Strip malls often become incubators for human memory. Princeton Plaza is no exception.
As a kid who grew up not too far away, I knew a gearhead stoner down the street who bought Pink Floyd tickets at Jeff’s Jeans in this mall at Blossom Hill and Kooser roads. The store isn’t there anymore but the memory returned when I shuffled through the complex last week.
The mall conjured up all the great things about being a real human with real memory, real stories and real experiences. Especially with AI-generated slop now set to infest all online conversation, memories of San Jose’s underbelly need to be preserved in real time. I was set for the task.
I am not a Luddite. That’s why I remembered the BASS Ticket Outlet behind the counter of Jeff’s Jeans—fantastic technology for the time. When the gearhead drove his beater Camaro to Jeff’s Jeans for tickets to Pink Floyd’s Animals tour at the Oakland Coliseum, my grade-school brain was impressed. It was new technology to me. I think he wore maroon corduroy bell bottoms. He was always in his front yard wrenching on that car.
Jeff’s Jeans faced Blossom Hill, not too far from Wimpy’s, which is now the Cup and Saucer restaurant as of 1990. As I peered in, some of the characters dining inside looked like they’d been sitting there ever since it was Wimpy’s.
Regarding Jeff’s Jeans, I remember nothing else. We were more of a Mervyn’s type of family.
I count myself among those whose parents bought us Boy Scout uniforms, patches and other regalia at Mervyn’s. I was the official troop Scribe, since I enjoyed taking notes on the meetings and scribbling in a notebook. Oddly enough, it fulfilled the same requirements as Assistant Patrol Leader. In other words, the Scribe position allowed me to escape all the work that everyone else felt obligated to do.
Since I still have the circular Scribe patch that we got at Mervyn’s, which is now Outdoor Supply Hardware, I went inside to see if I could remember anything. I think the Boy Scout stuff was somewhere near the aisle of hinges and gate hardware.
There were plenty of other goings-on at Princeton Plaza, well into the ’80s, precisely the reason why I came back to walk around. Half-dead malls can work wonders on your psyche, unearthing long-dormant memories.
As such, some of the landscape design of Princeton Plaza still remained—the concrete planters and the older rock-façade areas in particular. It was all straight out of 1962 when the plaza first opened.
By the time 1977 came around, when the stoner dude from down the street wheeled over and snagged Floyd tickets, the whole plaza celebrated its 15th anniversary. At the time, a one-pager in the Mercury-News advertised deals from Allied Appliance, Chauncey’s Interiors, A & J Quick TV and Dale’s Shirt Wheel. Nearly 50 tenants filled the whole plaza in those days. Right now, only the liquor store remains from those days, along with maybe one or two others.
As I wandered around, the interior seemed much emptier than it really was. Fitness outfits, dance classes and daycare operations were present. I did not let the stark walkways depress me. A shaft of sun dropped in through the skylight. Outside, the parking lot was filling up.
I am relaying these experiences to assure everyone that no matter how dismal and bland a place can get, better moments will always be ahead. I know so, because as soon as I started thinking along these lines, the Promised Land appeared.
Right where Party City used to be—whatever that place was even for, I don’t know—but right in that same darn locale I found a killer Indian grocery store. A beautifully ramshackle food area was not quite in full operation, but they had fresh samosas, sweets and chai. Boom. I sat down at a table next to a chessboard and spent many minutes eating my food before perusing the spice aisle.
The place was clearly a family affair. While I sat there, an old Sikh wheeled in a new washing machine and then went off into the back of the place.
The rest was sheer bliss. At Princeton Plaza the best is yet to come!
