This post was contributed by a community member. The views expressed here are the author's own.

Community Corner

Unwrapping the Great Fairfield Candy Mystery

25 Cents Got You a 'Slew of Candy,' but Who Was Mrs. Barski?

I live next door to the author Tony Abbott. He writes books for children, like the series "The Secrets of Droon" and novels like "Kringle," "Firegirl" and "The Postcard." Aside from being a prolific writer, he's also a great neighbor and has a wonderful family. They often invite us over for drinks and chatter, and we try to reciprocate, although with a four-year-old I'm usually not organized enough to find the martini shaker.

At one of our recent cocktail hours, we were discussing my blog. I've been writing Candy Yum Yum, (www.candyyumyum.net) a candy-themed blog, for six years. At some point in the conversation, Tony mentioned a candy shop that used to be run out of someone's home in Fairfield in the 1970s. My ears perked up. A candy shop? In Fairfield? Out of someone's home? I needed to know more.

The conversation quickly twisted this way and that, as talk often does when there are drinks to be poured, puppies to chase and preschoolers to rein in. I didn't get a chance to ask Tony for the details, except he did mention that the woman's name was Mrs. Barski.

Find out what's happening in Fairfieldwith free, real-time updates from Patch.

Fast forward to a few weeks later and on Facebook (where else?), I noticed some posts about Mrs. Barksi's on a page called "Growin' Up in Fairfield County in the 70s." Julie Haffeman Boselli kicked off the conversation by simply writing, "Barski's 'Candy Shop' Valley Road." A handful of people responded with their own comments.

  • "52 pennies please! Good old Mrs. Barski What memories!" wrote Joe Alcatraz.
  • "Remember Mrs. Barski. My dad used to give me a pocket full of pennies and we used to buy out the place. Loved those Red Hot Dollars" wrote Pamela Lewis Disbrow.
  • And from Martha Kuczo, "Wow haven't thought about that in years. We used to walk down there afterschool. You could get a lot of candy for a quarter. Mrs. Barski was mighty old; my Dad remembered getting candy there too when he was young."

I found this all so fascinating. Not only does it appeal to my passion for candy, but I love the whole mystery factor of it all. Who was Mrs. Barski? (And is that how she spelled her name? Some people spell it "Barsky.") Why did she sell candy out of her home? What happened to her? I reached out to people, asking them to relate their memories to me.

Find out what's happening in Fairfieldwith free, real-time updates from Patch.

"Mrs. Barski was, I believe, a survivor of the Holocaust," wrote Julie Haffeman Boselli. "She sold candy out of her house, it was actually a side porch, sometimes the door would be open and we would just walk on in! There was a big glass case the size of a large desk that housed the candies. Red Hot Dollars, 2 for 1 cent, candy dots on white paper, licorice, Mary Janes, Bazooka, Squirrel candy [Squirrel Nut Zippers], root beer hard candies, Sweet Tarts, wax lips, Pixie Stix, Good & Plenty and the long shoelace licorice. She also had some Hostess and Drake products, Twinkies, fruit pies. I think she had a small freezer with ice pops & the like."

"We would go in with 25 cents and get a slew of candy! I spent many afternoons there on Valley Road. Sometimes we would go behind her house and there was a wall we would sit on and munch away. She wasn't particularly a friendly or 'warm and fuzzy' woman, just looking to make some money. She had silver hair in a messy bun and always wore an apron of sorts. I believe her sister lived there also."

I can picture this in my head so vividly, although I'd never been there. Can you imagine this happening today - someone operating a candy shop out of their house? I wonder how long it would take before the police showed up?

Ilene Kramer Ferik also shared her memories of Barski's.

"They lived in a small white house with a tiny store attached. There was no name on the house but you could always recognize it by the box of Oxydol laundry detergent in the window which never changed over the years. You would open the door to the store and a bell would ring and eventually a little old lady would come over. She never spoke to you except to count the candy and she always said 'One peenie, two peenie, three peenie' etc. After about eight years she added tax."

"She never ran out of candy and also had ice cream, soda and cigarettes.  You would leave the store with a wonderful brown paper bag filled with malted milk balls, licorice, fireballs, small dots on white paper, red wax lips and wax filled with liquid. You could drink the liquid and then go to her back yard and float the wax turtles down the Rooster River.  By the time you walked home your candy would be gone but you knew you would go back again the next day. Nobody ever went there alone. I think we were secretly scared so we went in groups.  I always dreamed of being the next Mrs. Barski and opening up a candy store, but I became a nurse instead."

The reporter in me hoped to find some solid information about Barski's. A photograph, a newspaper clipping, maybe a receipt or a long-lost relative. But all the information I could dig up was purely anecdotal. The reporter in me was disappointed. But the kid in me, the one who loves candy and a good mystery, loves that all I have are stories culled from other people's memories. Want to read more? Check out Tony's blog, "Friday Book Report" at http://tonyabbottbooks.com/blog/?p=90.

Or perhaps you remember Mrs. Barski yourself. If so, let's hear your story.

We’ve removed the ability to reply as we work to make improvements. Learn more here

The views expressed in this post are the author's own. Want to post on Patch?