From Penny Candy to Prime Cuts in the Heart of MidwayFifty-two years ago, Midway, Utah was a quiet dairy farm town—the kind of place where kids rode their horses into town. That was the first thing that struck nine-year-old David Nielson when he arrived with his family from what's now West Valley City.
“Dad was talking with Mr. Ivers about buying the store and told me and my brother to wait in the car with Mom. So we’re just sitting out front when these little kids—my age, maybe younger—come riding up on horseback. They hitched their horses to the railing in front of the store, walked inside, and bought something. I just remember staring, eyes wide, thinking, ‘What is this?’”
A Store Raised in Dairy Country
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“Back then, most people had cows—or at least a lot of them did,” David remembers. “One man, in particular, would come into the store, and you always knew exactly where he’d been because there’d be little manure prints on the floor. And we’d have to go clean up after each time.”
Life Above the Store
The Nielson family lived in the two-bedroom apartment above the store. On the north end was an attic filled with dust and decades-old relics. David and his brother, Steve, helped their parents clean it out and drywall it and that became their bedroom.
“As we were pulling things out, there were so many old, old things,” David recalls. “We’d reach under the floor joists and pull out newspapers from the late 1800s or early 1900s—some still had little sample boxes of cure-all pills attached.”
A staircase in the apartment led directly down to the store. “When my dad needed help, he’d press a little buzzer that would buzz upstairs, and we’d have to run down—which we hated,” David laughs.
“As we were pulling things out, there were so many old, old things,” David recalls. “We’d reach under the floor joists and pull out newspapers from the late 1800s or early 1900s—some still had little sample boxes of cure-all pills attached.”
A staircase in the apartment led directly down to the store. “When my dad needed help, he’d press a little buzzer that would buzz upstairs, and we’d have to run down—which we hated,” David laughs.
Dust, Cats, & Forgotten Treasures
Back then, the large, open granary behind the store was home to stray cats and covered in dust. A square hole was cut in the ceiling with a rope and pulley at the top.
“We’d hitch the rope to the hook on the pulley, and hoist ourselves up into the attic,” David
recalls. “It was filled with stuff that had probably been there for 70 or 80 years—from old
manual gas pumps to turn-of-the-century Valentines. It was fun to explore and kind of scary at
the same time.”
Today, the granary has been transformed into a beautiful dining area with its original wide-planked
wood floors.
“We’d hitch the rope to the hook on the pulley, and hoist ourselves up into the attic,” David
recalls. “It was filled with stuff that had probably been there for 70 or 80 years—from old
manual gas pumps to turn-of-the-century Valentines. It was fun to explore and kind of scary at
the same time.”
Today, the granary has been transformed into a beautiful dining area with its original wide-planked
wood floors.
Beneath the Floorboards & Behind the Counter
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The store originally had just one entrance on the south side. Richard later added the east entrance, which is used today.
If you look closely enough, you’ll see a trap door, about 15 feet inside and to the right of the main entrance. Back then it led to a dirt-floored storage area full of old treasures. David recalls finding a case of Reese’s Peanut Butter cups down there. “My brother and I opened them, and they were completely white. We ate them anyway, but I don’t remember getting sick.” |
Nielson's Market 1984
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Talk to anyone who’s lived in Midway for decades, and they’ll fondly remember the penny candy—black licorice, cinnamon bears, Swedish fish—stored in glass bins behind the front counter.
Lynn Johnson, who worked at Nielson’s in 1981 and ‘82, says the penny candy was a huge deal. “Every day after school we had a big run of kids on their way home, loading up. That was something we could plan on every day.”
At first, candy was two for a penny, then later a penny apiece. “Customers would tell us what they wanted and we’d dish it out into tiny paper bags,” says David. Nickel candy and 10-cent candy bars were also a big hit.
Lynn Johnson, who worked at Nielson’s in 1981 and ‘82, says the penny candy was a huge deal. “Every day after school we had a big run of kids on their way home, loading up. That was something we could plan on every day.”
At first, candy was two for a penny, then later a penny apiece. “Customers would tell us what they wanted and we’d dish it out into tiny paper bags,” says David. Nickel candy and 10-cent candy bars were also a big hit.
Stocking Shelves & Swapping Stories
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Groceries arrived early on Mondays or Wednesdays, and delivery days were always busy. Trucks were unloaded, shelves stocked, and every item priced.
Today, several pieces of the past have been lovingly preserved— including the original gravity roller that was used to move freight from trucks into the store. “Forty cents an hour—that was my starting rate. I was only nine. My brother might have gotten .45 cents,” David recalls. At first, pricing was done with ink stamps—metal tools with an adjustable dial, much like the old library book stamps. “If a price changed or you made a mistake, you had to wipe the ink off with solvent and start over,” David explains. “When paper price guns with the little trigger came along, that was a game-changer.” |
Original gravity roller
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Nielson's Market in 1987, featuring Lüftlmalerei, a traditional Alpine mural style found in villages across Bavaria, Austria, and Switzerland
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Running the store was nonstop work. But beyond the daily hustle, it was a place where people gathered to swap stories and talk town politics.
“Dad was always remodeling and doing different things,” says David. Around 1987, he stuccoed the exterior of the store and hired Austrian painter Gerhard Lipp to create a Swiss-style mural on the storefront that showed images of the foods sold inside. |
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He even made his own lean hamburger. “We would sell more hamburger than he could make lot of times. He was there almost all day, and everyone knew to come in and talk to Dick Nielson.”
Lynn recalls, "Dick was great to work for. I did everything from helping customers to stocking shelves to cutting meat and taking out trash. I loved it. Almost everyone in town would come through the door, and in those days, we knew nearly all of them." |
Richard Nielson & Lynn Johnson 1981-82
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Sometimes, customers lingered a little longer.
“I remember as a kid getting frustrated because we’d want to close the store—especially on Christmas Eve—but people kept coming in,” David laughs. “And there you were. Stuck. Can’t go.”
“I remember as a kid getting frustrated because we’d want to close the store—especially on Christmas Eve—but people kept coming in,” David laughs. “And there you were. Stuck. Can’t go.”
Honoring the Past, Serving the Present
Richard and his wife, Marilynn, were both deeply involved in Midway. Richard served on the
Boosters Committee when the Glockenspiel clock was added to the Town Hall in 1987. Marilynn
was a teacher and later became the principal at Midway Elementary.
David says the store was eventually sold to Jay Tims, who leased it to Kent Winterton of Charleston. It later became Midway Mercantile Antiques.
Today, after more than a century of change, the same walls that once held barrels of flour and
jars of candy are home to Midway Mercantile, a favorite gathering place for locals and visitors
alike.
Boosters Committee when the Glockenspiel clock was added to the Town Hall in 1987. Marilynn
was a teacher and later became the principal at Midway Elementary.
David says the store was eventually sold to Jay Tims, who leased it to Kent Winterton of Charleston. It later became Midway Mercantile Antiques.
Today, after more than a century of change, the same walls that once held barrels of flour and
jars of candy are home to Midway Mercantile, a favorite gathering place for locals and visitors
alike.
Midway Mercantile, March 2025
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Whispers of the past still linger in the corners of the brick walls and along the timeworn wood floors. But now, instead of farm supplies and groceries, guests come for chef-crafted meals and the same warm, small-town hospitality.
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