My View from The Balcony: (A Memoir)

By Mike Smith

A true story of three young men who came from a small town are given the opportunity to open a store in Upper Darby, Pennsylvania. A Head Shop. They've never owned or managed a store before. Two of them work full time in a tool and die shop and the third one is a senior in high school. See how they started in 1969 working together building a thriving business that surprised even their closest friends. It was a different time many things in the world were changing and they had to change with them. Navigating through the competitive business world and at the same time managing their personal lives. Starting in their hometown of Lansdowne the story moves to Terminal Square in Upper Darby where they sub rent a loft, they named The Balcony. It was not easy, many obstacles came their way. Since they were a Head Shop, they were aware many believed they were selling drugs. Overcoming their personal problems became the hard part. Running the business came surprisingly easier. You would have thought the partying, drug use, a stolen car, a buyout, bootleg albums, marriages, the FBI, women, death, two new neighboring malls, additions, a move, a divorce, bootleg tee shirts, would have brought them down, but they didn't. The Balcony survived nineteen years. Nineteen years is a long time when you are working. The three main characters find out owning your own business is a 24/7 job. Like many things in life, they started together with a lot of energy and enthusiasm. Many fads came and went but the store was always up to date on all the new trends. The store became so popular customers would drive from New Jersey and Delaware to shop there. It was the beginning of the Woodstock nation. The music, drugs and sex were happening like never before and these three were ready to take it on. Many newsworthy events happened during the life of The Balcony. The reopening of the Tower Theater revised the music scene in Upper Darby bringing memorable acts to town. David Bowie played a whole week of shows to promote one of his albums. Bob Marley made a rare appearance and actually sent one of his crew to come in and ask if Bob could come in to shop. Bob and some of his band including his little brother and son came and spent over an hour shopping before the show started. Money was being made as the three partners started to disagree and find fault with each other. This is the story of how it happened from the very beginning to the end. It answers so many of the questions that have been asked since The Balcony closed its doors in 1988.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098387938

Mike Smith

Targeted's author Mike Smith is Vice President of Revenue Platforms and Operations at Hearst Magazines Digital Media and General Manager of Core Audience at Hearst Corporation. The former President of Forbes.com and former Chief Digital Officer of Forbes Media, Smith is an authority on how using real-time bidding systems with finesse can dramatically promote online advertising and branding. Before joining Forbes, Smith was Vice President and Chief Information Officer at TheStreet.com. He also worked at HBO in a variety of positions, including director of information technology. Smith is a graduate of the New Jersey Institute of Technology.

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My View from The Balcony

© 2021 Mike Smith

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Print ISBN: 978-1-09838-792-1

eBook ISBN: 978-1-09838-793-8

Table of Contents

One: Beginnings

Two: Everyone in Lansdowne knew a Smith Boy

Three: 69th Street Shopping Center

Four: We Can Do This

Five: It’s Working

Six: Atlantic City Pop Festival August 1–3, 1969

Seven: School, 4F, Eddie, The Beatles and Claudia Urie

Eight: Allentown Fair

Nine: A New Life

Ten: Earth Day

Eleven: Legion Terrace, Gulliver’s Travels and Flare Jeans

Twelve: 7014 Terminal Square, Renee Designs and Bicycles

Thirteen: Rita Coolidge moves in

Fourteen: John’s music store

Fifteen: A Sewing Machine, Phone call from Dad

Sixteen: New York shows, Missing Trains

Seventeen: Going to Wildwood N J Hunter S. Thompson Style

Eighteen: Buzzy Arrives

Nineteen: The Brow Bender

Twenty: Mark Segal, Powelton Village Adventure

Twenty-One: The Tower Theater Opens Again (Photos)

