An Older Lady as My Teacher! What Hidehiko Ishizuka of “Honjama-ka” Learned at a Showa-Era Candy Store

The Candy Store Was Like a Second School

Hello, everyone. When I’m doing strength training in my backyard, butterflies, scarab beetles, and dragonflies keep swarming around me. I wonder if I’m secreting some kind of nectar. I’m Hidehiko Ishizuka.

Well, this time I’d like to write about the cheap candy shops of my childhood. For kids, the cheap candy shop was like a “school we went to after classes,” and the lady who ran the shop was a “teacher” who taught us things we couldn’t learn at school.

Children have boundless energy, so as soon as we got home from school, we’d drop off our backpacks and immediately meet up with friends again. We’d play in the park or go roller-skating on the asphalt roads, having fun until it got dark.

Amid all that, once or twice a week, I’d scrape together some loose change and head to the candy store.

Back then, the shop was stocked with vinegar-marinated squid skewers in large bottles, triangular candies on long strings, some jelly-like substance in thick straws, and a toy labeled “Yōkai”—a sticky sheet that produced smoke when you rubbed your index finger and thumb together.Since everything cost 10 yen, 50 yen was enough to keep my friends and me entertained for 30 minutes. By the way, the “Yōkai” toy just let out a quick puff of smoke-like stuff.

There were several cheap candy stores in the neighborhood, but the ones I went to most often were the shops we called “Sato” and “Nakamura,” named after the shopkeepers.

One day, a machine—which could be called the precursor to the UFO Catcher—appeared in front of “Sato’s.” It was a cylindrical glass case filled with mini cars, toy guns, dinosaurs, and other items that kids longed for. It cost 100 yen per play, but each item would have cost more than 100 yen if bought separately.

However, back then, a bowl of ramen at a ramen shop cost about 100 yen. Just as we kids were holding a strategy meeting, the lady from “Sato” came out in front of the store and said:

“Stop it! You can’t win those, so stop it!”

My friends and I were dumbfounded. The shopkeeper had actually said, “You can’t get it” and “Stop it!” I suppose the businesswoman in her was battling with her maternal instincts. She had stopped what would have been my first experience with gambling. At that candy store, I learned the value of money.

What I Learned from “Lottery Sweets”

At another of my regular shops, “Nakamura,” I often bought a sweet called “anko-dama.” These were balls of red bean paste, about 3 cm in diameter, coated in kinako (roasted soybean flour). It was a kind of “sweet lottery”—if you found a white ball inside the red bean paste, you’d get another one for free.

Through my own childish research, I discovered that “the slightly smaller ‘anko balls’ had a higher probability of winning.”

“Nakamura” was known for its extensive selection of “lottery games.” There were games where a 50-centimeter-square box was divided into 25 sections by perforated lines—if you pressed your finger on the spot you thought was “the one,” that section would tear open and a prize would fall out—as well as games where you’d pull one of many strings to receive the prize attached to the end of it.

Among these, the game where you draw a ticket to win a variety of super balls—ranging from large to small—was particularly popular.

One day, when I went to “Nakamura,” there were three balls left—one of which was the jackpot: an extra-large ball. My heart racing, I peeked inside the box and found five lottery tickets inside. Three balls and five tickets. That candy store taught me a thing or two about how the world works.

For children—and for the town—candy stores are essential. I love the Showa era.

From the October 2 & 9, 2026, combined issue of *FRIDAY*