A Thin Dime

 

During 1948 - 1951 we lived at 3912 Avenue S in Galveston.

The Evans Grocery was on 39th Street at about Avenue N — and that's a wild guess. It was not close to Broadway, and it was some distance from the location of the Davy Crockett Elementary school.

Pop was working as a longshoreman. Hard physical work. Required a lot of alcohol to soothe the aches and pains. He certainly had nothing left for the grocery shopping.

Mom was experiencing serious medical problems with her varicose veins. Simply walking was for her a challenge.

That left to me the weekly shopping.

I had joined Pop when he WAS able to take care of buying groceries, and I learned how to make proper selections

Mom prepared for me a list, and gave me money to buy our necessities. No instructions necessary. I knew what to do.

She would list "Mayo" and I knew to get Salad Dressing. Looked the same, and tasted okay. The jar of mayonnaise cost 69 cents. Same size jar of salad dressing was 29 cents.

Butter? That meant the less expensive margarine. And I knew how to select the cheaper cans of vegetables. I was a competent, thrifty shopper. Mom never had any complaints when she unpacked the groceries I brought home.

Usually I rode my bicycle to get the groceries. On the upturned handlebars was the large canvas bag that held rolled up newspapers, when I helped Jimmy Weaver make his daily deliveries. That newspaper bag was perfect for the average grocery order that I brought home. Sometimes the weight of the groceries was so great that riding and steering the bike was difficult. Then, I simply walked the bike home.

One day in 1949 I made a grocery shopping trip without my bike. It was upside down in the garage, in midst of some serious disassembly and repair.

With the canvas bag over my shoulder I trundled off to the store.

A rather large order filled the bag to near overflowing. And it was HEAVY.

I struggled, carrying it for a couple of blocks. Had to set it down and rest.

As I stood in a state of anguish, unable to carry my load, I espied a bus coming down 39^th. It would turn from 39^th Street onto Avenue R, reasonably close to home.

I flagged the bus, got on and dropped the fare in the receptacle. Ten cents. One thin dime. From the change returned from the payment for groceries.

I rode in luxurious comfort along 39^th Street to my disembark at Avenue R.   I struggled to the alley that ran behind our house, and went in through the back gate.

I proudly explained to Mom what had done, how I solved the problem of a difficult transport of the too heavy load. She mentioned it to Pop when he got home from his day's labor.

Pop exploded. He resented that I had WASTED a whole dime to simply avoid walking a short distance.

He did not physically punish me. I was frightened, that he might. He spared me that. But the pain of his rebuke was severe.

The mere fact that I recall it after 72 years is an indication of its impact on my tender psyche.

I should have been tougher.

Yeah, and Mickey Rooney should have been taller.