Unless you live in the neighborhood, you would stumble upon Taylor Court Grocery only on your way to someplace else. The store is a relic, so small it could fit inside a two-car garage.

If you remember the Andy Griffith Show, the 1960s television show still a re-run staple, you'll appreciate this 96-year-old store. Linger for a while, listen to the conversations, and you'll be reminded of Mayberry and what made that fictional community a place where we so wanted to live.

Find your way to 1135 S.E. 80th Ave.

But don't delay.

Powerful and inevitable forces are at work: age, health and gentrification.

A way of living may vanish before we get a chance to pay our respects and say farewell.

***

"I was 9 and getting to know the neighborhood when I realized the store sold candy. It was the hub for all the kids. I was gone a long time, but I've moved back. The store is one of the last anchors to my childhood." – Daniel Galligan, 40.

***

Mel Hafsos, 69, and Errol Carlson, 76, his business and life partner, have owned Taylor Court for more than 23 years, the latest in a long line of people who stocked the shelves, made change for customers and stood behind the counter. Carlson and Hafsos were in the store seven days a week.

Late last year, Carlson had a heart attack. At the hospital, Hafsos kept vigil and doctors fought to save his life. The store remained closed for two weeks. When it was clear that Carlson would survive, Hafsos left the hospital to check on the store. As he walked up the street, he spotted hundreds of cards taped to the front door.

"Just heard the news and just know you've got all our best thoughts and prayers for a real speedy recovery."

"We appreciate your service to the community."

""We love you and we miss you. Your Montavilla neighbors and friends."

"I wept," Hafsos recalled. "I took the cards to the hospital. Errol and I read them together and cried."

***

More than 800 small neighborhood stores like Taylor Court Grocery were once scattered across the city, said Kate McCarter, a genealogist who researched the store's history. A store customer, she has lived in the neighborhood for 25 years. She delved into city and county records. She gathered maps, uncovered building plans and dug into the history of all the store's owners. When finished, she wrote it up, 65 pages in a binder, and presented it Hafsos and Carlson.

She said the store is a microcosm of American history and a changing culture. While one set of owners descended from early Oregon and Washington pioneers, McCarter said, most over the years were first- or second-generation immigrants from around the world.

"It's one of Portland's last remaining streetcar-era grocery stores in a residential setting," she said. "When the supermarkets arrived, the little stores began closing one by one. This is a rare survivor."

The store is different from a convenience store run by a national corporation. Hafsos, for example, got up early each morning to buy fresh produce from wholesalers. And the store was stocked with high-quality products he and Carlson knew his customers needed and wanted.

The store was more than products.

"All day long, they commiserate with customers who have bad news, celebrate with those who have good news, and often exchange a joke or two before sending you on your way," McCarter said. "You almost always leave the store feeling better than when you entered."

But she and others know times are changing.

"This neighborhood has gentrified," McCarter said. "New homes are going for $750,000. The store lot is zoned to allow someone to tear it down and build a three-story apartment building. If it goes on the market, a developer will snatch it up."

And just like that, it could be over.

***

"My grandparents immigrated from Sweden and built a house on 76th and Main. Growing up, I would spend time on weekends with them. My cousin and I'd walk to the store. It's always been there." Brian Lindstrom, 57.

***

Hafsos and Carlson moved into the neighborhood more than 23 years ago. Hafsos, who had once worked in the grocery business, first noticed Taylor Court Grocery. He stopped to talk with the owner, Ann Suder, who said she'd leased it to a couple, but they were having medical issues.

"I asked if it was for sale," Hafsos said. "She said no. Weeks later, she came to our house, knocked on the door and said she wanted us to have it."

Their store is quiet. No TV blaring behind the counter. No radio or piped in music.

"We have a customer, 87, who's a retired teacher from back east," Hafsos said. "She moved to the neighborhood to live with her son. She walks to our store to get a big bag of M&Ms. She rests for 20 minutes before walking home. We bring out a chair for her."

They sell individual dog treats for 20 cents to customers out walking a dog. On Halloween, kids arrive for trick or treats. At Christmas, they sell decorations and trees with Carlson patiently displaying tree after tree until the customer finds the right one. Each spring, a neighbor comes by the store to present Carlson and Hafsos the first rose from her garden. Customers who move away send cards to keep in touch.

Recently, a brother and sister who had once lived in the neighborhood returned after a 20-year absence.

"When they walked in the store," Hafsos said, "they said they knew they were home."

***

Hafsos said he and Carlson are not the same people they were before the heart attack. Some days, the store is closed because Carlson has to go to the doctor.

"We know change is coming," Hafsos said. "We can't stop it. We're not sure how long we will be here."

Hafsos said real estate agents look at the store as a piece of property.

"They don't know what it is," he said. "We'd like the right person to come along and take over the store. We want a person who wants to experience what we have. That's the honor of meeting the people who walk in that door. We can't lose that."

The telephone rang. After a short conversation, Hafsos hung up and surveyed the store from behind the counter.

"We are not ignoring the sense of mortality," Hafsos said. "We take one day at a time."

The door opened.

"Mel," a customer called out, "is it another day in paradise?"

Hafsos smiled.

"It is," he said. "Yes, it is."

--Tom Hallman Jr.

thallman@oregonian.com; 503 221-8224

@thallmanjr