I , like many others from my early years, was known as a “Latchkey” child.  The harshness of those days on families demanded that children at a young age assume adult responsibilities for their lives while the parent (usually a single Mother) was at work.  Thus the term “Latchkey Kid“.  A term meaning to be left alone to fend for themselves until a parent came home.  Sadly this Culture driven practice is once again dominating American families.

However, and fortunately, the propensity for evil was not as prevalent as it is today.  But there were still problems, and I managed to invest my time exploring and reveling in all sorts of deviant behavior.  You may have already read my battle with “The Money Jar“ and my addiction to TastyKakes.   This episode is the lead in to that sad period of my succumbing to thievery.

Backing up just a bit.  I was a super skinny kid with an abnormal amount of energy.  I fueled my body with anything that past muster as “Sugar”.  Sugar cubes (usually stolen) were an staple.  I first met this morsel of delight when Mother took me to a “Horn & Hardart’s Automat”.  It was there I discovered many delicious treats including  the Sugar Cubes that probably started my insatiable quest for Sweets.  Back to the story line.  As a result of this discovery I became very uninterested in any food substance that was not laced with some form of sugar or at the least had a sweet taste.   Mother before leaving for work would leave for me sandwiches and other stuff on the kitchen table to eat when I got home after school.  Most times there were sandwiches that would be to my liking.  But sometimes a sandwich of Liverwurst or GOD forbid an unidentifiable meat called “Tongue” would be on the table staring at me not unlike a scene from the Night of the Living Dead.

Sandwich and the Radiator

When these horrid sandwiches showed up, I being the clever one, would stick them behind the big cast iron Steam Radiator mounted on the floor next to the table.  This “feeding the Radiator” went on for a time before coming to a screeching halt.  Did you know Ants liked Liverwurst and Tongue? Really who knew, I certainly didn’t! And are you also aware that food when left behind a HOT Radiator also emitted odors? That was news to me!  Yep, a big lesson learned and learned well by the  “Seat of my Pants” if you get my drift. A new battle plan needed to be formulated to battle this menacing meat.  But before I was able to develop plans, Mother announced to the family that we were moving to a home near Grandma and Grandpa all the while looking squarely at my beautifully innocent face and adding “where there are no Steam Radiators“.

Battle plans are put on hold until I am able to reconnoiter the new battle ground.  The move to the new home was a nightmare for my game plan.  Two words: Central Heating! Central heating was a Coal Furnace in the Basement with a registrar vent that was a big square grate in the floor between the living room and the dinning room.  The upstairs was heated through another large grate in the floor that allowed the heat from downstairs to drift up though it.  This  system made for cold days and nights if you were not layered with 20 pounds of clothes in addition to not providing a safe dumping site for unwanted food.

Off Site Disposal

In search of a dump site I checked out the backyard.  I couldn’t believe it.  Fence to fence Concrete. I couldn’t even bury the crap now becoming known as  “Sandwiches from Hell”.  Then I saw it.   A gate in the back fence leading into a service alley that ran the length of the entire block.  Looking both ways up and down the alley for anything that would serve as a final resting place for the Sandwiches I spied the Pole.  Telephone pole to be exact.  The perfect place with just a enough space between the pole and the fence and a good twenty yards away from the backyard gate.   Ideal!  Game, Set, Match.

There is a RAT somewhere

Things were working just great.  I had secured a Hazardous Material dump site and I had begun working the “Money Jar” gig.  Life was sweet! That is until the day Mother collared me and walked me out to the alley and over to the POLE.  What happen next is not pretty and I’ll spare you the details.  I can say this though, while hating Corduroy Knickers they did saved my little butt that day.  Hard to blister a Fanny though those Iron like Corduroy Knickers.  I never discovered who Ratted me out.  Probably  a brother or sister who viewed me as the pampered little brat that they sometimes where burdened with by Mom.  Doesn’t matter now.  History has its’ own validation of our worth and my brothers and sister have long since become the shining heroes of my life.

Today however, I now love Liverwurst and Onion Sandwiches.  But Tongue Sandwiches, Ugh.  I still look for suitable dumping sites for that Hazardous Material.

