Linda Gerard DerSimonian lives in Waterville.

An author’s earnest work to craft an opinion piece for a newspaper gives the reader a gift.

Their writer’s voice can evoke feelings of connection in us, whether we espouse the writer’s point of view or not. Opinion pieces help me to reflect more deeply about a topic, and examine my own thoughts, values and emotions. Sometimes they trigger memories and longing. As author J. K. Rowling says, “Words are our most inexhaustible source of magic.”

Matthew Tzuker’s thoughtfully written op-ed, “Portland still needs you, Renys,” in the Portland Press Herald (Dec. 27, 2025) left me with a feeling of nostalgia for the department stores, storefronts and icons of place that no longer exist in the ongoing memoir of my life. He lamented that the Renys downtown store on Congress Street was no longer thriving and surviving and had to close.

If we live, wake up and go to sleep in a town or city long enough, the character and way of life that once defined it changes, and we have to adjust to its new heartbeat.

I’m a veteran of a different era, having grown up in the 1950s and ’60s in Van Buren, a Franco American town in far northern Maine, with an international bridge to St. Leonard, New Brunswick, Canada. In my mind’s eye, I see the sweep of our downtown with all its establishments. To name a few, there was W.T. Grant and J.J. Newberry’s department stores, and the two pharmacies where we sat on revolving stools at the soda fountain and sipped on Coke floats with our friends.

Mom shopped at the friendly IGA grocery store. I can hear the creak of the wood floors in the neighborhood convenience stores where we young ones gleefully filled our small paper bags with penny candy. Summertime, on Friday and Saturday nights, my brother, Danny, was a shoeshine boy. Amidst cars honking and townsfolk greeting each other as they walked up and down Main Street, he set up his shoebox and called, “Shoeshine, 10 cents a shine!”

Van Buren’s downtown was our hub, an integral part of the lives of the colorful cast of characters who stitched the soul of our town together. Today, almost all of the storefronts of my youth have vanished. Currently, the community is working hard to bring new life, but the cornerstones of the economy that thrived in the ’50s and ’60s are gone.

The Bangor and Aroostook Railroad where my father, grandfather and uncles proudly worked as station agents is a ghost of the past. Dad was a telegrapher and ticket agent assisting travelers to ride on the southbound passenger trains. Freight trains were crucial to move potatoes and lumber to other states. Potatoes remain a big industry, but the heyday of schools closing for the month of September so students could help the farmers pick the crops is not as prevalent because potato harvesters have taken the place of potato pickers.

Mr. Tzuker’s sentiments also stirred up in me a matrix of feelings about the storefronts that have closed in downtown Waterville, where I’ve lived for the past 45 years and raised my four children. Stern’s Department Store was charming with its elegant curving staircase and helpful staff. Levine’s Clothing Store offered its customers free tailoring and alterations. I fondly remember the ambience in L. Tardif’s Jewelry Store at Christmastime. A fire was cracking in the fireplace, while the slow-moving, jazzy voice of Diana Krall’s traditional Christmas songs played
softly in the background.

I carry a torch of tenderness for my childhood downtown, and miss the bustling spirit and camaraderie among townsfolk as we shopped downtown in Waterville’s yesteryear. Nonetheless, I befriend the revitalization, with its new storefronts and establishments, and have an open mind to embrace and find meaning in the mystery of the new.