Twenty Two: Marty’s Tee Shirts, Alice Cooper

Twenty-Three: Expanding, 7012 Terminal Square

Twenty-Four: Telling Lies, New employees and Bowie

Twenty-Five: VW Accident, Claudia Moves and Susan

Twenty-Six: Jimmy Goes Missing

Twenty-Seven: Mike and Claudia Get Married

Twenty-Eight: The Slowdown

Twenty Nine: A New Opportunity

Thirty: A New Building, Another New Beginning

Thirty-One: Walter Pigeon

Thirty-Two: Lights, Windows and a Baby on the Way

Thirty-Three: Bob Marley Visit, Renee is Born and Curly Hair

Thirty-Four: Big Star Enterprises

Thirty-Five: Christmas Time

Thirty-Six: Blue Law, Disco, Cabbage Patch Kids and Punk

Thirty-Seven: Philadelphia Rock and Roll Convention

Thirty-Eight: Stevie is born

Thirty-Nine: The Nyack

Forty: Sandhoff

Forty-One: New Law, Video Games, John Lennon

Forty-Two: Copley Road

Forty-Three: Some Girls

Forty-Four: Sea Isle, Goodbye Debbie, A Bridge

Forty-Five: Nikki Comes Home

Forty-Six: OUR Yoko

Forty-Seven: Friday the 13th

Forty-Eight: GI Joe, Building in Sea Isle

Fourty-Nine: Yoko—Now You See Her, Now You Don’t and Capt. America Returns

Fifty: The Big Bust

Fifty-One: A Shit Storm

Fifty-Two: Gucci and Live Aid

Fifty-Three: Trip to California

Fifty-Four: Advertising and Coming Apart

Fifty-Five: New License, Mom has Cancer

Fifty-Six: Move’s Last Stand

Fifty-Seven: End of the Bust, Hello Joe

Fifty-Eight: Gucci Polo Bust

Fifty-Nine: New Landlord

Sixty: Goodbye Mom

Sixty-One: Landlord and Yoko Showdown

Sixty-Two: The Close Down-The End

In the beginning years, people would ask us, How did you do it? How did three very young guys open a store and become successful? Nineteen years later, the same people would ask, Why did you close? You were doing so well, why did you have to close? Even today, in 2021, when I wear my Balcony tee shirt to the gym or out shopping, people come up and tell me how much they loved The Balcony and that they would shop there when they were younger. Why did you close?

After reading my brother’s obituary in April of 2019, I knew it was time to answer these questions. Time to tell the truth of not only how it happened, but also to share what went on in my life while it was happening.

My View from The Balcony

I was eighteen in 1969, the year I was to graduate from Lansdowne Aldan High School. Buzzy, Jimmy and I agreed to chip in equal amounts to start the business and be equal partners. Ginny remembers we chipped in $300 each. When I spoke with Jimmy in 2019, he remembered the amount to be $700. And I thought it was $500. It’s been fifty years and time can play tricks on the memory. When I decided to write this book, I wanted to make sure the details were correct and truthful. You can see from the start, each of us has a view, hence the title My View from The Balcony. No matter how much the three of us had each contributed, we would all have to agree the business was started on a shoestring budget.

One:

Beginnings

I was born in Fitzgerald Mercy Hospital in Darby, PA. My older brothers John and Buzzy would tell the story of the day my parents brought me home in a laundry basket, sitting it on the living room floor for them to see me for the first time. We lived on East Essex Ave in a row home (which we called side by side attached homes row homes back then) my parents bought in the 1940s. It was the typical three-bedroom one-bathroom home that I did not realize was small until many years later.

I enjoyed growing up in Lansdowne, a borough located six miles southwest from Center City Philadelphia. Not known for being a big town, Lansdowne is just over one mile square. The town is primarily residential with a commercial shopping area in the center at the intersection of Lansdowne Ave and Baltimore Pike. I have many fond memories of watching movies in the Lansdowne Movie Theater. There was a series of Saturdays when they would have a drawing for a free three speed bicycle, and each week I held my ticket in my hand knowing when they drew the number I’d be the winner. It never happened but I had faith, maybe one day. When I first started dating, I took a girl to the theater to see a movie. I really liked her and wanted to make a good impression. The theater had a coin-operated popcorn machine, in which you would place a nickel and popcorn would flow out into a bag. I was so busy being nervous, I forgot to put the bag under the lid and all our popcorn shot out all over our feet and onto the floor. (Yes, a real keeper I was).

The morning of the fourth of July, Lansdowne would have a big parade. I loved to decorate my bicycle with red, white and blue crepe paper and ride in the parade. Prizes were given to the best decorated bicycle. I never won but I had a lot of fun. In the evening, they would have fireworks in the athletic field next to the high school. The Lansdowne Volunteer Fire Company sponsored the fireworks through donations they would collect starting in the spring. The firemen would go door to door asking for donations and giving out small, circular, red, white and blue tags for admission onto the athletic field. There were always several fire trucks standing by in case any fire would start up from any falling hot debris or sparks.

After the Christmas holidays, Lansdowne would have a burning of the greens. The township had a special day to pick up your used Christmas tree. You could leave it out by the curb, and on the specified day, they would take them to the field next to the Ardmore Avenue School where the trees would be thrown into a big pile and set on fire. A bonfire of Christmas Trees! Lansdowne also had a Classical Society with their Classical Orchestra and a Folk Club who would perform concerts around town. I believe both the Orchestra and Folk Club met and practiced in the Twentieth Century Club on Lansdowne Ave. It was a gathering place for artists and musicians not far from the Public Library.

There is a railroad station just below the center of town, which allows for easy access to Philadelphia. A bit of history happened about a mile down Baltimore Pike in the next town of Clifton Heights. The 1960 presidential candidate John F Kennedy stopped at the Bazaar of All Nations parking lot and did a campaign speech. I was only eleven years old, but I was excited to witness this large crowd of people come out to hear him speak. It is something I’ll never forget. Traffic was crazy on Baltimore Pike that day with all the security blocking the double lanes making sure nothing would go wrong. Having the Democratic candidate visiting us made a lot of local news. Delaware County was, and still remains, a very Republican county.

