Cafe (now a True Value). That was our home store! So many good memories…the cash register lady who always gave each kid a Chicklet…the courtesty counter where you could buy individual candy bars from a box…the lunch counter where I spent countless hours sharing fries & a coke with friends. Good friendly hometown stores unlike the mega supermarkets of today! (I still shop Dahls on Merle Hay!)

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