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I thought of Dorothy Wither last week while I sat in the ballroom of the Steamboat Grand Hotel and Conference Center. An image of her beehive hairdo popped into my head while I listened to the experts debate the future of commerce in Steamboat Springs.

Should we resist the arrival of more national chain stores? Would they transform Lincoln Avenue into a generic replica of Denver's Wadsworth Boulevard? I wonder what Dorothy would say.

Some of you have never heard of Dorothy Wither, and some of you were her customers. She had a long run on Lincoln Avenue presiding over "The Dorothy Shop." Dorothy epitomized the notion of a retailer who formed close relationships with her customers. When she went off to Chicago on a buying trip, she purchased dresses for specific customers, knowing their sizes in advance. Mind you, the ladies she was shopping for had not placed advanced orders. She knew them so well, she could be confident they would approve of her choices. When she returned to Steamboat, she would phone them to let them know she had something for them.

I'm not sure Dorothy's approach to retailing would succeed on Lincoln Avenue in the 21st century. I'm equally uncertain about whether Ross & Ross Confectioners could cut it on Steamboat's golden main drag. Ross & Ross Confectioners is the store I most want to visit, and the threshold I'll never cross. All traces of the eclectic business run by my grandfather Floyd Angus "Brownie" Ross and his younger brother James have been erased from the main thoroughfare of Central Point, Ore. By the time my grandfather and I were first introduced, he had moved to central Oregon and begun farming.

However, if I were granted a trip back in time, it would be to Southern Oregon and Central Point during the the Great Depression. My knowledge of Ross & Ross comes from the snapshot memories of my father, who circulated among the customers as a barefoot 8-year-old clad in overalls. How to sum it up? It's safe to say Ross & Ross was like nothing in Steamboat today. A row of one-armed bandits ran down the middle of the store. You could deposit a nickel or a dime and try your luck.

There also was a large glass-fronted case of penny candy and nickel candy bars. Little Johnny had the enviable chore of restocking the candy. There were no stools at the bar, just a brass foot rail. Customers could choose between a cherry soda and a draft beer. The nation was just emerging from Prohibition, and many of the businessmen would come in for a milkshake.

Over the bar was a full mount of a black bear and several mule deer trophies. That was fitting because the other half of the store was devoted to Winchester rifles and cartridges, split bamboo fly rods, and assorted tackle.

Ross & Ross Confectioners was not far from the mighty Rogue River and its legendary steelhead runs. Even in the 1930s, Highway 99 out front was paved to accommodate summer vacationers. They drove over the Siskiyou Mountains from as far away as San Francisco on their way to vacation at Crater Lake.

There were two focal points in the store. One was the big wood burning stove where old-timers pulled up chairs on cold winter afternoons. The second was the old crank telephone that hung from the wall. Many people in Central Point in those days could not afford a phone. My grandfather permitted his customers to place calls at no charge.

Many of the grandfatherly types who frequented the store would take their beer mug into the back room where a trio of pool tables awaited them. A number owned their own cues and stored them permanently in the rack at Ross & Ross.

Oh, one other important detail. Brownie used to sort the Indianhead pennies out of the change his customers proffered and stored them in an over-size mayonnaise jar on the checkout corner -- until they were stolen.

Just one more detail. One day an old prospector wandered into Ross & Ross hefting a big chunk of quartz, shot through with seams of gold. The whole town was agitated by speculation about the source of the gold, but no one ever found his secret spot.

The more I reflect on the subject, the more I'm convinced that independent retailers are a treasure that Steamboat must nurture if it hopes to stand out from homogenous commercial strips in Everytown, USA.

And if there are any venture capitalists reading this column who believe as strongly as I do that Ross & Ross Confectioners is an idea whose time has arrived, you know where to reach me. We won't make any money, but no one will leave town without paying us a visit.

Finally, to whomever stole those Indianhead pennies, drop them off at the front desk of the newspaper with my name on the mayonnaise jar. No questions asked.