Crestwood Center and the Storm of 2011

Children usually go to school on Thursdays, but for the last several days no one has gone anywhere. The city is on lock-down because of what the local news called, "The Storm of 2011." David Letterman called it "The Storm of the Century," but since it's only 2011, that isn't saying much.

Dirty plates of ice still adhere to every available outdoor surface, but the sun is warm and I have a mission, several missions in fact. At the corner of Historic Route 66, now Watson Rd, my fifth-grade traveling companion and I catch the 21 bus toward Meramec Community College. A few seats are occupied by the elderly, the poor, or community college students.

When the bus comes to our stop, the boy and I descend onto the treacherous sidewalk, as the bus driver says softly, "Watch your step." Maybe I shouldn't be lugging my huge belly around in these conditions, but it isn't me who wipes-out on the sidewalk. I say, "Be careful," for the hundred-thousandth time since my son was born as I semi-waddle and he bounces toward the entrance to Crestwood Center.

According to Deadmalls.com, "When the original center was built in the 1950's, it was at the corner of Watson and Sappington roads, the two major streets in Crestwood. Obviously, this predates the interstate system (at least in St. Louis) so this was deemed to be a wise, highly visible corner for a shopping center. As suburban sprawl occurred, and the interstates 44 and 270 were built, this slowly but surely helped take the wind out of their sails."

There isn't a lot of wind sailing on the Mississippi river, and there aren't a lot of people in Crestwood Court this afternoon. Most of the foot traffic is mall walkers-- elderly couples dressed in workout clothes or middle aged ladies whose conversations about the weather echo as they power walk down the mostly deserted corridors. But even in the middle of this "state of emergency" one quickly understands that there is still something special about this mall.

After losing much of their retail clients to competition, the declining economy, and suburban sprawl, in 2008 the new ownership of Crestwood Court came up with an original idea, "In partnership with the Regional Arts Commission of St. Louis we have developed the ArtSpace program to foster growth and development in the St. Louis arts scene" (Crestwood Court). Spaces are leased to local artisans at below market value and members of the arts community are quickly filling the spaces.

We walk past store windows filled with an eclectic mixture of photographs of play performances, ballet tutus, original fine art paintings, handcrafted palatial doll houses, photography studios, strange found-art installations, and three and four foot sculptures that look like they might be worth thousands of dollars.

When we arrive at the one food store still operating in the mall, the Bread and Honey Bakery, we find a printout in a plastic stand that says, "Due to weather conditions we will be closed." The quarter dollar candy-vending machines and soda aren't going to satisfy, and I start to panic the way only a hungry pregnant woman can when she can't find food. I suggest to my son that we escape the mall to the Starbucks across the street. I'm not going to be able to complete my mission of shopping for maternity clothes at Sears, the one department store left, until I have some food in my stomach and can think clearly.

Across the street to Starbucks includes walking what might be considered about two city blocks and up a hill to the crosswalk. Snow is deep on the mall sidewalk and doubly so at the crosswalk median, but the dry cold and the bright sun make the walk bearable and even a little pleasant. The interior of Starbucks feels like an oasis of civilization. We order some food and drinks and discuss our mutual mission-to see a movie at the AMC Theatre in the mall at four.

With an extra muffin in my backpack and a full, hot coffee drink, we trek back across Watson to complete our mission. My son's mission is to find the Dollar Store he claims exists, and to buy a specific toy. The Dollar Store, according to the eleven year old, is not in the mall but near it. Looking down abandoned industrial parkways covered in slush, my heart sinks as I steel myself to the fact that my kid needs to learn to deal with disappointment.

Inside, we pass a twitchy-looking, young, hipster who is alternately staring at me and some original paintings on the wall. There is a group of Arab or Indian men, one wearing a head turban, having a friendly conversation in a foreign language outside the entrance to Sears. Not the usual crowd for this part of St. Louis, they are the only inhabitance I pass besides mall walkers as I look for a place to finish my coffee drink.

