It’s late on a Friday evening and a small group of Tradesmen were in a local Pub for their weekly meeting.  They call themselves “The Leather Apron Club” later to be Nicknamed “The Junto”.  Ben is talking and the others are listening.  This scene is repeated thousands of times over the next decade with always the  same purpose.  How can they better themselves and their Businesses.

The pulsating Heartbeat of America is Entrepreneurs networking together. The above meeting takes place in 1727, and Ben is the one and only “Ben Franklin“.  While Ben is not the discoverer of the American Entrepreneurial Spirit.  He does epitomize the obsessive nature of Americans to succeed.

Fast forward a hundred plus years.  The city is the same, Philadelphia.  The Spirit of individualism is still thriving.  Visualize a typical center city block of homes.  Row homes 14 foot wide configured in a straight through manner.  A living room with a stair case on one wall.  Next the dinning room then the kitchen with a back door leading to the Concrete back yard.   Where I lived, 2528 W Silver St., was between 25th Street and 26th Street.  One block of 54 row homes, 27 homes on each side of the street.  Block after Block of tiny 14 foot wide row homes. Thousands and Thousands of them seemly without end stuffed full with humans.

This was years before Walmart and Strip malls, who like giant Hoarders, display  endless mounds of stuff available for purchase.  We had what I prefer think something better.  A home delivery system of limited products and services.  Several mornings each week I would hear the clip clop beat of the Horse drawn Milk wagon.  It was so cool to watch the ballet of Horse and Milk Man delivering those white bottles of essential nectar.   The Milk Man would exit at the beginning of the street loaded with Milk in a metal carrier.  The Horse would continue on and stop precisely where needed for the next refilling.  The Milk we received was Pasteurized but not Homogenized.  Therefore we got a “Two Fer”.  Low fat milk and heavy cream in the same bottle.  The cream rose to the top and was a cherished extra for Ice Cream making, Coffee enhancements and some of the Worlds best remembered home cooking.  I was the gatherer of the milk when delivered and I still laugh at how I loved seeing the cream freeze in the Winter pushing the cardboard bottle cap up and forming that delightful tower of creamy goodness.  It was during this period that a popular song was coined and sung by many singers of the day.  “Ella Mae Morse” probably was the most popular and the song was “Milk Man, keep those Bottles Quite“.

Along with the Milk Man,  a steady flow of Merchants traveled down the Block.  The Ice Man stopping at every home that had an Ice Card in the window.  These Cards were large Square waxed cardboard signs with printed numbers on each edge.   25    50    75    100 You put the number which was the pounds of ice you wanted delivered at the bottom.   The Ice Man would deftly wield his ice pick chiseling the proper sized block of ice needed.  Then with Ice Thongs swing the ice block up onto his Leather padded shoulder and carried it into the home putting it into the bottom ice drawer of the trusty wooden Ice Box. You didn’t even have to be home to receive this service.  You just left the door unlocked.  Try that today.  We had Knife Sharpeners, Pots and Pan repairers (panhandlers), in season Vegetables, and many other human needs, all marching down those endless blocks of Humanity.  Other than the regular trades, ie: Milk, Bread, Ice,  each purveyor of these services would announce at the entrance of the Block with a loud Shout what they were selling.  As they traveled through the block people, if they had a need, would come out of the homes and do business with the Tradesman.

In the Summer when the Sun would melted the tar in the cracks of the streets, the most welcome sound for the kids would be the shout of the “Snow Cone” man.  He was, to the us, our “Good Humor” man.  He pushed a large wooden cart with open sided cap.  Inside was a large block of ice ringed with Bottles of flavored syrup.  Root Beer, Grape, Vanilla, and many other flavors.  My pick was always Root Beer or Vanilla.  He would take a metal ice shaver and make the best ice snow cone any seven year old ever tasted.  And all for five cents.  What a summer treat.

Bare in mind these neighborhoods were populated ethnically.  German, Italian, Irish, and Black.  So in addition to the usual Trades you would also have the “merchant specialist” selling to the predominate Ethnicity of the Block. The area of Philadelphia where I lived was called “Swampoodle“ and had a large German population.  So one of the Merchants that serviced us was the Horseradish man.  Horseradish, get your Horseradish. Always loud and always accompanied with a stringent aroma as he entered the Block.  Very popular guy in the German neighborhood.  This was no ordinary Horseradish.  This was Horseradish on Steroids.  Sinus clearing, eye burning, colon cleansing Horseradish. I still love the stuff on Prime Rib or Hot Roast Beef sandwiches.  You may be wondering what “OTC” in the Post title means.   “Original Trenton Crackers” A hard compact cracker made for Oyster stews and appetizers with Horseradish or cocktail sauce. Many restaurants would have as an appetizer on their tables Creamy Horseradish and OTC’s.  Not unlike Salsa and Chips in a Mexican restaurants today.

