Today is the seventh anniversary of this blog. That’s not
especially notable; many bloggers have been at it longer, and a whole lot
produce more interesting posts and have many more followers.
Like my fellow bloggers and all the writers throughout the
world, the geezer thrives on knowing someone out there reads the stuff he creates. So it is gratifying to learn from automatic counters
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| It's number 7 for Gabbygeezer |
attached to this
blog for most of the seven years that viewership has expanded more than
ten-fold since the days when only a handful of neighbors and close friends
checked out Gabbygeezer occasionally.
The best thing by far about the seven years has been the
opportunity to find other bloggers who I now consider to be friends, even
though we have never met. I've looked at hundreds of blogs over the years, and
am pretty picky about deciding on a few to follow closely. So my group of “blogging
buddies” is rather small. I place high value on what they write and any
comments they make on my offerings.
I’ve been a writer, editor, or both for more than five
decades, and think I've learned a thing or two about writers. Most important is
the fact that writing is hard work. Attaching one’s bottom to a chair and
engaging a sometimes reluctant brain for a period of solitary exercise is not
fun. And it is an exercise that doesn't become much easier with repetition. I
thoroughly disagree with those who maintain that they write because they enjoy
the act.
Writers write because they enjoy the fruits of their labor,
not the labor itself. Unless they are very good at it and earn scads of money,
the reward comes through comments on their work. A favorable comment from a
respected source can send a writer to cloud nine. That’s why people who developed
huge social networks such as Facebook cleverly included a “like button” right
from the start.
Even a negative jibe is better than silence. At least it shows someone cared
enough to read the item. One of the small disappointments during my seven
blogging years is that members of my little family, the people I care about
most, rarely or never say anything about my posts, formally with a written
comment or informally in conversations. Other bloggers say they have the same
experience. None claim to understand why. The lack of family interaction is a
minor matter, however, considering the many new acquaintances I've made throughout
the U.S.
and some countries overseas.
One small group I was not aware of before I started blogging
consists of the folks who make the historical society in my hometown, Tomahawk,
Wisconsin, a vibrant
organization that sponsors some interesting activities. Several members of the
society have been good about sending me material for posts over the years, and
I appreciate their thoughtfulness. One of the society volunteers recently
notified me that an early Gabbygeezer post will be a factor in a special event,
a “Toma-Walk” to be held next week (on July 19 and 20).
During the walk, local historians and friends in period
dress will be available throughout the old business district to tell visitors
about the history and folklore of the buildings and businesses in the
four-block “Main Street,”
which really is part of Wisconsin
Avenue. A young actor, Eli Wurl, will
portray—believe it or not—me.
Eli will be telling visitors the story of the shoe shining
business I conducted in 1946 on Main
Street. I wanted to be there to see him in action,
but family commitments prevent that. The young man should have a sufficient
audience without me; Tomahawk is the hub of a summer vacation area and lots of tourists
attend special events.
The story Eli will use for most of his material has been
published in the Tomahawk newspaper and in two books after first appearing
here. It was re-posted two years ago on the fifth Gabbygeezer anniversary. But for
those who haven’t read the tale before, here it is once again:
A Very Small
Business
As small businesses went in Tomahawk, Wisconsin, mine had to
be one of the smallest. And as business owners went, at age 10, I was probably
one of the youngest.
In the summer of 1946, Billy “Barrel”
Schmidt and I were hanging around my dad’s tailor shop voicing the usual
complaint of youth that there was nothing to do. Barrel’s uncle Louie, who ran
the Central Drug Store in front of my dad’s shop, suggested we do something
useful and start up a shoe shining business to make a little money.
We thought that was a pretty good idea.
My dad found a shoeshine box somewhere, bought us a few supplies, and we were
in business. The partnership lasted only a couple of weeks. Barrel decided
going swimming at Crystal Lake
and other typical Tomahawk summer activities beat heck out of work. He left me
as the sole proprietor of the business.
One of the group of downtown
businessmen who met every morning for coffee at Rouman’s Restaurant told my dad
he thought the Hotel Tomahawk once had a shoeshine stand in the lobby. Sure
enough, it was in storage at the hotel. Dad got it for me, and I hauled it out
in front of Central Drug every morning, ready for business.
My only
advertising was two cardboard signs attached to the arms of the chair. They
read: “Shoe Shine 15 cents, other shoe free.”
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| This postcard provided a measure of fame |
When business at the stand was slow,
which was often, I toted the shine box to the local barber shops (I think there
were three in those days) looking for customers. My recollection is that the
only shop where I did much business was
Charlie O’Rourke’s. That’s where I got
my hair cut, and Mr. O’Rourke returned the favor by trying to gently persuade
the men awaiting their turn in his chair to let me shine their shoes.
I think my dad suggested my other
regular “house call.” If my mom had found out about it, the business would have
ended right then and there. On Friday nights, Dad worked until 9 p.m. so Mom
thought I was tending to business at my stand until we came home together.
Actually, I was at Scorch’s Bar with my shine box. Business there was great,
often netting me $2 or $3 for a couple of hours work—big money in those days
for a little kid.
At 15 cents a customer, making that
kind of cash depended on how much beer was flowing at Scorch’s (usually quite a
lot) and some help from my friends.
My friends were two single
ladies who worked at the A&P Store and always showed up at Scorch’s about
6:30 on Friday nights. They sort of adopted me, and since the males at the bar
were trying to adopt them, they convinced a lot of drunks to get shoe
shines—and woe to him who didn’t include a tip in the payment. One slightly
absent-minded, or more likely very inebriated, guy paid me to shine his shoes
twice in the span of 10 minutes!
I also did some “carry out” business.
The best customers were Myron Veith and “Bev” Beverson, who owned The Gift Box
across the street from my stand. On Saturday mornings, they left the door to
their upstairs apartment unlocked and set out a half dozen pairs of shoes for me.
I carried them across the street, shined them up, and took them back.
Another regular customer was Terry
Small, who worked at the Quality Meat Market owned by his parents. Terry always
dropped off two pairs of shoes for my attention, also on Saturdays. This was
easy to recall because Terry was a very big man. His shoes were size 13 EEE.
However, he always paid 25 cents a pair, so I didn’t complain about needing to
use extra polish and elbow grease.
I worked all summer and occasionally in
the fall after starting the seventh grade. Then work got a little old, and in
the spring playing baseball was a lot more attractive than popping shoeshine
rags and wielding brushes. I sold the stand and my supplies for $5 to Bob
Gilley, an older man with some physical handicaps. Mr. Gilley shined shoes at
the stand in the entryway of Nick’s Casket Factory on Wisconsin Avenue for quite a few years.
He, however, was not known to solicit business in barbershops or bars.
Photographer Claude Venne gave my
business a small measure of fame when he sneaked up on me one day when I was
taking one of my frequent breaks, reading a comic book and eating a popsicle.
Venne made his photo into postcards, which he sold at the Tomahawk Drug Store
across the street with some other local scenes he had snapped. He had a note on
the shoeshine card display that said something like, “Business is lousy, ain’t
it?”
Business wasn’t too lousy. In addition
to paying for popsicles, I saved nearly $100 from my summer’s work 60 years
ago. I still had the money in the Bradley Bank seven years later to help pay
for my first year at the University
of Wisconsin. In those
days, tuition for one semester at UW was $90.
*
* * * * * * * *
Eli, here’s hoping you “break a leg” in your youthful
venture into show biz. And if you actually shine any shoes during “Toma-Walk”
be sure you price the service a lot higher than the 15 cents I collected in
1946. And thanks, historical society members—you made my otherwise routine
blogging anniversary something special.
