Childhood Memories of Stefan’s Store – Chocolate, Candy, and Old Cornflakes

There’s a small white building at the corner of Hwy 8 and Provincial Road 222 in Hnausa, Manitoba.

When I was a child, that white store was Stefanson and Son General Store. However, most people called it Stefan’s. Stefan and his father, Sigurgeir, ran the business until Stefan went solo. Meanwhile, his brother John operated The Dog Patch in Arborg, an eight-minute drive from Hwy 68 and Hwy 8. However, Stefan catered to a different clientele. Cottagers. Campers. Fishermen. Kids at the beach. Teenagers who wanted to shoot pool.

I grew up near Hnausa during an idyllic time. When Hnausa Beach was a beach, not a Provincial Park. When you could enter year-round rather than a gate blocking access at the end of summer until camping season.

One constant was Stefan’s store though. The only thing that changed was the colour of the building. Until the early-90s, it had a Walmart blue door, matching the bottom half of the store.

Stefan Stefanson was a gruff and tough man with a heart of gold. Whenever he’d tally my Mom’s purchases, he’d allow my older sister, Jenn, and I behind the counter to choose from an array of chocolate bars, bubblegum, and novelty candies – such as candy necklaces.

During the summers, our Mom would make an early morning pit stop before dropping us off at Hnausa Day Camp. We’d arrive at camp with lipstick candy and lollipop rings. Stefan’s store used to have a go-cart track behind his store. As camp was winding down, the older kids could be heard for miles zipping around that track. Stefan shut down those go-carts in the mid-80s, deeming them a liability. Stefan’s was the only place to buy gas in Hnausa, but those tanks were more of a hassle. He let them run dry, and he kept them for decorative purposes.

The freezers would’ve been a nightmare to defrost with at least six-inches of ice around the sides. Mom would whisper, “We’ll get ice cream at Orzeck’s.”

Ah, Orzeck’s. The other store in Hnausa – on the Hnausa-Finns border. Where you could purchase fresh bread, milk, chunks of Old Country bologna – and drumsticks and Fudgsicles from a frost-free freezer. The Orzeck’s were a kind couple and the store was connected to their house whereas Stefan lived in a small house less than 100 feet from his business. Orzeck’s was spotless with the smell of a grandmother’s house: crisp with a hint of Pine-Sol.

But nothing compared to Stefan’s store.

Stefan’s had everything the ’80s could offer. At the back of the store were 25-cent video games and pinball machines – plus a one-dollar per game pool table. 

On cold winter nights when my older sister and I were bored, we’d beg Dad, “Please take us to Stefan’s.” We would spend hours playing video games, buying 45-cent bars and 50-cent pops. My Dad and Stefan would talk and talk and talk, until my sister and I begged Dad to take us home.

Mom would take us to Stefan’s when she needed 7-up, Pepsi, Half-Moons, and Old Dutch BBQ Chips. Stefan always allowed Jenn and I behind the counter to choose a treat. Other adults have said, when they were young, they also stood behind the counter, courtesy of Stefan.

Stefan’s selection of chocolate bars: Aero; Mint Aero; Mr. Big; Four Flavours; Cherry Blossom; Wunderbar; Twix; Sweet Marie; Oh Henry; Mars; Snickers; Laura Secord French Mint; Jersey Milk; Bounty; Crunchy; Zero; Flaky; Three Musketeers; Eat-More; and more. Plus, flavour upon flavour of gum. Even the short-lived chocolate flavoured Hubba Bubba. 

Stefan sold a strange chocolate bar called Palomine, which my family loved – until my dad almost ate one and found dead worms. Stefan’s had rare sodas such as Snow White – a clear cream soda – my favourite. There were other rarities that never sold, including boxes of cornflakes from the late-60s or early-70s which lined a high shelf. A slew of grab bags for 50-cents no one bought. Although, I bought one the day of my Gigi Karatchuk’s funeral. It had a piece of stale Bazooka Joe gum and four leather couch buttons. That just made me sadder.

Since Hnausa was a ten-minute bike ride from home, during summer break Jenn and I would pedal to Hnausa Beach. We’d always stop at Stefan’s for bars, chips, and a pop. Maybe a little counter-productive. It was the days of a running bill, and we’d ask, “Can we put this on Dad’s tab?” We could because: 1) we politely asked, and 2) Stefan saying “yes” gave us leverage when Dad received his tally.

Stefan had a bizarre diet. It wasn’t unusual to find him at eight in the morning, sitting on the east window ledge, eating a chocolate bar and drinking a pop. My uncle remembers a bucket of fried chicken sitting on that window ledge. This wouldn’t have been an unusual sight at Stefan’s store, except the sun was streaming through the window onto the chicken. But Stefan was so tough, he could probably walk off salmonella.

One night, someone broke into Stefan’s store, and the thief snatched a couple guitars and some cash. It was an open secret that Stefan hid money under the store’s floor boards. It seemed whoever broke-in wanted confirmation. Stefan thought the thief would return, and sure enough, the next night the thief came back – and they were greeted by Stefan, holding a .22 calibre rifle.

Stefan’s was the place to stop in the summer on the way to Hnausa dock. Minnows, fishing lures, small rods for children. Cottagers would pop in for boxes of Old Dutch chips and some small talk. Since the beach was near Hnausa Dock, most years ice chunks didn’t melt on Lake Winnipeg until May or early-June, leaving a chill in the air. People would cast rods or dunk nets wearing either heavy jackets or t-shirts.

Stefan’s was a must-stop before heading to Hnausa Beach with my friends. I’d pile everyone’s treats on the counter – which included ice cream from the forbidden freezer – and say, “Can I please put this on my Dad’s tab?”

When my sister and I worked at the Hnausa Cadet Camp in 1992, Dad said our tab train was over – and he’d already told Stefan. In hindsight, it was for the best, considering we stopped at Stefan’s every second day. Although, Stefan did let us pick a chocolate bar – on the house.

Next to Stefan’s was another small building. In the late-80s or early-90s, his nephew, Clifford, turned it into a walk-up, take-out, seasonal diner called, CJ’s. You’d order at the counter. Wait for your cheeseburger, fries, onion rings, etc. The service was quick, but the restaurant wasn’t open long. Maybe three or four seasons.

Stefan died on May 11, 2000 – a year after retiring and passing the business onto Clifford, who kept the store open for a while. After a few years, Clifford closed the paint chipped doors forever. Clifford died in 2014.

Today, that white building stands with chipboard over the windows. The paint is flaking and fading, and the gas tank is rusty and eroding. Grass grew over the go-cart track decades ago. There’s nothing tangible inside the store. 

I hope no one tears down the white building at the corner of Hwy 8 and Provincial Road 222. Change is inevitable though, and eventually the store will come down.  

However, no one can erode those childhood memories. 

Or those stale cornflakes.