‘There will never be anything else like it’: Hundreds swarm to White Elephant for going-out-of-business sale

There aren’t a lot of stores in Spokane where you can pick up a fishing pole, some Matchbox cars and a site map from Expo ‘74 all in one place. Soon, there won’t be any.

Despite a chilly breeze and a near-constant drizzle, about 300 people lined up outside the White Elephant store on Division Street Monday morning. Some had been waiting since 11 p.m. the night before or driven all the way from Salem, Oregon, for the sporting goods and toy store’s final sale.

White Elephant’s owner Rich Conley watched the line snake around the distinctive building with his wife Mary. Conley said they were limiting customers in the store to 50 at a time, in accordance with COVID-19 guidelines, but that wasn’t keeping anyone away from one last pass through the aisles.

The Conleys had arrived early that morning to get ready for the crowd, or so they thought: By the time they pulled up at 7 a.m., there was already a line around the building.

“Everyone’s been very understanding,” Conley said. “We’ve just been overwhelmed today. I had no idea we had this kind of support.”

Mary Conley said the plan was to “sell to the walls,” and this first day of liquidation showed promise. Though plenty of people were coming through looking for deals on hunting gear and sleeping bags, Mary said just about everything was going quickly. The same thing was happening at their second location in Spokane Valley.

“It’s bittersweet, it was a life spent here,” Mary said. “But it’s time for us to get back to fishing.”

The store, opened in 1946, became a fixture in the lives and memories of several generations of Spokane residents.

Denny Andrei, 73, moved away from Spokane when he was young, but always made a point to return to the White Elephant when he came back to visit. He and his brother had frequented the store “since they could walk,” first eyeing the toy cars and model kits, then graduating to fishing gear and hunting rifles. Though his family didn’t have a lot of money, White Elephant was his favorite place to spend the dime per week of his allowance whenever he had it.

“It’s like coming to a funeral,” Andrei said. “We used to come in just to walk around the store and to talk to the owners.”

Though half a century younger than Andrei, 24-year-old April Holten shared similar memories of the store from her childhood. Growing up in Latah, a tiny town near Tekoa, Holten said the White Elephant was her favorite part about coming to visit her grandmother in Spokane. The store’s owners always seemed almost more excited than she was as she considered a toy purchase.

Holten, like many of those waiting in line, had moved on from White Elephant’s toys to their camping goods and fishing gear. She was hoping to score some fishing lines and lures at a discount, but said the experience of being there was a prize in its own right.

“Even if there’s nothing left when I get in there, it’s worth just being here,” Holten said. “It’s the closing of a chapter.”

Sisters Maeve and Nafe Churchill were waiting in line for a Hydro Flask water bottle. Maeve, 17, had spent her entire life coming in to White Elephant. Her dad was close with some of the employees, and she would often chat with the employees herself as she waited for him to finally make a purchase or finish a conversation. One employee lifted her onto a table so Maeve could scratch her name into a thick layer of dust on a shelf in the back of the store, alongside years’ worth of others. It’s probably still there.

Nafe, 24, who said she “despises” guns and as a vegan never had any use for fishing, nonetheless said she had fond memories of coming in with the rest of the family on pilgrimages to White Elephant. She has a tiny metal camping cup from the store in her New York City apartment that she uses for her espresso nowadays.

Jennifer Cleveland and her stepson Jacob, 14, emerged from the store with armfuls of bags. They had waited two hours in line, but said it was well worth it. Jacob had found a knife and a model kit to match the ‘69 Camaro he built as an eight-year-old. Cleveland, 45, had loaded up on Fisher-Price toys for her grandkids. She felt a pang of sadness that those grandchildren wouldn’t get another ride on the store’s coin-operated elephant out front, as she had as a child.

“I have no idea what I’ll do for Christmas presents now,” Jennifer said. “It’s always been ‘if you can’t find it anywhere else, try White Elephant.’”

Michael Mears, 54, had grown up in White Elephant, like many others. His mother had been a high school friend of Rich Conley’s mother Mary, and Mears had spent countless hours with the Conleys in the store. The store’s founder, John Conley Sr., had always let him pick out one Matchbox car to take home.

Mears, on his last stroll through the aisles, made sure to get a red White Elephant baseball cap like the one the store’s employees wore. He also found some toy mice, 10 cents each, some fake snot “to freak people out with,” and a map from Spokane’s World’s Fair in 1974. The store had bought up a lot of surplus souvenirs from the event, and were still selling them decades later.

“Where else are you going to find stuff like this?” Mears said. “This really is Spokane’s last toy store. There will never be anything else like it.”