This Life was repeated over and over in the cities of America.  It is what honed us to be what we are today.  And I suppose every county has some History of Ethnic culture that is also a treasured memory to its’ people.  I love my Life, both present and past, but it is always the past that warms my heart and floats strong emotions through my wrinkled noggin.

Horseradish, Get your Horseradish!

Good looks he had plenty, but his penchant for trouble out weighed them.  Ever see a new born puppy fighting to get in line to be fed.  That would be him, trouble was his meal and bad behavior his dessert.   “Voted Him Most Likely To Not Make It” could easily be the consensus if his family were forced to vote.

Early forays found him breaking windows,  smoking cigarettes and other acts of civil disobedience.   And this was while he was only Nine.  The free spirit in him gave his mother much concern and anguish.  Once in a town where they recently move, his mother while driving home from the store saw a boy walking who was obliviously displaying an advance case of Cerebral Palsy stumbling with involuntary arm and leg movements.  Her heart just ached for him that is until she came up along side and saw that he was her son.  History has no record of what happened that day, but I knew the Mother and she made it clear to me her displeasure.

Life happens and in accordance with fifty percent of the population his parents divorced.  For whatever reasons his bad behavior accelerated, so much so that he was taken from his Mother and placed in a Foster Home. Took awhile but his Mother with help from family was able to go to court and get him back.  His Mother took him and his brothers and sister to a home close to her  parents hoping for some family support.  No luck there, his behavior, perhaps I should say Misbehavior, developed to even grander scales.

But this time his Mother had assets to assist her in tracking his movements.  His downfall was his likability factor.   Everybody liked him.  You know the “Charming Rouge Factor“.  But now in this new close knit neighborhood whenever he did something wrong the neighbors reported to his Mother.  He especially enjoyed running away in the summer.  With the aid of his many friends he would camp out on the porches of his buddies homes and would appropriate (steal) food from the Milk Man and others who delivered  to the homes.  Reports of these excursions filtered over to his Mother almost as a daily routine.  ” Don’t worry he slept on our porch last night and is okay.“  was the usual message.

Attendance to school was almost none existence.   His best friends were Catholic and went to a Catholic school so he just went with them whenever he felt like.  Then came another move.  This time a family consolidation with Grandparents and his family under the same roof.  By this time he is nearing seventeen and is enrolled in High School.   The only thing that kept him from taking off to his usual habits was the sport of Basketball.  I’m not entirely sure if he ever played any organized ball, but we do know this, he was a natural.  Hope certainly was peeking over the horizon and he did just enough school work to be kept on the team.

The basketball coach  saw in the him adhesive for binding together a team of pretty good players.  There were better scorers, a there were better ball handlers, but what he contributed was the oil to make it all run like well oiled clock.   The boy began to show promise, that is until the Phone Call.

It was at night, three am to be exact, when the call from the Police arrived.   Seems that he took a Grocery Market truck from the store where he worked part time to  go joy riding. Might have worked out if he hadn’t rolled it over.  It becomes a little murky as to the process of the next events.  Not sure if it was a voluntary or involuntary enlistment, but in any case he was now the Navy’s problem and no longer his Mothers.

By now those of you who follow me are by now are wondering where’s the story going?   This rendition is an appreciation of somebody who overcame a lot of family negative vibes.  So let’s see how this guy ends up.  After four years in the Navy he comes back home and first finds work delivering milk for a large dairy.  Eventually he hires on as an apprentice for an  Electrical contractor.  Grueling work, but he is mentored by the owners who would later become huge supporters of his going back to school and earning his High School Diploma.

His sweetheart from High School before he enlisted became his bride and life long friend.  Four children later, all boys, who would give any parent a challenge, he and his wife raised with love, discipline and class.  His wife would occasionally remark that their home was not unlike a  boys locker room.   But life isn’t always fair and after forty four years of marriage he is left alone without her.

Now remarried to another wonderful woman, he continues on baffling all naysayers by mentoring and assisting in the care of his Step-Son who has been severely  handicapped from an Automobile accident for over twenty odd years.  To list his accomplishments would stagger those of us with an ordinary life.  The quote:  “We all are born unique, but most will die Copies” does not apply to him.  He is unique from his beginning unto this Day.

This guy I’m talking about is my Brother Clayton who turns Eighty this August.  And this post is for you Bro.  I want you to know I Love you and appreciate you and your life as an inspiration to me and others.  You proved them wrong by becoming

“The Most Likely to Succeed.”

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGFL7hIL-ik