The cellar was always the coolest spot, even in the summertime. The peaches, pears or apples in the cellar landing would last a good while and provided a nice treat. When the fruit started to overripe we had pies. That was an all around good deal. Then we had the Hood Milk delivery truck guy, who arrived early every morning and left clanking glass bottles of milk on the doorstep.
Each jug had a cup or so of cream floating at the top of the bottle. When the man asked us why we applied for a job at Hood Milk he caught us off guard. He clarified his question by mentioning that he had placed no ad in the newspaper asking for help. Our method for finding a job had nothing to do with checking want ads.
We would just go wandering off each morning and walk into anyplace that we figured had more than a mom, dad and junior employed there. Hood Milk had numerous milk trucks, hundreds, running all over town. Every milk truck had a driver. One of the drivers could have died over the weekend, maybe fell out of the damn truck or got a better job mowing the lawn in the Common or running numbers for one of the many local bookies. What kind of a question was this guy putting forward?
Jack and I sat there dumbfounded but Ray went into a prayer type monologue about all the things he loved and cherished about Hood Milk and being a delivery man.
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Ray loved the white milkman suit and the white police cap that topped it off. He loved the taste of Hood milk ever since he was a baby. If I were to get a position here today, it would be the highlight of my entire life — a dream come true. A tiny tear came peeking out from the corner of his right eye. He pulled himself together, cleared his throat and told Ray that in all of his career he had never heard an applicant make such an emotional plea.
Jack and I sat speechless. When we got outside to the parking lot Jack and I both confessed to Ray that we had similar thoughts as children ourselves. The white uniform and the white police cap were especially vivid memories. The sight of the stuff makes me gag.
THE HOBO PHILOSOPHER: Barber Shops
I never thought of being a milkman once in my life. How did you ever think of that? He probably started out as a milk delivery man himself.
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He is sitting there looking out the damn window thinking how he has wasted his whole life peddling milk. I figured what would a poor slob like that like best to hear?
How about a story about a kid who spent his entire childhood dreaming of becoming just like him? He had probably been sitting staring out that window all morning. He probably has nothing to tell his wife when he gets home from work every night.
What else am I doing? He had those huge ice tongs and that leather sheath he threw over his shoulder and last but not least, the knife sharpening guy. The knife sharpening guy had his own rig. He was another very old man. He had a wheelbarrow type thing that he pushed down the street.
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In place of the carry bucket on his wheelbarrow he had a giant stone wheel. As I remember the big stone was white in color. I remember my mother frantically searching out every dull knife in the silverware draw, sticking them into a paper bag or wrapping them up in a towel and sending me out in a run after the old man and his giant stone. Of course, children were a good deal cheaper in those days. This guy had a neat business though, I loved to watch him. First he would set his wheelbarrow down and then he would flip back this buggy seat he had folded over at the handle end of the barrow.
Eat, Drink And Be Merry: Anecdotes and Tales from the Old Neighborhood.
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Write a customer review. There was a problem filtering reviews right now. Please try again later. I grew up in Lawrence, but reading this book is like seeing it again through my parent's eyes when they were teenagers. The author really has a gift for making you feel you are haning' out too. One person found this helpful 2 people found this helpful. Kindle Edition Verified Purchase. Gotta rate anything about "home" five star. One person found this helpful. Thank you so much for writing this fabulous book cannot wait to read the other three that I also bought.
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If you enjoy reading this blog, you should love Bloggin' Be My Life. Every poem in this book comes with a prose introduction. If you enjoy poetry this is a simple choice. If you enjoy any type of poetry, you will enjoy this volume. Talking To Myself This is my third book of poetry.
Featuring a variety of writing styles and ideas. Look for the Thoughtful Hobo on the cover.
All varieties of short stories - lots of laughs! More wit, wisdom and humor from the yet to be world famous author, R. Hobo-ing America Travel, Humor, Commentary on migrant farm work and illegal immigration still very pertinent today. Anecdotes and humorous escapades about growing up in an industrial mill town in the 40s,50s and 60s. The series is about growing up in the 40's, 50's and 60's in an industrial mill town. Sorta like a Huck Finn goes to vist Uncle Ralph, the bus driver, who lives in a big, rundown city.
The old homested at 32 Chelmsford ST is pictured on the cover.. Standing on the Corner is 6 in the lawrence My Hometown series. The old Howard Playstead on Lawrence St. Deals with abuse, poverty, unemployment. America on Strike History - documented survey of labor strikes in America.
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