by Karen Wolff
In the morning he drove me to Beaverton where I closed my bank account and took my cash. We shook hands and said our quiet goodbye at the train station.
I ARRIVED IN KANSAS City with all the money I had in this world stuffed like a poultice between my undershirt and my skin, terrified I’d spend it before I got a good job, or worse yet, lose it. I went to a haberdashery where they sold men’s suits—two for the price of one. I bought two, figuring I’d need them when I applied for jobs. I got shoes, ties, shirts, and a cap, and hauled everything to my cheap room at Mayme Schwartz’s boarding house. Then I spent a quarter and got my first professional haircut at a shop down the street.
Within a day of my arrival, I went to work as a bellhop at the twelve-story Muehlebach Hotel, a grand place with mirrors that covered whole walls and deep, wine colored panels in the dining room. I worked from midnight until 6:00 a.m., but there was blessed little for me to do. Fellows who had seniority had better shifts and made handsome tips running errands and helping with luggage, but most customers were in bed during my shift. Even so, I made enough to cover the $2.75 weekly rent for my room, and I got a hot breakfast every morning. Coffee, with biscuits and sausages. I usually managed to squirrel away some extras for my noon meal.
With my new clothes and a job, even a poor one, I was ready to see Carol Ann. On Sunday, I dressed up and went to find the Bellwood house, planning to surprise them. It was a four-mile walk, and I was so eager to see Carol Ann, I completely forgot that it was winter, and I had no coat. Frozen and shivering in my fancy clothes, I stood on the doorstep of a handsome bungalow on Dogwood Street, hoping I’d found the right place.
Mr. Bellwood had answered the door. “Yes?” He blinked and stared. “My God, it’s Harry Spencer. Harry, what in the world are you doing here?” He’d offered no welcoming smile, but his wife came up behind him and said, “For heaven’s sake, Ed. Can’t you see he’s freezing? Invite him in.”
Carol Ann came running in and threw her arms around me. “Oh, Harry, why didn’t you let us know you were coming?”
Our excited talk filled the next hour as we asked and answered all the questions that come up when people haven’t seen each other for a while. I enjoyed looking around the home Mrs. Bellwood had created. It made me feel warm and happy. A comfortable green frieze couch filled one living room wall. Ornate lamps gleamed on side tables at each end, and flowered chairs stood opposite. An archway with oak colonnades separated the living room from the dining room. Photographs, vases, and the like, which I remembered from their house in Richmond, filled the shelves. I was most thrilled to see the telephone that sat on a little table near the door. I made sure to memorize the number.
Mrs. Bellwood invited me to stay for supper. As we sat at the brand new dining room table, I remembered that the only place to eat in their old house was in the kitchen. Mr. Bellwood must be doing well.
“How about work?” he asked. “What do you plan to do, Harry?”
I told them about the bellhop job. “That’ll be just temporary until I get better situated.”
He thought I should try to get a job at Armour’s packing plant where he worked. “Kansas City processes more cattle and hogs than any other city except Chicago. It’s huge, Harry. You’d be secure.”
I recalled seeing the acres and acres of pens at the stockyards when my train arrived in Kansas City. I couldn’t say so to him, but the idea of a lifetime of that work was repugnant. I’d seen enough of that around Richmond. I wanted something in a more progressive business, something fitting a growing city.
Later, when it was time for me to leave, Carol Ann insisted that I wear one of her father’s warm sweaters under my suit coat for the long walk back to the boarding house. We’d hugged and kissed on the front step, unwilling to part. I promised to call her, to come back as soon as I could. The walk home was cold, but I hadn’t felt a thing. I could only think about my girl. She was just the same. How I loved her!
THE MONTHS PASSED quickly. Milgram’s grocery store was near my rooming house, and I got a job cleaning their refrigerator cases and sweeping the floors after closing time. I knew that business well enough! My shift was from 7:00 to11:00 p.m., and I made thirty cents an hour.
Neither the hotel nor the grocery store was my idea of a good job, but it was hard to look for something else because I had to sleep in the daytime. Somehow I’d have to find some time to look for different work.
