Catherine Sevenau

Opener of doors, teller of tales, family scribe.

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Sweeney’s Penny Candy

By

58. Haight sign

On Haight and Belvedere, tightly wedged between my father’s dime store and Superba Market, was Sweeney’s. The Sweeneys were a sweet, white-haired old couple who lived in the flat above their penny candy shop. Actually, now that I think about it, Mr. Sweeney was on the crusty side, a big man, balding on top, with muttonchops and a bushy mustache. They sold ice cream too, and when it was hot, which was seldom during the summer in San Francisco, Dad and I would pop in after lunch for a single chocolate cone or a soda pop.

Sweeney’s was a dingy, narrow establishment with rows of begrimed glass cases filled with penny candy. As you stepped through the front door, a swirl of stale vanilla, banana taffy, musty cocoa, and a hint of mice wafted up; you were greeted by gumballs and gumdrops in tumbled mounds, by lollipops standing quietly waiting to be adopted, by elbowing jumbles of jelly-beans and jujubes hoping to be chosen instead. The chewy Abba Zabas and Sugar Daddys begged for attention while shy Tootsie Pops stood with their scarves wrapped tightly around long skinny necks. The caramels kidded with the strawberry taffys and the bubble gum teased the jawbreakers. The red wax lips flirted shamelessly with the candy cigarettes whenever Mr. Sweeney turned his back.

Aloof at the end of the counter were the bins of stale cherry, raspberry, and coconut bonbons, thinking they were somethin’ else, having no idea that they could never compete with See’s. The pedestrian Mallos jealously jousted with Peppermint Patties dressed in their elegant silver jackets, while the candy buttons stood in polite lines on paper strips, glad not to be part of the fray. The worldly licorice whips slumped side-by-side, naked and bored by the whole thing.

The black licorice never called to me, nor the Fireballs, but the Pixy Stix did, doing the Hokey Pokey in their tall glass jar,  frantically waving their folded ends, aflame with hope shouting, PICK ME! PICK ME!” They leaped into my pocket as I flipped my nickel heads or tails, then clinked it on the glass countertop.

In the 1950s, a nickel bought me a pocketful of my heart’s desire from a penny candy store.

© 2015. Catherine Sevenau.
All rights reserved.

Comments

  2. I remember going in Sweeneys and choosing from a large variety of penny candy. There were lipsticks, flying saucers with bead candy inside, the watermelon and bacon slices, licorice records, red mexican hat licorice, wax orange bombs, there were so many more choices. Yes, then we’d go to the Haight for a movie!!! Or the Park Bowl…..!!!!! By the way, does anyone remember the name of the meat market on Haight with the ceiling fans and the hardwood floors????

  3. Catherine, I was rather surprised to discover that anyone else remembers Mr. Sweeney, or his amazing little shop. When I was about 10 years old, we were friends with a family who lived on Grattan Street, about a half mile or so from Belvedere and Haight. A boy from this family was my age, so we became friends. We used to love exploring the stores, especially when the head shops appeared, and of course, Mr. Sweeney’s was a required stop on all our journeys into the Haight.

    There we could buy Halloween candy year-round, red wax lips and licorice mustaches, as well as candy button on paper strips, and the occasional ice cream cone. If you spent some time going through his bins, you could find some real treasures, and not even break the bank (or your allowance) doing so. I don’t think even Mr. Sweeney knew what he had, as the bins were dusty, and didn’t look like they’d been cleaned in years. Of course, to our young minds, that didn’t matter one bit.

    The most fabulous treasure we found there was what my friend and I called “go-in knifes.” They were cheap plastic versions of a theatrical prop, so that when you stabbed someone with the knife, the spring-loaded blade went into the handle, and then popped back out again when you removed the blade from your prey’s neck. We had so much fun playing with those, and I’ve never seen one like it again. I wish I still had mine.

    I still remember the door he used to appear and disappear from, the stairs to it a few feet off the ground, at the back of the shop. I figured it was the door to his living quarters. I knew from talking to him that there was a Mrs. Sweeney, but don’t remember ever meeting her.

    Mr. Sweeney’s store was the stuff of legend to our young minds, and we both loved going there. One day, my friend’s mother told me we were not allowed to visit Haight Street anymore, because of the hippies, and I suppose, the possible influence of drugs, although she didn’t say so specifically. Of course, that only made our clandestine visits to the Haight all the more delicious, because now they were officially banned by parental decree. I started collecting what black light posters I could, and spent an entire summer in my garage learning to paint with black light paints. I don’t have those paintings anymore, as I sold them as soon as I finished a painting, but I wish I did now. I do still have all the memories, fortunately.

    Jim Carruth
    Pasadena, CA

  4. I LOVED that store and Mr. Sweeney!! One of my all time favorite memories of living in the Haight Ashbury from 1958 through 1965! I’m so happy to read many stories from others who enjoyed him and his candies! My favorite was the milk chocolate chunks he’d break from a huge block…if he was in a good mood, you’d get a bigger chunk for your money! Thank you for sharing your memories too!

  5. This was my grandparent’s store, Russell and Alice Sweeney. My four siblings and I loved to visit his store on Sunday mornings. A kid’s dream come true! We would each receive a small empty paper bag and could help our selves to any of the sugary delights. Unfortunately we all have cavities to prove it! When my grandfather Russell Ignatious passed away he willed his automobile to one of his “hippie friends”. We all have fond memories of the Haight and “Summer of Love”. It was quite an education growing up during this bit of unforgettable history in SF.

  6. I didn’t grow up in San Francisco, but Sweeney’s sounds just like the Rose Garden in Geneva, Ohio. It was a small store located in the alley behind the post office and a common stop on our walk home from school. Homemade fudge for a penny along with those wax bottles filled with colored sugar water. What did they call the little blue, pink, and yellow dot candies that you pulled off a long strip of white paper?

  7. This is a sparkling surprise to read of what seems a foggy illusive memory of my childhood on the Haight. My mom, two lil’ brothers and I lived on 2nd floor a couple doors over from the candy store 1965-1966, I was 5. Hippies taught us to ‘pan-handle’ for coins. If our bare foot begging was successful, my brother and I would venture in the candy store in hopes to procure sweets. Most often Mr. Sweeny would bark and order us to get out. Mom forbid us sugar so we felt brave and defiant although I don’t recall any particular favorite. Foggy memory. At the time the streets were dominated by the Hell’s Angels and riots that ended with tear gas.

  8. Sweeney’s penny candy was a must stop before going to the movies at the Haight Theatre. A nickel went a long way. Not like today. A time past that brings great childhood memories.

  10. The year was 1957 or 1958. I was 5, Diane was six. We got to cross from Cole, across the panhandle to get to Sweeney’s candy store. How important we felt, nickle or even a dime fisted on our hands. We ran the choices over and over in our minds til we entered the store. Then the choosing began. 2 or 3 purchases for a penny and a nickle for a bigger bar or 5 small that could last an entire show later that night. My favorites were the red lips and candy cigarettes, followed by a jaw breaker. Sometimes Mr. Sweeney would smile at us and say how grown up we were to cross the park and street and hand us a free piece of small candy. He was our favorite person for many years.