Lansdowne had its own police department and a volunteer fire company. Our school district was all in our town; we were not bussed out for any classes. All three levels of our education were within walking distance of our home. Green Ave School was our elementary school from kindergarten to third grade, Highland Ave Middle School grades fourth to sixth, and then Lansdowne Aldan High School from seventh grade to senior year. The high school was on the corner of E. Essex Ave and Green Ave just across the street from the elementary school and about five street blocks from our home. On our early morning walks to Highland Ave school we’d pass Virginia Donuts; it was more of a donut factory than a store. They made all their donuts here in Lansdowne and would deliver them to stores and diners all through Delaware and Philadelphia counties. We would smell the sugary smell getting ever stronger the closer we got. Some mornings, you would see groups of children all ages making their way to Virginia Donuts.

The storefront where they sold donuts had a counter with trays of wax paper bags filled with broken donut parts which they would sell for a dime. We’d stop there every morning and buy a bag before school. The selection of donuts was mixed in the bags; on some days they might have a few that were filled with all glazed donuts, which happened to be my brother Buzzy’s favorite, so he would make sure to get one. The donuts would all be gone by the time we made it to the school building, which was only a block away. Saint Philomena Church and Catholic school were directly next door so the store could be filled with a lot of students buying their morning breakfast. The line to the register could be long and there would be fear of getting to class late. It wasn’t a hangout, but it gave us a chance to meet up with our friends who went to school with us and also friends that were going to St. Phil’s (we called it Phil’s). That’s what made Lansdowne so special—everywhere you went you could meet up with someone you knew.

My father was a bus driver for the Red Arrow bus company. Most of the buses would leave from the 69th street terminal. He could catch a bus on the next corner from our house and be at work in about fifteen minutes. I remember he had the Chester route and his bus would pass our corner several times a day going to and from Chester. If we had a car, it was sure not to be running, and we took the bus everywhere we went. Since my dad worked for the bus company, we would get rolls of bus tokens for free, which was great. It allowed us to go anywhere we wanted on the buses. Some days, I would wait for my dad’s bus to come and he’d pick me up and I’d ride with him as he drove to Chester, where there was a small bus station. When we’d get to Chester, I’d get off and buy a fountain coke. I can still taste that original coke syrup flavor; it was so good. While he was working as a bus driver, he had a side business he’d try to get off the ground, which he hoped would allow him to quit his bus driving job. He had several but none of them were successful. I remember he started to do house clean outs, which seemed to do well enough that he was able to rent a storefront in West Philadelphia. He would sell a lot of the used items he had been paid to take away for people. I was not aware how he was doing all this since he did not have a truck, but I remember it went on for at least a year. There was a Saturday morning when several men were on our front porch knocking on our door. It scared me hearing four or five grown men who were obviously not happy banging on our front door. My Dad was still in bed and my mom told us not to answer the door. They stayed there a long time knocking and yelling until my dad came down and went out onto the porch to speak with them. They had done work for him and he owed them money for helping him. He was out there a long time talking with them and when he came in he said it was okay and that he’d taken care of it. My parents never shared a lot with us, so after something like this there was never any conversation explaining what happened.

As if my parents did not have enough problems, I started having pains in my right leg. On my second visit to the doctor’s office, he spelled out the word hospital to my parents. I was a good speller and knew I was in trouble. From his office, I was taken directly to the hospital. I was very scared; I had never spent a night away from my family and I had never been in a hospital. The second night, I was not sleeping well and around ten at night, my dad appeared with a box from a bakery. He brought me four pieces of spice cake with cream cheese icing. I’m sure visiting hours were over, but that was my dad. If anyone would get into a hospital after hours, it was him. We ate one each in silence; I fell asleep and woke in the morning to the nurse looking at me and the box of remaining spice cakes lying on the bed. She asked me, Where did this come from? The spice cake fairy made me a visit? What else could I tell her? They didn’t know what was wrong with me. I stayed a couple of days until they found nothing and sent me home with no answer as to why I had been experiencing those pains. My mother told me when I was older that the doctor thought I might have polio and that was why they had kept me so long.