Carol Ann said, “Don’t rush into anything, Harry. Make sure you’ve found the right thing. Some place where you’ll be happy.”
“Yeah,” I said, “and some place where I can get ahead.”
One cold Saturday in January I walked from one end of the business district to the other, not applying for jobs, but just considering where I might work. Rubeck’s Jewelry was a beautiful store, filled with pretty baubles, but it didn’t seem right. I didn’t know anything about gems, or gold, or silver, and the customers inside looked so wealthy and sophisticated, I wasn’t sure I’d fit in.
A clothing store might have been an option, but I recalled the fussy little man who sold me my suits. He twittered away about cuffs and lapels, and I could have been a post for all he knew. No. A clothing store was not the place for me.
I came to Lander’s Lighting Store and began to perk up. They sold many of the great electrical items that I was familiar with from Castle Electric—lamps, radios, and appliances, but Landers was about three times larger. This was more what I was after.
I couldn’t wait to talk to Carol Ann on Sunday. I always looked forward to going to her house for Sunday dinner to eat her mom’s homemade food, and be with people I knew. We discussed the Lander’s possibility over pot roast with carrots and onions, and piles of mashed potatoes and gravy.
“Oh, I love Lander’s store.” Mrs. Bellwood’s eyes sparkled like her daughter’s at the thought. “They have the best selection in town.”
“That idea sounds solid,” Mr. Bellwood said.
Carol Ann said, “I’ll keep my fingers crossed until I hear from you. Let me know as soon as you can.”
The next day, I skipped my usual sleeping time, dressed in my gray suit, and went to Lander’s. The clerks approached me eagerly until I asked where the office was. One jerked his thumb and said, “Back there,” and they turned away. They saw no profit in wasting time with me.
I introduced myself to a big, white-haired man in the office who said he was Ralph Landers. He listened with a bored expression while I explained that I needed a job.
“Any experience?” he asked.
“I sold radios and appliances for Mr. Steele at Castle Electric in Sioux City. And I was pretty good at it.” I hoped I wasn’t bragging too much.
He looked up a little surprised. “I know Don Steele,” he said. “He’s a good man.”
I nodded in agreement. He looked at me a minute, then said, “I think maybe we’ll try you out, Harry, since you worked at Castle. I can always use a good salesman.” He said I’d be paid $23 a week, and make a three percent commission on everything I sold.
I was overjoyed. I was able to quit the bellhop job at the hotel and turn in my monkey hat and uniform. To be on the safe side, I hung on to the grocery store work.
I called Carol Ann with the news. “The only bad part is that I won’t get that hot hotel breakfast anymore. I’ll have to eat oatmeal at Mayme Schwartz’s.”
“Oh, you poor boy,” she said, laughing. “But you’ll be able to buy yourself a ham sandwich at noon, I’ll bet.” Then her voice changed. “I’m glad you found what you wanted, Harry. I’ll be so glad to finish high school so I can do something exciting too.”
“It’ll be over soon,” I said. “Try to enjoy it.”
“The problem is that my mother keeps pushing me to go to Normal School so I can become a teacher. I don’t know if I want to be a teacher. I just know I’m tired of school. I want to be out and about like you are.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said, but as soon as I could provide
a reliable living, I’d assumed we’d get married. We hadn’t discussed it specifically, but that’s where I was headed, and I hoped Normal School wouldn’t interfere.
I DOVE INTO the sales work at Lander’s, and within a few weeks, I’d earned the grudging respect of the other clerks who vied among themselves for customers and for Mr. Lander’s attention.
“Boys, I hope you notice how well Harry is doing,” he said one day at a sales meeting.
It was pleasing to be noticed, but it didn’t make those fellows like me any better. Even though I made enough money to take care of myself, I wondered if I could advance at this store with all the jealousy. I found out that Mr. Lander’s oldest son, who attended college back east, would be home permanently in June and would be groomed to run the store. Two younger sons were coming along who also expected to work in the store. I’d be just another hired flunky if I stayed.
