Opinion: Memories of Mom, The Bay and a simpler past

Montreal Gazette

2 days ago

Well, it's official: After 355 years in business, The Bay has closed its doors. And with it, not just a department store disappears, but for many of us, a piece of personal history.
My earliest memories of The Bay are with my mom, doing what we'd now call 'retail therapy' with our journeys to the iconic building across Phillips Square in downtown Montreal.
Of course, as a kid, I didn't fully appreciate it. But what I did feel was the thrill of being inside this vast and sprawling store.
It wasn't just about shopping; it was an experience — especially for a 10-year-old for whom taking the bus from Côte-des-Neiges to downtown with my mom felt like an exotic trip.
As a bonus, no shopping excursion with my mom wasn't followed by an elevator ride to The Bay's enticing upper-floor cafeteria, where my mom could rest her tired, bunioned feet. At the same time, we both indulged in a simple bowl of tomato soup and a sandwich.
Years later, when I was a McGill student and then a McGill support staffer working nearby, The Bay became my lunchtime escape. I'd wander its floors, browsing for nothing in particular but always finding something: a small gift for someone or a pair of marked-down earrings for myself.
I remember a long-gone feature: a small, takeout-style grocery section in basement métro level, complete with fresh doughnuts being made on-site. Sometimes, I wonder, if I imagined it; my memory is admittedly fuzzy, but I recall a British foods section stocked with Walker's shortbread, meat pies and other imported treats from Marks & Spencer.
While I might not be 100 per cent certain of the specifics of the basement's contents, I do recall zigzagging through the main floor to avoid being spritzed or handed those heavily perfumed cards by eager saleswomen and men.
Every November, the store transformed. Glittering decorations, festive music and bustling crowds turned it into a Christmas wonderland. The shared sense of anticipation and excitement felt cosy, like one of those wool Hudson's Bay striped throws that so many were clamouring to purchase lately.
At some point that basement grocery vanished, replaced by upscale fashion. The vibe and vision for the store shifted. The main floor turned into a showroom of luxury brands, protected by security tags.
Feeling curious, I once slung a designer purse over my shoulder to see how it looked in the mirror, and it triggered the alarm. A clerk suddenly appeared, annoyed. I wasn't going to buy it, of course. I just wanted to know what it felt like to don a bag worth more than I made in a week. (Spoiler: I didn't look glamorous, more like embarrassed and out of place.)
When Sears closed, and before that, Simpson's and Eaton's, I felt a pang of nostalgia and immense sadness for the loss of jobs for all the employees, then and of course now.
Everything changes, and we adapt. Our shopping habits evolve.
So whether you're bidding The Bay a heartfelt farewell or saying good riddance, for me, it marks more than the end of a retail institution. It's the closing of a chapter of my life, of a simpler past and of a place where so many memories lived.
I'd give anything to be holding tight to my mom's warm hand again, guiding me down the many aisles, blissfully unaware of how precious and fleeting those everyday moments would turn out to be.
Joni Mitchell said it best: 'Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone?'
Wendy Reichental worked as an administrative co-ordinator at McGill University. She is retired and living in Dollard-des-Ormeaux.