[Times photo: James Borchuck] Surrounded by a treasury of hardware, some 20,000 items packed into a mere 1,500-square-foot space, Jim Mascotti, owner of Palmer’s Hardware, hunts down a faucet.

By JEFF KLINKENBERG, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times
published December 3, 2002

Saturday morning is a good time to pull up a stool at Palmer's Hardware at 4650 49th St. N in Pinellas Park. You can pour yourself a cup of coffee and argue with whomever you wish about the best kind of hammer or whether it's okay to use plastic pipe instead of copper for your plumbing needs.

Whatever side of the argument you take won't matter. Palmer's attracts contrarian hardware customers who enjoy arguing any point. Probably an old grandpa wearing suspenders will tell you: "You're wrong. And let me tell you why."

A half century ago, when Palmer's began in the back office of a gas station, all hardware stores were about the same. They were generally small and family owned, maybe a little dingy, and staffed with men, always men, who knew just what you needed to fix any household problem and could tell you how. Then progress happened. Big conglomerates showed up and took over the world. The little hardware stores disappeared.

Well, not Palmer's. It's no warehouse with high ceilings and a million pieces of inventory, but a dingy, dusty concrete building that must have, well, about a million pieces of inventory jammed into a modest 1,500 square feet. Thingamajigs dangle from the ceiling while gizmos tumble off the shelves. Wear heavy work boots when entering Palmer's; otherwise, you'll break your tootsies on something heavy, probably a sledge hammer. Even floor space is an endangered species.

[Times photo: James Borchuck] Mascotti, center, checks out a plumbing problem for a couple of customers. Palmer’s Hardware has a loyal following of contractors and do-it-yourselfers who appreciate the customer service and 20,000-item inventory it offers.

"Space is at a premium here," agrees Palmer's owner, Jim Mascotti, as he looks around at the chaos. The other day he discovered a few feet of empty wall, rejoiced and built a shelf. Now the new shelf is groaning.

"If somebody asks me for something," he says with hope, "I'm usually pretty sure I can find it. Well, I take that back. Not long ago I was looking for something, and I found this shingle cutter I'd misplaced for 10 years."

Mascotti, 58, is one of those people who practically came into the world with a hammer in his hands. Born in Michigan, he grew up at the side of a dad who could build or fix anything. When Mascotti was 6, he built a doghouse, even though the family lacked a pet. He just wanted to see what he could do with a hammer, wood and nails.

At Palmer's, by the way, you don't have to buy a box of nails like in the new hardware stores. You can buy a single nail, kept in one of those old-fashioned revolving bins you might remember from your long-ago youth. If all you need is one battery for your flashlight, Palmer's will sell you a single battery.

If you don't trust indoor plumbing and you desire a hand pump to draw water from your well, you can buy one at Palmer's; if you don't like modern washing machines, Palmer's stocks washboards.

If the hardware store is famous for one thing, it's plumbing. "We stock stuff nobody else does," Mascotti says. Even the big hardware conglomerates know it and send customers. Recently, somebody drove 120 miles from Okeechobee to have Palmer's clean and refit his antique faucets. Then the old gentleman climbed back into his car and drove home.

The last thing on earth you expect to find at an old-fashioned hardware store such as Palmer's is a woman behind the counter. But most days, that's where Lisa McClure, 32, holds court. Mrs. McClure, who started working at her dad's store when she was 9, is now the co-owner.

Like her dad, she's what folks used to call a handyman. A Georgia Tech graduate in industrial management, she is working toward another college degree, in building construction. She probably could

teach the course, being an expert in carpentry, electrical work and plumbing.

"Still," she says, "sometimes a male customer will come in and look right past me to my dad because he can't believe I know what I'm talking about."

If a male customer wants to argue with her, she more than holds her own. She can sit grandpa down on one of those old stools, look him coolly in the eye and tell him:

"You're wrong. And let me tell you why."

[Times photo: James Borchuck] Lisa McClure, 32, Jim Mascotti’s daughter, has worked in her dad’s store since she was 9 and is now co-owner. She takes apart a faucet handle to determine what parts are needed to fix it.

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