As the weather warmed up that spring, I found new routes to the Bellwood house, and one day I walked through a bustling business area with several small shops. The delicious smell from a barbeque stand outside the meat market excited my stomach. I couldn’t pass it by. Kansas City barbeque was famous for good reason. Its deep smoky taste and the tang of the sauce hooked me, and I knew I’d be back for more.
I passed a dry cleaner, a dress shop, and a dry goods store. In the next block, my nose was tortured again by the smell of apple kuchen from a German bakery. I was still hungry, but this time I told myself I must resist. I couldn’t afford to let my stomach spend my money
The next shop had a sign in the window in dull gold letters—Sam’s Lights. Through grimy windows I saw tables crowded with lamps, short ones, tall ones, some beautiful Tiffanies, boxes of light bulbs, kerosene lanterns, and other stuff I couldn’t identify, all jumbled together in an unattractive mix. Why would anyone let his store get into such a mess, I wondered? I thought of all my hard work cleaning Granddad’s store, how satisfying it had been to see how the customers appreciated it. If I worked at Sam’s Lights, I’d clean it up and make it attractive. If I had a chance, I was sure I could make Sam’s store into an outstanding place. In the back of my mind, something lit up and told me this could be the opportunity I was searching for.
Carol Ann was doubtful. “I don’t understand. Why would you give up a good position at Lander’s? They’re so well known here. My folks and I have never heard of this Sam’s place.”
I tried to make her understand. “There’s no opportunity for me at Lander’s. I just have to find a place where I can advance.”
She finally relented but said, “You better hang onto the job at the grocery store until you see how this works out.”
A couple of days later I presented myself to the owner, Sam Rubin, and asked him for a job. He sat on a high stool toward the back of the store—no desk for him. His bushy eyebrows shadowed black, darting eyes that surveyed me up and down. He hopped down from his perch and took hold of the lapel of my suit jacket, rubbing it between his fingers.
“Nice material, Harry. Such nice material. Why would a boy who wears such a nice suit want to work here?”
I was startled at his question, a little fearful of his stern and foreign look. I swallowed and began to talk about my job at Lander’s and how frustrated I was. My nerves kept me talking, and I rattled on and on telling him that, if he hired me, I’d be willing to fix up his displays, straighten out the inventory, maybe add radios and appliances, and make the store more attractive for customers. His eyebrows waggled up and down at that, and I was afraid I’d overstepped. I changed subjects.
“My sales record is tops at Lander’s, Mr. Rubin. I can sell.” I took a deep breath and plowed ahead. “Maybe I could become a manager in your store if I do a good job for you.
His face remained unchanged, just sizing me up. He said, “What else, Harry? What else do you want?”
“Someday, Mr. Rubin, when I’m older, and when I know a lot more, I’d like to have a business of my own.” I was surprised at myself, at my sudden nerve. But there it was. I’d said it all.
“You think big, Harry,” he said, pulling on his chin whiskers. “You got brains.” He laughed a strange high-pitched giggle, showing his little yellow teeth. “Brains, maybe. But money? Not so much.” He stuck out his hand. “You like pastrami, Harry?” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “Go next door and get us a couple of sandwiches. On rye. When you come back, we’ll talk.”
And so it was that I began work for Sam Rubin.
RIGHT FROM THE beginning Sam Rubin treated me like an equal. He talked to me about everything—what lamps he should order, how he beat the price down on a shipment of light bulbs, what we, and I mean we, should eat for dinner. I loved it. I quit my grocery store job and showed up at his shop at seven o’clock every morning, staying into the evening.
The first week I wore my old work clothes and cleaned the store from top to bottom. The windows gleamed, the lamps were polished, and the floor swept and scrubbed. I could tell the old man was pleased. “So nice,” he would say, and his high-pitched giggle would bubble out whenever a new corner was liberated from dust and grime. “It’s too hard for me to do any more.” Old-time customers noticed the change, and Sam gave me credit. “My new boy, Harry. He keeps things in order.”
