Great A&P Grocery Store War of 1982: We Came for Snacks, Not War.

When I think back to being a kid in Mishawaka, Indiana, some of the memories that stick with me the most aren't necessarily the big events. Sometimes they're just ordinary afternoons that take a turn you never expected. One of those afternoons happened when my brother and I were spending the weekend with our dad at his little apartment near Fourth Street.

Dad didn't have much of a place back then. It was one of those old historic houses converted into studio apartments, just one room with enough space to get by. There were quite a few other people living there, and if I remember correctly, some of the bathrooms were shared. It wasn't much, but it was Dad's place.

The building was only about a block or so from the old A&P grocery store on East Fourth Street. Historical records place an A&P at 419 East Fourth Street, although it may have been operating under another name by then. In my memory, it was always the A&P.

One afternoon, my brother and I decided to walk over there to get some snacks. It was the kind of ordinary little trip you make a hundred times as a kid without ever imagining you'll still remember it forty years later.

We weren't looking for trouble.

Unfortunately, trouble was already waiting inside.

There were about six boys in the store, and we recognized them almost immediately. They played Minor League Little League baseball, just like we did, but for a team that we tied with for first place that year.   My brother and I were on a team called Wayne's Place that was sponsored by a local restaurant.  They played for a team called Eacon's Glass you could assume what sponsorship did.  Nether places in business now. There was rumor that some of their kids cheated and were much older just to win championships they stayed in the minors.

These weren't just any kids, either.  They were the ones that were rumored to be older.  They we're intimidating to me I felt like a baby animal in Africa being circled by hyenas.  I was only about 7 my brother about 10 and at that age, a few years can make a world of difference.  My brother and I trained in fighting to be superheroes all the time plus school wrestling camps.  We were no fools though we were outnumbered and outsized.

For whatever reason, they decided my brother and I were going to be their entertainment that afternoon.

They started following us around the store.

At first, it was just comments. Then came the cussing, the threats, and all the usual nonsense that comes from a group of boys who suddenly feel ten feet tall because they've got five friends standing behind them.

They kept telling us what they were going to do when they got us outside.

One boy in particular seemed determined to prove something. He was the biggest of the bunch, and he kept directing his attention toward my brother.

"You think you're tough?"

My brother didn't take the bait.

We kept walking, trying to mind our own business, while this little gang followed us through the aisles.

It was an uncomfortable situation. There were six of them and two of us, and we weren't exactly evenly matched in size.

But my brother remained surprisingly calm.

"Don't worry," he told me.

That was easy for him to say.

I was worried enough for both of us.

We continued through the store, trying to ignore them, but they weren't about to let it go. Every aisle we walked down, there they were. Every time we tried to put some distance between us, they followed.

I don't remember exactly what snacks we bought, or even whether we were thinking much about snacks anymore. What I remember is wanting to get out of that store without getting beaten up.

Eventually, we made our way outside.

Unfortunately, so did they.

Now there were no aisles, no shelves, and no grocery store walls separating us from whatever they had planned.

Just the concrete beneath our feet and six boys who had spent the last several minutes promising to kick our asses.

That's when my brother said something that got my attention.

"Be prepared to run."

I didn't need much convincing.

But what happened next wasn't what I expected.

The biggest kid was still focused on my brother, apparently convinced that his size alone was enough to intimidate him.

My brother suddenly moved.

He ducked down, got underneath the bigger boy, and somehow managed to get him up across his shoulder.

Then, in one quick motion, he tossed him backward onto the concrete.

It happened so fast that I barely had time to process it.

One moment, the biggest kid in the group was standing there threatening my brother.

The next, he was on the ground.

And we were running.

We didn't stick around to admire the throw. We didn't wait to see whether the other five boys wanted to continue the argument. We didn't even stop to find out what happened to the kid who had just hit the pavement.

We ran straight back to Dad's apartment, never looking back.

The Boy at the Ballpark

What seemed like years later, although it was probably only the following year—when you're around ten years old, a year feels like forever—I ran into that same kid again.

I was working the scoreboard during a girls' softball game at Eastside Little League in Mishawaka. We had a scoring area up above where we operated switches to change the score and keep track of the innings.

And there he was.

The very same big kid my brother had thrown onto the concrete.

Only this time, he couldn't have been nicer.

He recognized me, and I recognized him. He remembered my brother, too, and he certainly remembered what had happened outside the grocery store.

I asked him if he'd been all right after my brother threw him.

He told me he was fine. My brother had just knocked the wind out of him.

Then, to my surprise, he apologized for the way he'd treated us that day.