To this day stepping into Deck's Hardware is like stepping into a Norman Rockwell painting.   I remember going there regularly with my father.   He would always know five or six people who happened to be fixing their toilet, puttying a window or paneling their basement.   I would typically wander over to look into the glass covered case of pocket knives.   Later when I got a newspaper route, I went in and bought the one I'd always wanted most.   The walls of Deck's were lined with drawers and small closets housing a few of every screw, hook, fastener or knob made on earth.  You take a ticket wait your turn and then follow a dedicated employee around the store until he finds what you are looking for ... if it takes all day.