8. College Days

My working hours at Mr. Bethel’s Men’s Furnishings Store were from one to eleven p.m. About 10.30 p.m. a half-dozen or more members of the undergraduate chapter of Phi Gamma Delta arrived to await my release from duty. Occasionally one of them would buy a shirt or a scarf. But whether they bought or not it pleased Mr. B. to have so many potential customers seen in his shop at that late hour. Mr. Bethel had only one full-time assistant, for it was a small store and the proprietor, a genial fellow in his late thirties, operated with small capital and much competition.

The local taverns had a strict eleven-o’clock closing ordinance; but Poor Jake, who was a deacon and helped take up the collection at the beautiful German Lutheran Church, was a good friend of Police Sergeant Maloney. The contingent of collegians left Mr. Bethel’s store shortly after eleven and arrived a few minutes later at the closed and shuttered tavern where Poor Jake, a serious, dignified, fatherly man of sixty, awaited us in his cozy back room. There was a fireplace and a big bowl of free pretzels was on the table. We had a mug of beer and swapped yarns for an hour. Sergeant Maloney joined us as our guest. It was an inexpensive diversion and a good time was had by all. Nobody felt the necessity of getting tight, though it must be admitted that the beer stimulated conversation. As for overdoing the consumption of Poor Jake’s potations, the good old fellow would have frowned darkly on such conduct.

Of course when I had graduated from college and had entered the Theological Seminary, it seemed more prudent to discontinue these late Saturday night get-togethers at Poor Jake’s tavern, though I continued to work on Saturdays for my benefactor, the generous Mr. Bethel. I came to have great esteem for this good man.

Deep in the winter of mv second year in the Seminary, Mr. Bethel was put to bed with a serious attack of flu, which had become a widespread epidemic. He sent for me and asked me if I would take charge of his store while he was ill. I was happy to try. It was a whole month before Mr. B. was able to return to duty.

I was given free rein to do what I liked. It had often occurred to me that we might do something to reduce our inventory of slow-moving goods. I contrived a plan and explained it to my employer. We would have a special sale on Saturdays. We had a lot of shelf space that was filled with empty collar boxes. Detached shirt collars in those days sold for 15 cents each or two for a quarter. I was for putting two collars or a 25¢ necktie or a 25¢ handkerchief in a box, and filling the front windows of the shop with these boxes. A placard would announce that one of these boxes held a ticket entitling the purchaser to a beautiful $2.50 umbrella, and there were to be two or three other less expensive prizes, caps, scarves, etc.

The scheme was entirely honest. The customer was assured of a 25¢ value. If he didn’t get something he could use, he could exchange it for anything else valued at a quarter, but the exchange would have to wait until the following Saturday. We would be much too busy to do the exchanging at the time of the sale. Mr. Bethel laughed and remarked that not many men would bother to exchange their merchandise.

“We will hope not,” I said. “If the collars are too small for Pop, perhaps Buster can wear them.”

Every evening after the store closed I went to the Bethel home with the day’s receipts. We closed the shop at nine on all evenings but Saturday.