The Trophy Shop

Many years ago, when Monte and I were pondering moves and possibilities, we used to quip that maybe we could open up a trophy shop in Minnesota. Sometimes the twist was that we would still be happy, even as proprietors of a trophy shop in Minnesota, as long as we were together. But running a trophy shop struck us as an absurd and sort of depressing venture, not something anyone would deliberately set out to do, and that’s why it was a joke.

Well, last week I actually had occasion to set foot in a trophy shop, and it was an eye-opener for me. I’ve been on a mission to obtain an engraved plaque to mount on a bench in memory of a friend who recently passed away, and a little online searching led me to this place as a possible local source. In business in the same location since 1974, the shop was a snapshot pause in the stream of time, and a little mirror on a procession of people and events in the Santa Barbara community. There were shelves of samples and rejects: shiny engraved trophy cups, wooden plaques with etched brass plates and laminated photos. Sundry objects were adorned with fond nicknames and honorary titles, along with humorous lines and earnest quotes, and many forms of proclamation. There were mugs and medallions, statuettes and stars. Apparently trees had been planted, buildings dedicated, and rose gardens named for those who once walked through them. There were no other customers inside at the time, but many affable ghosts.

And suddenly the trophy shop struck me as an enterprise with meaning after all. Isn’t there something noble and poignant about crafting awards and mementos to honor and celebrate the lives and achievements of un-famous folks? Large or small accomplishments, champion moments and beloved personalities, each was deemed worthy of some tangible symbol of recognition for posterity, each mattered to someone.

The woman at the counter––her name was Julie—was professional and helpful. She told me she had worked there for thirty years, and in fact was born the same year the business was started. We discussed the assets of carved bronze for withstanding weather and remaining legible. She showed me on her computer screen different ways the letters of our plaque could be arranged, and we looked at various finishes. She recognized the importance of the job. I love when people actually pay attention to their customers, focus on the task at hand, and imbue their work with dignity.

Basically, we were there to procure a little bit of immortality for our friend. Others had enshrined moments of victory and fame on playing fields or basketball courts, or the culmination of careers in offices and schools, or hitherto unheralded service to community. There was a spirit of cheerleading in here, and promotional optimism, and personalized expressions of pride.

I thought of a poem by William Stafford, an ode to his hometown, which he describes as comforting and benevolent, with its “upright citizenry” and its “nosy, incredible neighbors”. They deserve remembrance.

So here’s to the trophy shop, and small business enterprises, and may peace reign on “my little town, haze-blessed, sun-friended, dreaming sleepy days under the world-champion sky.”