“Journey to the Dark Side”

This Addiction has been with me for almost Seventy years.  How is that possible?  I’m not sure, possibly a “Mother of all Character Flaws”.  I can however pinpoint its’ beginning within a year or two.  So perhaps this sad sad confession should begin the day I first thought of crossing over to the “Dark Side”

“The Beginning”

I’m napping on my Mothers bed when I woke up and saw her putting  some dimes and nickels into a jar and hiding the jar on the top shelf of her closet.  She never suspected a potential thief was watching.  But wait before continuing let me paint  a vignette of the life a certain blond hair, sweeter than sweet handsome third grade (getting thick isn’t it) young boy.  Our home in the West Philadelphia neighborhood I often refer to as the Ghetto, (a misunderstood word meaning an overcrowded neighborhood of similar ethic peoples), was in walking distance to a large…….Oh forget it, I think I skip this and continue on with my (juicily sinful) confession.

“The Scene of the Crime“

On the next street over from our home, a row home to be actuate, was a Grocery store called Epstein’s.   In our neighborhood the end home of the row of homes usually housed stores that serviced the area.  Grocery stores, Fish Mongers, Barbers, Plumbers, you name it and the house at end of the row housed it.  For those historically minded, this is where the term Mom and Pop shop originated.  Back to Epstein’s. Old man Epstein, a widower, had this grocery store where Mom purchased most of our daily fare.  When ever I was in possession of some money I also would go to Epstein’s  to obtain an substance that would give my brain a high unlike anything I had previously experienced.

“Addiction”

These highs soon became an addiction which was  increasing faster than my ability to obtain funding.  Is the picture coming into focus?   Connecting the dots?  Substance Dealer, Limited income, Money jar in the closet. Yes this Saintly old man,( okay, skip the Saintly part), embarked at the age of seven into the criminal world of thievery.  With the aid of a chair and a box the solution to my money problems, the Money jar, came in reach of my greedy little mitts.  Being careful, so I thought, to only take what was needed for my daily habit I would march into Epstein’s and slap the money down on the counter and ask for it.  He obliged and it wasn’t long before I was under his complete control.  I’m sure murder would now not be out of bounds for me.

“A Serious Set Back”

Fast forward two weeks.  I’m in the back seat of Grandpa’s car.  Mother is driving and Grandma is next to her when the topic of my brother became the concern.  My brother was a bit of trouble to Mother and she was telling Grandma that he was now stealing coins from her Money Jar.  At this point I stopped listening and started to think of my Habit with its’ addiction that was now at serious levels.  All I had heard was this: “The Bank is Closed“  resulting in the fact that I had lost my stash.

“Withdrawal Symptoms”

The next day found me, you guessed it, in Epstien’s nervous, fidgety, and almost incoherent.  Old man Epstein taking notice said “Nelson”have you come for it.”  Putting the despair of my predicament aside  I came right out and said, “Mr Epstien, I need it but I don’t have any money”  “Ah, don’t worry Nelson”, he said, “take it and I’ll just add it to your Mother’s bill”.

Score, Hallelujah, Praise the LORD.

I had just entered into the promise land of unlimited access to the source of my addiction.

We all can agree can’t we that little boys have an “I need it now brain” and seldom think that the consequences of their actions will ever come back to bite them.   And of course that day did come when the Grocery bill was delivered to Mother.     However the bill had no listing of my substance abusing purchases.

“Double Hallelujahs and Double Praises to  the LORD”

A short term scare quickly passes and I’m back in business and back at Epstein’s getting my daily fix.  A year later we moved out of the Neighborhood leaving Epstein’s to history.  It wasn’t until I was grown and on my own when at a family gathering with my brothers and sister,  all who are all almost a decade older than me,  started talking about the old Neighborhood and old man Epstein.  I then learned from them that Mr. Epstein had a crush on Mother and because he had this crush her children got special favors from him.

“Ain’t Love Wonderful”

It wasn’t long after that I felt the need to  confess and take responsibility for my actions concerning the “Money Jar“.  The opportunity came one day when out alone with Mom to bring up the “Money Jar” and my complicity in taking money from it.  She just smiled and said “I know.  I knew that you would stop the day I told your Grandmother in the car”.  Mother was always smarter me.

“Oh, Those Sweet Little Things”

I guess you might be wondering just what was my Addiction.  Remember in the beginning I started to mention a place that was in walking distance to our neighborhood but stopped.   It was the   TastyKake factory where they made the “Butter Scotch Krimpets and Lemon TastyKake pies” I so craved. The stolen seven cents I would pay old man Epstein for them today will cost one Dollar.  And yes I still have “My Addiction” however with one important difference.  

“I now have my own “Money Jar“