Every day is Sweetest Day at candy store

Today is Sweetest Day, just in case your family was unsuccessful in dropping the big hint.

No one knows exactly how to celebrate this ''holiday,'' or where it came from, although I personally suspect the American Dental Association.

So it exists in the sad limbo of the pseudo-holiday, along with Grandparents Day and Bosses Day.

What it needs is something to make it real.

That would be Peter Minges & Son, Wholesale Candy & Confections, 138 W. Court St., downtown. As the grandson of the founder puts it, the candy store is ''91 years real.''

The syrup bottles - for Sno-cones - have been sitting in the front window for as long as anyone can remember, which is generally about 70 years.

The four long wooden counters have been around since ''wagon jobbers'' loaded them with candy to peddle from carts in the countryside.

The wooden paddle fans, creaking rope-and-wheel freight elevator, and green tin dustpan are all probably older than your mother.

Frankly, this place is too real for something as contrived as Sweetest Day. But you should go there anyway, because you will find something delicious and substantial for your sweetheart, not some overpriced doodad dressed up with a banner.

Milk Duds for true love

For the little people you love, there are Saf-T-Pop suckers (the flat ones that come on a loop so they can be retrieved from children's throats). And there are things too pretty to eat, like candy necklaces that taste awful, and delicious things, like Squirrel nut chews and Sugar Daddy suckers, that aren't pretty at all.

Plan a long visit. Your childhood will come running at you from every aisle. I spotted the tart yellow-and-green mottled gum balls I used to bribe John Merriman to be my boyfriend in third grade. And I splurged on a whole box of candy lipsticks for my daughter. I'm sure we'll both feel a shiver of bonding when I teach her to smear them across her lips, then devour what remains.

Forget psychiatry and self-actualization. You find yourself in a candy store.

Chocolate emergency

Candy is ''an emotional or feelings-driven purchase,'' agrees Peter W. Minges, grandson of the founder. Once in a while, it is even life-or-death.

''How long are you open?'' demanded one tense telephone caller. Told the store closed in 15 minutes, the woman cried, ''But it's an emergency!'' Moments later, she rushed through the door, bought 5 pounds of chocolate-covered peanuts and ran back out.

Who's to question her judgment?

On any given day, a ladder truck may pull up out front. Firefighters may hop out, run in and buy a quarter-pound of French burnt peanuts, and be on their way. The Mingeses like to think it's on their way back from the fire.

If you're lucky, your visit will coincide with a regular cast of customers. Including the Jelly Bean Man, who stocks up weekly. Including the Dollar Man, who gets a mixture of gummy bears and malted milk balls when he asks for ''the usual.'' Including City Hall politicians, CEOs, media types and other such riffraff.

We all need a place to go that does not change much, where we can find something precious that we lost along the way.

The owner, William B. Minges, will never let his confectionery change. At age 84, he is there seven days a week. He still personally signs paychecks, and places orders to companies he has worked with for more than 70 years. And although they beep and blink nearby, he refuses to touch the computer or adding machine.

Some things require personal attention and tradition.

So the holiday's fake. Go to Mr. Minges' confectionery, and celebrate it with something real.

Krista Ramsey's column appears in The Enquirer on Saturdays. Write her at 312 Elm St., Cincinnati 45202 or fax at 768-8340.

Published Oct. 19, 1996.