In this episode, Aaron takes an unexpected turn, exploring the strange connection between Seagulls and Super Kmart parking lots. Dive into a story that blends nostalgia and the mysteries of Medina, Ohio.
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Story created & performed by: Aaron Calafato
Senior Audio Engineer: Ken Wendt
Additional vocals: Cori Birce
Art: Pete Whitehead
Original Music: thomas j. duke
Transcript
Aaron Calafato:
As I turned on the microphone, I had planned to tell you a totally different story, but I just decided right now that I'm going rogue. Sorry to the team in advance. I'm calling an audible. The reason why is because there's been this question spinning in my head for the last two days that we just need to unpack together.
This actually ends up being an unintended sequel to a story I told last season. The question surrounds seagulls and their strange relationship with Kmart—more specifically, Super Kmart abandoned parking lots. If you spent any time at a Kmart or have any memories there growing up, you're not going to want to miss this one.
I'll talk to you right after the music.
Last season, Season 4, Episode 4, I told a story titled "How Kmart Became a Seagull Zoo." After this episode, if you haven't heard that one, you should go back and listen. It's kind of like a prequel, and I think you'll find some value in it. Where we left off was with the grand opening of the first-ever Super Kmart in my hometown of Medina, Ohio. This was a huge deal.
Early '90s, ribbon-cutting ceremony— all the big names from the region and beyond were there: the press, newspaper articles, television interviews. This was a precursor to the Walmart Superstore. I mean, there had never been anything like this. In fact, it was the first 24-hour superstore in the entire region.
There was a lot of excitement in those first few years. Big names even did autograph signings—like "Macho Man" Randy Savage, who made an appearance. There were lines out the door, and your mom or dad or grandparents could go there to buy bologna for your lunch and, in the same trip, pick up Levi's stonewashed jeans during the blue light special for your first day of school. Magic. Super Kmart was a fixture of my youth.
At night, suburban youths would hang out—little gangs of us, gaggles—wandering the aisles. It was always a precursor to going to Taco Bell or Denny's late at night. We didn’t have cell phones, we didn’t have any of that stuff. We just had each other, and the anchor of that experience was Super Kmart.
Flash forward: I boomeranged back to Medina. I had recently gotten divorced. I had a daughter and was going through a rough patch financially as I was trying to build my career. I had a dream and a vision to do this storytelling podcasting thing, but it takes time, and there's a lot of sacrifice.
It’s always tough to talk about, but when my daughter was about two or three, I would try to find things for us to do because I didn’t have the money to take her places. I would go to fast-food restaurants and ask them, "Hey, do you have any moldy bread or bread you're going to throw out?" They’d look at me like, "Why?" and I’d say, "Oh, we're going to feed seagulls." They thought it was weird, but I got a connection at a local McDonald’s who would give me moldy bread out of the dumpster in plastic bags. I’d take it to the car with my daughter, and we’d go to the now-abandoned Super Kmart parking lot.
This Super Kmart had gone bankrupt, but there was still this giant parking lot. Through the years, after the decline of the store, seagulls had emerged—hundreds of them—and made that parking lot their home.
I would take my daughter there, and we’d throw bread out to the seagulls. She coined the phrase "the seagull zoo." She’d say, "Dad, can we go back to the seagull zoo?" I felt like a hero. She loved it, and she’d name the seagulls, and it became a tradition of ours.
So let's jump in the DeLorean one more time to present-day 2024. As my career has improved, my daughter, now 11, and I don’t go to the seagull zoo as much. We’ve got other things to do, and we’re busy. Recently, we were driving by the old Super Kmart, and the parking lot was being ripped up, and the store itself was being demolished. Apparently, the lease was up, and there was a sign that said, "Coming soon: Meijer."
With the fence and construction going on, I saw seagulls flying around, confused, not knowing what to do. There weren’t as many of them anymore. A couple stood on top of a hill of dirt and stone. My daughter’s first response was, "Hey, this is great that something new is coming in, but Dad, what’s going to happen to the seagull zoo?"
I wrote a little story and posted it on Instagram Threads. Like I mentioned at the top of the show, all these comments started coming in from people sharing their memories of Kmart and Super Kmart, their youth, and being teenagers. But another theme emerged. People started asking the same question that’s been on my mind for the last two days.
The question is: Why do seagulls, at least in Northeast Ohio, seem to prefer Super Kmart parking lots to hang out in? This isn’t science, but from what I’ve observed and what I’ve heard, it’s kind of weird. There are tons of abandoned parking lots, but a disproportionate amount of seagulls seem to hang out at Super Kmart locations.
Maybe it all started with the opening in Medina, Ohio, in the '90s, when things were different—when there was a lot of hope for so many people, when there were more resources, when there was newness for so many.
Here’s a perspective: Animals in groups develop patterns. I don’t know if it was a food source, if they mistook the lot for a body of water, or because it was near Lake Erie, but somewhere in the early '90s, a scout seagull spread the word, and the group followed. Super Kmart parking lots were the place to be.
Once that word spread, and once that experience occurred, the seagulls seemed to follow the same pattern—even after the stores were gone. They're kind of like us, remembering, hoping for things to be like they used to.
I think they’re facing a choice: Do they keep going back to the old parking lot, hoping things will be just like they were? Or do they take a chance and fly somewhere new? Or maybe, if they stay long enough, something new will happen. They just have to be ready to receive it.
Either way, I think those two things can happen at once. We can hang on to those memories, but always be open to a new trip to the seagull zoo.
