Henry the Younger
....Jill June, OWR Participant
Henry the Younger, by Jill June
You had to see my dad to believe him. He was no ordinary guy, the second oldest of 13 children from Dutch immigrants. The hard scrapple life on the cobblestone streets of Pittsburgh stayed with him to the very end.
His formal education ended in 3rd grade. Older brother Bill and my father, Henry, were economic assets that couldn't be squandered away in school. There were too many mouths to feed and only 24 hours in a day. He grew up working in the greenhouses where his parents grew cut flowers to supply the florists in the city. At nine years of age, he pulled a ponyless cart of vegetables door to door to the newly freed yearning masses. Dad never tired of taking us kids down memory lane on that cart.
Even without a pony, Henry managed to succeed in business. The cart begot a stand, and the stand begot a store. With Le Mancha gusto, he forged ahead, conquering all real and imagined threats on his quest to greatness. Roger Miller sang “King of the Road” in his ear, which was all the inspiration he needed.
Jill Rymes with Bill
Dad was ten years older than Mom. He plucked her out of a waitress job at the downtown Pittsburgh Brass Rail restaurant. She was no stranger to hard work, and his store needed her right up to the day my oldest sister was born. When the next child was born female, King Henry said he wanted a boy. The heir would be named William, after his older brother, lovingly called Bill. That's how I got the name, Jill. It rhymes with Bill.
The year after I was born, three bandits followed my dad to the bank around midnight. The news reported a pregnant employee who lived next to the bank was a passenger in his car. During the chase, the robbers pulled alongside his car, pointed a revolver, and yelled, “Pull over, and I don't mean maybe!” 17 shots were fired, and the police joined the chase. Henry and the expectant mother escaped unharmed, the $15K made it to the bank, and the varmints were charged with attempted murder. The police captain told the Press “Henry just outran ’em”.
The business was booming and a full-time live-in housekeeper became part of the mix to enable mom to work full time. Henry's sheer willpower and dominance forced her to become a closeted feminist. He hired us “pre-kindergartners” to work in his business too. My little fingers could dip into the whitest Easter Lily and whisk out the stamen with nary a drop of pollen to mar its beauty. I got 25 cents a day.
Mom had other plans for us. We were destined for the best education his money could buy, and nothing would stand in her way. One by one we were shipped off to a girls-only boarding academy. At the age of 3, I started campaigning to go to school. I was the last sister left alone with the housekeeper. I needed my education and I needed it now. “You can't go to the academy until you learn how to read”, my mother lied.
I don't think dad ever surrendered the idea of having a boy child because he was making a real man out of me, his youngest daughter. My feverish pursuit to decipher the written word took six months. In my 4th year, I demonstrated my skill by reading the Kleenex box. “Very good”, mom said, “Now go read the newspaper to your father.”
Dad couldn't read! He knew numbers, but not letters. His major interest was the full-page advertisements of his stores and of his competitors. Pictures of lettuce and potatoes with the prices listed next to them could be ignored, but any text, like “ground beef” needed to be read aloud. I told him it was easy to read, and I would teach him. “Thanks”, he said, “keep reading.”
Part entrepreneur, part impresario, dad had flair and flamboyance. His name grew to span the metropolitan area with a chain of supermarkets, garden centers and even a toy store. His sales promotions won him fame, fortune, travel, and luxury. There were jaunts to Beverly Hills and a Cabin Cruser, he named after me, and a showcase of trophies he accumulated.
While at the academy, I learned both my parents were arrested. They were taken to the county jail, the one that looked exactly like a dungeon in medieval times, it still frightens me when I drive past it. They were tried before a magistrate and found guilty of selling merchandise on Sunday. Dad said they were called Blue Laws. I thought he said ‘bull laws’ because a conversation about the topic always included the word ‘bullshit.’ Undeterred, Henry took the State of Pennsylvania to the Supreme Court. The following May the verdict was overturned, they were exonerated, and the Pennsylvania blue laws became "bullshit"
He loved big parades. His horses would be hitched in teams to wagons, and a beautiful black gelding pulled a surrey with fringe all around. We sisters would ride and wave while sitting atop a Cadillac convertible covered with pictures of purple fruit and captioned, “Henry's Gone Plum Crazy.” There was no limit to his showmanship.
Dad amused himself and everyone else by coining aphorisms. When conglomerates like Kroger and A&P launched shopping stamps to compete for customer loyalty, dad printed faux dollar bills saying, “Don’t save stamps, save Henry!” Billboards and newspapers ads carried the message far and wide.
In the middle of a beautiful spring night, the flagship store caught fire and burned to the ground. Before the ashes cooled, dad had a plan. The Pittsburgh Symphony finally had a proper concert hall, and their famous “Melody Tent” was for sale. We're talking about a huge, three-ring, circus-size, vibrantly colored canvas tent. He bought the thing, lock stock and barrel, and had it erected in a week where the flagship once stood.
This gave him the perfect excuse to abandon all convention, liberate deep-seated repression, and dress in costume as the Ringmaster. Top hat and red tails with white knickers and black boots. The show must go on! But wait. What's missing? Aw, If you guessed a monkey, you'd be right.
That's how my little brother, Henry Jr., finally arrived. Dad had a boy! Chimpanzees were popularized when Dave Garroway from the NBC Today show brought Muggsy on as co-host. Dad and Henry Jr. were inseparable, like father and son. Dad took him everywhere. “Meet my boy”, he would chortle to the truck drivers at the produce yards.
Henry Jr. warranted an addition to the house with his very own Nanny. When he wasn't in dad’s arms he was swinging in his playroom, terrorizing Nanny, or atop a Cadillac convertible waving to the crowds. The two Henrys was pure marketing genius. The media didn't tire of the spectacle and dad only stopped laughing long enough to quote Barnum, “A sucker’s born every minute.”
The city presented him with a Man of the Year award. I don't know what my little brother thought of dad getting most of the credit, but I was impressed. This illiterate boy without a pony became a man of the year with the help of a monkey.
During my life, whenever I became discouraged in my abilities to succeed, I remember that cart, that chase, that tent, and that Ringmaster saying, "The show must go on."
Thanks to Jill for a wonderful romp. This What Do You Say, OWR? column is for participants to post essays, book chapters, poems, and pictures of the room, camper, bed, where they write. Please send your submissions to: julieokobojiwriters@gmail.com.
I have a request: Please tell your friends the Early Bird special ($100 discount) for the Okoboji Writers’ Retreat ends March 31. To keep advertising and promotion costs lower, would you please post this link to your Facebook page or email it to those you think might like to attend? Your recommendation is far more compelling than a 2X4 ad. www.okobojiwritersretreat.com
THANKS, Julie
Your story was so much fun to read!
Astonishing! Picture of an era, and unique to your family.