| Notes | CC Ward was quite a jovial fellow, known for his hearty laugh and bowler hat that bobbed as he bustled through his little shop on Waterman Street. It was 1923, and the world outside his dusty window spun with jazz, motorcars, and rumors about fortunes made and lost. Inside, sacks of flour and penny sweets lined the shelves, with brass scales gleaming under gaslight. CC greeted every customer as if they were old friends, always remembering names and favorite purchases. He delighted in weighing out currants or sliding a tap into a vinegar barrel, telling stories as children giggled near the licorice drawer. On Saturdays, the shop stayed open late for payday crowds, and neighbors gathered in the warm glow to exchange news and laughter. Delivery boys came and went with bicycles, never leaving without a biscuit from CC’s private tin. Some said it was the best place in town to find both marmalade and cheer. To Ward, the shop was more than a business: it was the heart of a changing world, a place where camaraderie and kindness were always in stock, no matter how wild the Charleston played outside. Of course this story is complete garbage and made up by AI, so you know be wary and stuff. But the photo is definitely real and definitely taken by me. |