In front of the closed Bread and Honey Bakery, I sit down looking at a variety of brochures and eat my muffin. If I wanted to learn to belly dance, Irish step dance, paint ceramic mugs, buy original designer jewelry, or find Pokemon facemasks, this would be the place to go. Unfortunately, right now all I want is to sit here until my hips stop hurting and then buy some much needed maternity clothes.

My son bounces up asking for change to go in a wind tunnel machine that costs two dollars. I give him some change and a dollar bill and he runs off. He comes back a few minutes later saying it only takes bills or credit cards. Keeping a kid cool in these types of situations is essential to one's health so I reluctantly give him my credit card. "Put it in your pocket," I yell as he runs off.

On the way to the theater we pass one of the many children's play areas in the corridor which smells slightly of diapers. Stopping at the Sci Fi Lounge, we chat for a few minutes with the attractive young manager, and he conveys his enthusiasm about what the mall is becoming. The windows to the Lounge are the scene of an epic battle; centaur figurines are battling ogres on at three foot tall fortress. At a low table inside, a mom with waist-long dreadlocks sits with her preschooler playing cards while some six or seven year olds are playing with Starwars figurines.

The Sci Fi Lounge is equipped with classic arcade games and pinball, and for $2 patrons can take advantage of unlimited use of their video games, the sci fi movies shown nonstop on a big screen, and the toy museum. They also have a dollar menu of snacks and drinks... This place looks like a lot of fun for kids and gamers, can be rented for parties, and had I realized it had food, I would have come in earlier.

At the AMC Theater we see The Green Hornet which costs nine dollars for the two of us. This theater, though it has no 3D and the seats aren't like easy chairs, is the cheapest first run theater I've ever been to. Relaxed and full of popcorn, I can finally complete my mission-shopping for clothes that make me look pregnant instead of just fat.

On the way to shopping, we stop at an exhibit for the St. Louis Society for the Blind and Visually Impaired, titled, "In touch with Knowledge: The Educational History of Blind People and Historic Braille Writers." The walls are lined with displays from a traveling exhibit owned by the Callahan Museum. A gentleman asks me my son's name and what he likes to do then sits down to write him a note in Braille. The note reads, "Hello, my name is Oliver, and I like to play video games." We comment on how cool it is as we make our way to Sears.

The Sears in Crestwood Court is three floors full of fabulous, shiny consumer goods. I usually wouldn't consider myself a consumer, but sometimes a girl just needs to shop. First we look downstairs because my son is still pestering me for toys. There aren't any toys down there, but there are plenty of washing machines, treadmills, and bikes that my son occupies himself with while I'm upstairs. The second floor is apparel, and the top floor is baby supplies. Since the baby isn't going to distract my shopping energies for a few months, I concentrate on the reasonably priced maternity section.

With a bag full of loot, I start calling for a taxi. We sit on a park bench near the exit while I wait on hold for what seems like fifteen minutes. Finally, I hang up and call 411 to find another cab company. I call the second company who informs me it might be an hour before anyone comes. It's already eight o'clock and my extremely patient kid is starting to get annoying. I call back Yellow Cab, who finally answers, and I tell them I'll be at the Barnes and Noble across Watson.

I lug the bag of newly purchased goods and my aching hips across the parking lot, up the hill and across the street to the warmth of Barnes and Noble. We sit in the Starbucks there, and I hope we don't look too much like vagrants. Yellow Cab said it might be 45 minutes, it's 8:20 pm, and Barnes and Noble closes at nine.

Ordering some food and tea, I ask the modelesque barista what she thinks of Crestwood Court. She tells me she had written a paper about the place and we chat for a while about the mall's potential to be really cool, but agree that it just isn't there yet. For me this is mostly due to the lack of food. Finally, my cab arrives, and we make our escape-mission complete.

(My kid ordered his toy on Amazon later that night.)

Dierkes, KC. Crestwood Court. Deatmalls.com: 3 June 2006. 5 February 2011. http://www.deadmalls.com/malls/crestwood_plaza.html

Crestwood Court. ArtSpace. 5 February 2011. http://www.crestwoodcourt.com/info/artspace.cfm