This town lost Macy’s, Sears. Now, all eyes on J.C. Penney
HERMITAGE, Pennsylvania: Barbara Cake had made the sale. A man was hovering near the gold bracelets at the J.C. Penney jewellery counter when she said, “Hi, sir, how are you?” Before long, he was swiping his credit card for both a bracelet and a pair of diamond earrings for his wife. But Barbara wasn’t done.
“If she doesn’t like these,” she told the customer, “then tell her you know a lot of ladies who would.”
“I just want my husband to buy me a watch,” she continued. “She should be truly happy with these.”
Barbara ripped the receipt from the register, pointed at the flimsy paper and, in a tone that sounded as if she was revealing a sworn secret, she delivered her favourite line.
There were four days until Christmas, and this customer had decided against shopping online to come to a real store and talk to real people. To Barbara, that meant she had to provide something he couldn’t get from clicking buttons on a computer. Could the internet assure the customer that he was making the right choice? Could it praise him for being a thoughtful husband? Could it make sure that he was getting the best possible deal?
That was what Barbara could offer at the last remaining department store in the only mall in Hermitage, a city of 16,000 in western Pennsylvania. J.C. Penney used to be one of three anchor stores at the Shenango Valley Mall. Then, one day last March, both Sears and Macy’s shut down, becoming two of the more than 500 department stores that closed across the country in 2017. Headlines have called the shrinking of these American staples “the retail apocalypse.” In Hermitage, employees called it “the funeral,” because of the way it sounded as customers lined up to make their final purchases. “I’m so sorry,” they said. “I’m in shock.” “What are you going to do?” “What am I going to do?”
What might have been just
When Macy’s and Sears closed, nearly 200 people lost their jobs - the equivalent of one out of every five retail positions in the city. In the months that followed, strips of tape kept appearing on the mall directory, blacking out the names of stores that followed suit
a sign of the times in a bigger city was a life- changing and economy-altering loss for Hermitage, the kind of place too far from anywhere to be considered a suburb, but too developed to be considered rural or to attract visitors with smalltown charm. The closest thing Hermitage has to a downtown is the intersection where its mall sits, surrounded by McDonald’s, Walgreens and Dunkin’ Donuts.
The biggest buildings down the road are Kohl’s, Kmart and Walmart. The retail industry is the third-largest employer in town, just behind health care and manufacturing.
When Macy’s and Sears closed, nearly 200 people lost their jobs - the equivalent of one out of every five retail positions in the city. But come November, J.C. Penney was still open, and the most important season in retail was about to begin. General manager Sharon Loughner was confident that the rush of holiday customers was still on its way. She put out a call for seasonal employees.
Among the parade of wellqualified applicants from Hermitage and towns nearby came Barbara, a 67-year- old woman who seemed to represent all that retail used to be. She was impeccably dressed for her interview. She planned to wear a pantsuit each day. She talked about catering to the customer’s every need. She addressed everyone, no matter their age, as “sir” or “ma’am.”
For J.C. Penney to succeed, it needed employees like Barbara.
“How would you like,” Sharon asked Barbara, “to work behind the jewellery counter?”
Barbara accepted. She’d been an executive secretary for 30 years, and now, a few years into her retirement, had done the maths on her savings, her mortgage payment and her grandchildren’s Christmas gifts and decided it was time to return to work.
The job at J.C. Penney was only guaranteed until the new year, but if she worked hard enough, she thought, they might keep her on. As a “sales associate,” she would be expected to sell around US$ 1,500 ( RM6,300) worth of merchandise per day and would bring home US$ 8.50 ( RM34.85) per hour, before tax.
She studied up on diamond ratings and learned to how to lock the jewellery counter’s glass cases to prevent shoplifting. She learned not to ask if customers had J.C. Penney credit cards, but to assume that they did, so they would feel like they should. “And that will be on your Penney’s card, sir?” She survived Black Friday, perfecting her response to unhappy customers: A hand over her bedazzled brooch and a sincere apology.” I’m sorry, ma’am, we don’t have the Fitbit here.”
Sometimes she worried she might be taking this position from someone who needed it more than she did. For many of her co-workers, Penney’s was a second job.
Amanda in jewellery had four children to support. Tina in home goods was taking care of her sick mother. Marcia in the men’s department had been laid off when Macy’s left. The employees bristled every time a customer said, “Is Penney’s going to close, too?”
The question was being asked constantly during the holidays, as customers returned to the Shenango Valley Mall and saw, some for the first time, the hallways of empty storefronts.
There was nowhere except Penney’s to buy men’s dress clothes. Fewer than 100 people still worked at the mall yearround.
One of them was Don Howell, the man some shoppers called the rent- a- cop, but who called himself director of public safety. Don roams the wide halls for hours a day, wearing a roundbrimmed hat, a gold badge and a radio to page the mall office, because there is really only a need for one officer at a time.
When the mall tenants kept complaining that the building’s New Jersey-based owner wasn’t doing anything to improve the mall’s situation, Don decided to give himself another title: assistant mall manager. That is how he introduces himself when he emails established retail giants in hopes they will take a chance on the mall. He’s reached out to Target and Rural King, Boscov’s and Dick’s Sporting Goods. He’s in talks with a local bakery that might be interested in the old GNC space. So far, the biggest success has been a local coffee shop that opened in what used to be an American Eagle.
When he hears shoppers complaining about the state of the mall, he offers them a simple solution: “Use it,” he says, “or lose it.”— WP-Bloomberg