Chores (and “Danny the Dry Cleaner”)
I was never a big fan of chores.
I always thought “chores” were something
that Pa would demand of their kids in TV Westerns…
e.g. Feed the chickens; Help bale the hay”.
We had neither chickens nor hay in The Bronx.
So, not an issue.
But my Dad did have a store…
a floor covering store.
Linoleum, carpets, tiles.
It also sold window shades and Venetian blinds.
(One of my Dad’s oft-repeated jokes:
“How do you make a Venetian Blind? Poke him in the eyes”).
He worked with my Mom,
and there were countless opportunities
for me to pitch in with “chores” around the store.
While I did make a few “cameo appearances”,
for the most part, my Dad would simply have me pick him up some lunch
and then…
(despite my Mom’s objections)…
send me off to play ball.
Firmly establishing my strong “play ethic” for years.
But I did have a few household chores:
Making my bed every day.
Polishing the silverware.
(Does anybody do that anymore??)
Helping my Mom make chopped liver…
by rather violently chopping up the liver, onions and eggs
in a large wooden bowl.
Occasionally shoveling the snow off our front steps.
And, on Sunday morning…
picking up the “appetizing” and “Sunday papers”.
Also part of our Sunday ritual…
was the weekly appearance of General Firestone!
The “General” was an alter-ego created by my Dad.
The “officer’s” sole purpose was to do inspections and grade “the troops” -
(my Mom, my sister Ellen and me).
We were graded on…
“making the bed”,
“straightening the drawers”,
“putting away papers”, etc.
The troops’ grades were posted each Sunday.
Hmmm, thinking back on it …
I’m pretty sure the entire military inspection
was a ruse to have me to clean up the mess in my room.
But when it comes to chores…
I did have my absolute FAVORITE!
Bringing in the dry-cleaning to Danny’s.
Strange choice? Not really.
Allow me to explain.
Danny was born to be a dry cleaner.
Looked like the third Mario Brother…
short, stocky old world Italian, complete with curlicue moustache.
With my arms full of coats, sweaters, gabardine pants,
I’d open the door of Danny’s establishment,
hear the ringing of small bells over the door,
and soon I’d be met with a blast of hot steam
emanating from what seemed like an unseen industrial-age factory of some sort.
I was “greeted” by Danny, standing behind the front desk.
(Perhaps “greeted” is the wrong word…since he never made eye contact).
He’d take my garments into the back room…
And that’s when the magic happened.
As he pulled back the curtain leading to the “factory”,
through the billowing steam,
I was able to see the walls covered with an array of…
NAKED PINUPS!!!!!
BOOBS!…BREASTS!!…TITS!!!
A gallery of centerfold goddesses in sexy poses…
calling out to me!
I strained my eyes to capture all that I could
and tried to commit every curve to my memory
to be accessed at will.
And then Danny returned.
And the curtain was closed.
And, in spite of Danny’s seeming apathy towards me…
I do think that some small “good” existed inside of him.
For, I’m pretty sure…
he left the curtain open a few extra precious seconds.
I’d exit Danny’s, sweaty from the steam,
and the view,
and anxiously looked forward to next week’s dry cleaning.
CHORES.
Would love to hear your memories of your “chores”.
