Jennings Market

On North State Street in the North End of Concord, there was a small market called Jennings. It was not a large store, and it was not meant to be. It was built for the neighborhood, for the people who lived within walking distance, for the rhythms of daily life that unfolded one visit at a time.

We went there often. After school, it was a place to buy candy. We would walk in with a few coins, and stand deciding what to purchase. I often chose sugar babies, junior mints, chunkies or m&ms.  

Saturdays were different. This was the shopping day. That was when we went to Jennings for what the family needed. The meat counter was part of that ritual with cuts prepared there, not prepackaged. Meat was not chosen from a shelf but selected and handed over.  

Jennings had more than just food, it had everything in the way these neighborhood markets did: groceries and staples, magazines and greeting cards and small items that filled in the gaps of everyday life. 

And near the checkout, there was a large cooler filled with soda: cold, glass bottles. This was part of the experience of the store, something you saw every time.

Jennings was not just a place we went to shop. It was a place that fit into the structure of the neighborhood. We didn’t need to plan a trip. We didn’t need to go far. It was simply there, part of the way of life worked in the North End.

At some point during my childhood, a supermarket opened. It was larger and offered a different way of shopping. It was a bit farther than the North End and required a change in routine.

Jennings was part of a system where you walked to get what you needed. We went often. We knew the place and they knew us.

Over time, stores like Jennings disappeared. The buildings remain, but the way they were used, and the role they played, has changed.

What remains for me is the memory of what it once was and how life was in the North End.