Ode to Nichols Hardware

By Adam Stevenson

In the haze of not-so-distant childhood summer days, one image – or collection of images and memories – remains especially resonant. Walking into Nichols Hardware – after heaving the solidly heavy wooden door open – I would look down the counter at a line of old and wizened men. Looking back now it was as if I was staring down the village elders, the spiritual essence of the town distilled into specific human forms. 

Perhaps in the moment I was thinking more about the penny gum, especially hopeful that by some cosmically influenced good luck I would get two pieces for one penny. And these men, at least in my recollection, weren’t usually smiling. They knew things about life I didn’t yet know, experienced certain things I hadn’t yet experienced, and this knowledge and these experiences maybe contributed to their sober and direct mannerisms. 

But they had a specific place, a tangibly practical body of knowledge, and if my dad needed plumbing fixtures, or a can of paint, they would direct him to the correct variety depending on the situation, and maybe even provide specific advice on whatever little project or repair he had in mind. The place, and the people who called it home, at least during working hours, fit together. There was a wholeness, a human-size fittedness, that I recall fondly – and can observe again whenever I happen to visit. 

A piece of Purcellville’s history is passed down there, and a piece of human experience generally. This business is not only a place to purchase needed goods (even if it is “your most dependable source of supply”), it is a cultural expression. Nichols Hardware not only provides an easy-to-quantify economic function, it provides badly needed social and community functions.

First, to its employees it provides not only a job but dignity. The dignity is of providing real practical support in an established community institution, of having a place and being recognized for it. And this is not something that comes automatically to any job (especially the modern set). 

Too often the modern economy assumes anyone is fitted for any job as long as the price is right – even degrading ones have a proper price and place in its system. Because of this, dignity is not inherent to any occupation, but instead depends upon our society’s willingness to allow economic tasks to take human form – and not mechanically assign humans to economic molds. 

I’ll admit I’m completely ignorant of Nichols Hardware compensation system and philosophy, but it would appear as if the business encourages a rather heterodox customer service ideology (in contrast to the ‘customer obsessed’ models so popular nowadays). As an example of this, a few weeks ago I came in to see if I could get a piece of pipe cut. I walked in around noon and one of the few remaining long-time employees (one that I remember staring down at me as I looked across the counter with penny gum hopes) told me he could cut the pipe but that his lunch was being prepared and I would need to come back later. His response was deflating and revelatory all at once. 

It was the first time in a while that I was told in a place of business that the customer can’t always be first, an implicit reminder of the human element that keeps the wheels of industry spinning. Of course I can’t get a pipe cut whenever I happen to be in the mood, my needs must be met by a real human being with real needs of their own. The humanity of it all jumped out at me in this simple interaction.

Second, Nichols Hardware is an aesthetic experience. This can be most strikingly illustrated by contrast. Who among us could bear to wander around Walgreens with no specific intention of buying anything, but to simply look around? 

I find my soul wilting in the cold white glare of the perfectly sterile shining arrays of goods in any given chain store. If I didn’t come for a specific economic task, I would try to forget the very existence of such places. 

But I could spend at least half an hour in Nichols every Saturday for the rest of my life and be content with leaving each time without purchasing anything. That may not sound like too much of a boast, but if I tried that in [insert generic corporate chain store name here] I would probably meet a quick and early demise. 

Because of the attractiveness of the business inside and out – the authenticity of it all – it does more than provide dignified employment, tax revenue, and a very small contribution to our gross domestic product. It functions as a place maker as 21st Street in Purcellville is likely the very soul – the spiritual, cultural, and historic epicenter – of the town today, and Nichols has as good a claim as any building or business there of being the nucleus of that epicenter. 

In that vein we may even begin to consider the ecology of Purcellville’s built environment and its spiritual psyche – but that would get too jargony too fast. Best to keep it straightforward and matter-of-fact – like those employees across the wooden counter staring down at us through the years – so to distill it down a bit, come for the hardware and stay because it feels like it’s here for us, not just our business.

Adam Stevenson grew up in Purcellville and can be found many Saturdays walking around 21st Street, with obligatory stops at Nichols Hardware and It’s Baazar. He is particularly interested in sustainable urban planning and Loudoun’s flora and fauna.