When I was a little boy

Jack Kerouac

When I was a little boy, the building pictured below housed a country store owned by a man I will call Bill. Bill also worked in Johnson City in daytime and his dad who lived next door looked after the store customers and incoming deliveries, etc. I recall walking to the store with my Uncles Roy and Fred when I was a very small brat. The steps up to the porch were on the right end and were as flimsy as the porch itself but actually made of good wood. As you entered the building, on the left and behind the door was a red, chest-type Coke machine, the kind with the slide-out racks. You lifted the lid of the cooler and made your selection from several different brands by looking at the caps of the bottles hanging in the racks, usually with each slot having a different brand of soda; my choice was generally Grapette, Orange Crush, or Nehi Root Beer. Beside the soda box was a small chest-type ice box with Fudgesicles, Brown Mules, Popsicles, and small cups of ice cream that had wooden spoons nearby. Along the left wall was the counter with various candies and tobacco products. The remainder of the store was taken up by shelves of staple canned goods and packaged products. It was all a little boy's paradise if he had a few cents to squander and twenty-five cents would purchase a decadent feast. Of course, I probably never owned a quarter until I was in my early teens and working for local farmers. Well, there was one time I did have a bit more than a quarter ...

When I was old enough to be allowed to go to the store alone for errands, maybe eight years old, I once found $8 folded up and almost completely hidden beneath the steps that went to the store porch. Being well raised and conscientious, I took the money inside and told Bill's dad about it and showed the four bills to him. I suppose this was the first time in my life I had come across naked adult greed. The old man's eyes fairly lit up when he saw the bills and he immediately yanked it out of my hand and said he would see that it got to the rightful owner. He didn't bother to count it but quickly stuffed the money in his shirt pocket. When I returned home, I related my tale to my uncle Roy and he smiled and told me not to worry about it. A little later I saw him go walking down the road in the direction of the store but thought little about it. Actually, he did not go to the store but went to his buddy's house because he knew his friend had lost $8 from his overall pants (blue jeans) pocket a few evenings before and he figured it happened while he was at the store. I later found out that the guy was suspicious about the store keeper anyway. Roy and the guy walked to our house and asked me to go back to the store with them and I gladly did so. Roy and I stopped along the road and "rested" near the store while his buddy went in and asked if the old man had seen the money and of course he denied knowing anything about it. Roy's friend turned and came back outside and retrieved us to go back in and confront the dishonest store keeper. When the merchant saw me, the greed and smirk left his face in a hurry. Roy said something to the effect "Wayne*, did you find $8 out side?" and I replied that I did and that Bill's dad had taken it from me. Roy then asked me what Bill's dad had done with it and I told him that he stuck it in his left shirt pocket. The old man then got the money out of the pocket and handed it to Roy's buddy claiming that he was just fooling and was going to give it to him anyway. Roy's buddy was known as a brawler and the old man did not want to test him; the merchant was undone by an honest little boy. Roy's buddy handed me a crinkled $1 bill and suggested I not spend it in that store so we walked out and on to Jonesboro** where I was treated to ice cream, candy, and a Nehi soda, and best of all, I was allowed to keep the whole dollar and I got to ride back home in a taxi cab. I remember feeling like a hero for several days following the incident. Yes, $1 for a kid poor kid was a fortune at the time, and $8 was two days pay for a farm worker.

This is a true story as best as I can recall from memory and a few notes I wrote about the incident some 10 years after it occurred. It is now closing in on 60 years since it happened, and my "facts" may not be facts at all but I think it is very accurate for the most part. In my mind's eye, I can see me finding the money and the old man taking it from me. I remember telling Roy and I remember the confrontation in the store. I also remember the goodies and dollar bill tucked in my pocket and the ride home in the shiny cab. The "fill-in" comes from my notes. One thing I am not sure of is the Coke chest behind the door; it could have been an RC Cola chest but if so, the style is basically the same as the Coca-Cola one.
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I wonder who won the August Megashot contest?

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Have a well Wednesday!

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*"Wayne" is my middle name and I was known by that moniker until around 1970; my family still calls me "Wayne" and some other names.
**Now spelled "Jonesborough" for purely commercial reasons.
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