THE OLD MAN

My college days

While in Junior High and high school, and again later on in college, I worked for a place that made children’s play clothes. It was in the shipping department and mail order and it was a hard tough job, that took all my energy away at the end of the day. Most days were spent in the summer time, where the temperatures rose to 90+ and so did the humidity. There was no air-conditioning in the shipping and stock room and it was dirty, dusty and hard on the feet.

The owner of the place. I will call Mr. P was a good man with a bad work side manner. He ran the shop like a prison camp of forced laborers and his personal life was dedicated to the community on a board of directors of local bank, Kiwanis clubs, veteran’s associations and the local fire department of which he was high ranked.

Mr. P was also a lady’s man who was discrete but careless about it.

While in college, I got into a car accident that caused me compounded fractures of my right foot, and laid me up for a few months. He, Mr. P took pity on me and gave me a job designing a large mural in his store and doing all kinds of signs for the daily sales. It kept me employed as I healed and that was great.

One Saturday afternoon, as Dad was leaving the plant to go home, he discovered he had a flat tire. We were poor and Dad’s tires were not in the best of shape. As he looked at the tire, Mr. P, was leaving also and watched as Dad kicked the tire in disgust, he couldn’t afford a new tire. Mr. P walked over to Dad and gave him enough money to purchase four new tires!

When Dad was going to buy his new home, Mr. P advised him what he should do, then gave him an extraordinary mortgage from his bank!

He was a fancy dresser, cashmere cardigans, silk shirts, wool pants and alligator shoes were the rule of the day dress code for Mr. P. Always with a big wad f cash in his pocket, on Saturdays he would walk in, everyone would tense up, he would look around and take out the wad, and ordered someone to buy a ton of buns, coffee and rolls for his workers.

One afternoon after lunch, I hobbled over to the designer’s office of play clothes, a rather attractive woman with boobs that cast a shadow, and about 15 years younger than Mr. P. She was sitting on a stool and Mr. P was sending his hand slowly up her skirt! I stopped in my tracks, Mr. P’s hand stopped in its track and the designer jumped off the stool all at once.

I immediately left her office and out comes Mr. P, asking me if I needed anything and how my broken foot was feeling. He was always nice to me after that!

He was a good man, a bit frisky, but still a good man. When he died I went to his funeral and there he was, laid out in his fireman’s uniform and the many symbols of community commitment adorned his coffin. God bless him.