John, my oldest brother, seemed to have the easiest time going through school. My mom always said he was the smartest and at the time I believed he was. He did well in school and was never kept back a grade. Buzzy did okay but was held back in either seventh or eighth grade. I did well in school, but I was held back in the first grade. I had a speech problem that made it difficult for me and I would have to spend time with a speech therapist, Mrs. Fair (whose son Donald Fair became a newscaster for a Philadelphia TV station). I did well up to the seventh grade. I wasn’t much of a scholar, but I loved to read, so I did okay as long as I read the assignments. I could get by with Cs and sometimes Bs, without any problems, but as I approached seventh grade, my parents separated and I did not deal with it very well. I flunked seventh grade and I was a mad and confused young kid who just did not care at that point. I think I was rebelling. Buzzy was trying to keep an eye on me at that time and would try to encourage me to get it together. We got into a few fights about this and he would tell me he knew I was going to drop out, and if I did, I’d end up a loser. Buzzy had a harder time with his studies. He would have to read everything three or four times before it would sink in so I think he thought I was the same way. When he saw me not studying like he did, he thought I would flunk out of every class, which luckily I didn’t.

I was told my father was from New Jersey. We’d met his sister and his mother once when I was seven years old. Other than that one visit, my brothers and I knew nothing about his family; we never met our paternal grandfather. I had been named after two uncles, my dad’s brother George and my mom’s, Uncle Mickey. Before the ink on my birth certificate could dry, there was an argument in my dad’s family, resulting in my being called my middle name, Michael. The three of us, my brothers and I, all had a middle name beginning with M. John was named after my mom’s dad John Motsko, and Buzzy was named after my dad, Clarence Makin Smith Jr. He was born when my dad was away in the army. My mom said she named him after my father so there was no doubt he was his.

There was enough difference between our ages that at times it felt like I was an only child. I was left behind so much I learned to keep myself busy without my brothers. I spent a lot of time in my room with my guitar, colored pencils (I loved to draw) and two crystal radios I built. I think my relationship between me and my father was completely different from what it was for them. I was not always included on their adventures with Dad. One of the very few things I remember doing with my dad was going to the Delaware County Field and Stream shooting range. It was in Middletown and he would take me there for pistol and rifle practice. He had several rifles and two pistols. I still have the .22 rifle he gave me and taught me to use. When we got home, we’d spend time in the dining room with newspapers spread over the dining room table where he taught me how to clean a gun and a rifle. I also got to learn the proper way to do archery. I had my own bow and arrows. I don’t remember Dad ever taking my brothers to the shooting range; he may have but I was not with them if he did. I know he looked at me differently from how he did my brothers, like he was trying to figure me out. I think he knew I was different. I’d like to think he wanted to be a good dad, but there was something missing. I was always scared of him and never knew when he’d flare up about something small or stupid, and it would ruin whatever we would be doing. I tried to enjoy the time I spent with him, but it was hard since his mood could change for the worse at any time. When he was nice, he was the best, but when he turned, lookout! That could be the reason my father did not have many friends of whom I know; he was pretty much a loner. I know he and my mom kept in touch with a couple from Paoli, a guy my dad in the service. Other than that relationship, any friends or connections my parents had were my mom’s. I can remember visiting my dad at the 69th St terminal. On one wall were the bus schedules and the planned drivers’ names next to the bus route. I was sad to see that next to my dad’s name someone had handwritten asshole. I can only assume someone he worked with did not care very much for him and seeing that stayed with me for some time. I stopped going to the terminal after that visit. Since the drivers all knew each other and would talk a lot in between bus schedules, they must have known my dad was having an affair with a woman in Upper Darby. My brother John was only a year old when my mom caught on to what was going on. He must not have been any good at sneaking around. In later years, she shared with me that she knew pretty much what he was up to most of the time and it was usually no good. He was running around while Mom was trying to enjoy having her first born. He was also not paying the bills for the household. It got so bad that my mother went down to the draft board office and told them to draft him into the army. He wasn’t working (not 100% true), was never home, and he was leaving her and their infant son alone to fend for themselves. So he was drafted into the service, never knowing it was his wife who did this. After he left, my mother realized she was pregnant, and she knew she had to name the baby after my father, so he would know it was his child. I must assume Buzzy was not planned and I know for sure I wasn’t. My mother shared with me once in our private conversations that they did not have abortions available to women back then like they do today. I’m sure if she had the choice, I would not be here today.

Mom, Dad, Buzzy and John (I took the picture)

Since I was the youngest, I was always the last to know or hear about anything going on in our home. I always knew when things were not right and never felt my parents loved each other. There was always an issue with my father, which caused an unhappy environment. We never knew when he would flare up and carry on with one of us. I grew to fear him and started to avoid him as much as I could. One night, I was awakened hearing my mother screaming for help. My brothers and I ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. All I could see was red splattered all over the kitchen walls and floors and all over my mom. I thought it was blood; it was everywhere. I covered my eyes and started to cry. They had been arguing and he threw a glass ketchup bottle at her and it broke erupting ketchup all over. That image of the five of us standing in the kitchen stained with ketchup is embroiled into my brain. It became very quiet as we all stood there trying to comprehend what had just happened and what to do next. We were frozen just standing there in the