I was soon emboldened to suggest that we put away the kerosene lamps and add small appliances such as toasters and waffle irons. Ida Klump, who came every month to do the books, sniffed at the change, but she had to admit the store was doing more business than ever.
The windows were bare, so I set up a display that looked just like a living room. I borrowed one of the chairs from Sam’s crowded apartment above the store. Then I chose a beautiful floor lamp and a radio console to complete the picture. When customers noticed, I offered to set up a radio in their homes for them to try out. It wasn’t long before sales of the new items outstripped lamps.
When the hot weather hit early in the year, I created a window display of fans and attached colored streamers to them. When they were turned on, the ribbons made a bright, swirling display that caught the eyes of passers-by. Sam kept saying, “The juice, Harry. All the juice this takes,” shaking his head with worry. But we sold fifteen fans the first day, and he admitted it was worth the electricity to keep them running.
Sam seemed to expect I would eat supper with him every evening. For the first time in my life I ate pickled herring, latkes, and knishes.
“Where do you get this food, Sam? It’s delicious. I’ve never had anything like it.”
“Oh, this comes from Hatoff’s. The Jewish bakery over by the garment district.” He looked up from his place. “You know I’m Jewish, don’t you Harry?”
“I…I guess I figured that,” I said embarrassed, “but I didn’t really know.”
“Well, now you do. So eat, Harry. Taste these good latkes. You’ll enjoy.”
The one dish Sam could make was stewed chicken. Each week he bought a large hen and we would eat from it for days. When the meat was gone, he made matzo balls and dropped them into the hot broth, a warm, satisfying soup.
Over our food, Sam told me of coming to America from Russia with his older brother Isaac in 1882 when he was twenty years old. “So poor we were, Harry. Some days we ate only crackers.”
They were lucky, he said, to land in New York in the summertime. “At first we slept outside in the parks until the cops chased us. Then we got a sleeping room.” He grinned slyly. “But the landlady didn’t like me.”
“Why? Why didn’t she like you?”
“Maybe it was because I was Jewish, but mostly it was because I smelled bad.” He laughed. “Fish skin, fish bones. All day long I handled them working in the fish market. Piles of fish trash, Harry, you wouldn’t believe. Hauling bones and skin to the dump truck, sometimes filching some to eat. That’s what I did. I couldn’t get rid of the smell. It was part of me.”
He smiled as he called up the memories. I liked hearing his stories. His life was so foreign compared t
o everything I knew. I urged him on. “What did your brother do while you were at the fish market?”
“He used the money I earned to buy things for us to peddle. One time he got 120 pairs of men’s suspenders for ten cents apiece. We went up and down the streets of Manhattan selling those things for a dollar each. Only trouble was that they clipped to a man’s pants, and the clips didn’t work very well. We had to run like hell when one old fellow came after us.”
We chuckled together, and then he grew serious.
“I had some bad times too. Ike got tuberculosis. He got sicker and sicker, coughing up blood, too weak to work. I took him to a hospital, but they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do much for a poor Jewish boy, and he died. I felt really alone after that.” His eyes closed under those huge white eyebrows, and he sat with his hand over his face. I waited uncomfortably, and after a bit, he sat up and said, “But you don’t want to hear this stuff, Harry. Let’s eat.”
Over the weeks and months he told me about meeting his wife, Sarah, who worked in a dress factory. How they went to movies whenever he could afford it and how they became fascinated with the Wild West, cowboys, and all the rest.
“We got married and put our money together. I peddled everything I could buy at the right price. One day I got hold of forty quarts of yellow paint—cheap. Out on the streets I went, peddling paint. I tried and tried, but nobody wanted yellow paint. I couldn’t give it away. I wore myself out carrying those cans up and down the street. Then I met a fellow who was opening a fresh fruit stand. Said he planned to call it Banana Johnnie’s. That gave me an idea. I talked him into painting the whole thing yellow, and I finally got rid of the rest of the paint.”
I laughed out loud. “You were clever, Sam.” In my mind’s eye I saw the piles of apples and oranges, tomatoes, carrots, and of the course, the bananas piled high in a bright yellow fruit stand right in the middle of New York City.
