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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Inspirational
- Subject: Inspirational / Uplifting
- Published: 03/05/2019
I make dresses. All kinds of dresses. Summer dresses, winter dresses, dresses for a casual day out or formal enough for a Ballroom, or Prom. I also make pants, but only three kinds: work, casual, or business. Oh, and I make them all for free. Why?
It started when I was seven.
*****
I was seven years old when I first met Rosy. God, she was old. I bet she was thirty or even thirty one. Believe me, when you are seven - thirty is doggone near death. I knocked on her front door. She lived behind the Kroner’s place on West 32nd Street. It was a separate house, small, only four rooms to the whole place. There were two tiny sheds out in the back by the garage. I didn’t know what those were for…yet.
I was looking for more “customers.” You see, I needed money to help my older sister pay for her first formal dress. With eleven of us kids in the house…well, buying a store bought dress was an impossible dream for a fifteen year old girl and way beyond the means of my parents. Only Dad worked, because this was the early 1950’s and that was the way it was back in the day.
One salary. 12 kids. You figure it out.
Anyways, I loved my sister. She always would walk me to the Zoo in the summertime. She always seemed to find some plastic Army Men to add to my growing collection. She would just ask her girlfriends older brothers if they had any old Army Men, tanks, or jeeps, that she could have for her little brother.
One time when I was little (age five) she brought home two grocery bags filled with plastic Army Men, tanks, cannons, trucks and jeeps. The Army Men were all different sizes and colors, as were the mechanical vehicles of war- but I didn’t care. I could (and did) play with them all. I was so thrilled I gave her my quarter for the movies on Saturday. She didn’t want to take it.
I told her she could treat her best friend - Debbie Sheehan- who was even poorer than us! They had 22 kids to feed and house. My sister picked me up and swung me around. She ran right down to Debbie’s house, showed her the quarter, inviting her to join her on Saturday for the Matinee. 10 cents to get in. 10 cents for popcorn. A nickel for a full size candy bar (this was the early fifties, as I mentioned earlier).
I didn’t need to go see a stupid movie, when I had hundreds of Army Men to play with! Debbie surprised me when they came back from the movie. She had only bought popcorn. With the nickel left over, she bought me a Clark Bar. My favorite candy bar of all. I split with her. She always was a good kid.
So anyways, you can see why I wanted to help my sister get her dress. She needed three dollars and fifty cents for a dress she saw at the Thrift Store run by the local Church. She had almost two dollars saved up. When almost every penny goes back into the pot to help out the family, being able to save up two dollars when you only get a quarter a week allowance- is damn near a miracle. But it wasn’t enough to get the dress.
I would do little things for the Mom’s and Old Ladies on our street and the next block too. Take out garbage cans in the morning, bring them back in at night. Rake leaves, shovel snow, even go to the West Side Market to get fresh food or fish for those that could afford it. Lots of good cooks in my inner city neighborhood- from all over Europe (you know, because of the War). So I could make a pretty good haul on Saturday bringing dried or salted fish from the deli, or almost any fresh produce from the West Side market.
I usually got paid a couple of pennies, some times a nickel, less often…a shiny silver dime. Once I got a whole quarter, but that was because I shoveled a ton of coal down into Mr. O’Hara’s basement. He had one of those old coal furnaces in his basement. Every October they would deliver a ton of coal to his driveway. He would pay four of us little guys a quarter a piece (plus lunch, and a donut!) to shovel it thru the chute down into the basement.
I even helped other kids deliver their papers on Sundays. That was a solid dime’s worth of work. Those Sunday papers were huge, even if you weren’t a smaller than average red head who was only seven years old. I wanted to make at least a dollar for my sister’s dress. I only had two weeks until her dance.
And that is why I knocked on Rosy’s door that day.
It changed my life.
*****
“Yes, young man?”
Rosy was round, about as tall as my mother (little) with dark olive skin, soft full eyes, gentle red lips, and hands as tough as any steelworker I knew. She was of Italian ancestry and had married a Polish guy. It seemed to work.
“Do you have any jobs I could do? Anything at all? I need at least a nickel. But if you have something that would pay better, I could do that too. I am pretty strong for my size.”
I hated saying that last part, but most folks didn’t realize how hard, or how long, I could work. I put a lot of bigger kids to shame when they had to take a break, or even quit, and I could just keep going.
She smiled. I liked her right away.
“I see you taking out most of the garbage cans every week. I see you raking Mrs. DeAngelo’s leaves, and Mrs. Pavlac’s yard too. I see you stacking wood for Mr. Frick’s fireplace, and carrying dried fish back for Mrs. Rossi. You should be rich.”
I blushed. I didn’t know anyone noticed how hard I worked.
“No. Most of it goes to my Mom. Well…all of it. That’s okay. But this isn’t for me, or for my Mom. It is for my sister. She needs a dress. She doesn’t have enough money. She has saved up most of the money she needs for her dress, but she is over a dollar short- and the dance is in two weeks. I just have to make enough money for her to get that dress. She always gives everything away for us kids, she never keeps things for herself. I have to help. I have to.”
I don’t know why it poured out like that. I don’t know why I started crying. I mean, for crying out loud, I am a boy! I don’t know why Rosy hugged me close. I just know it felt right, so I stayed there and cried. She smelled like Garlic and Cinnamon. I liked it.
I don’t know how long she patted my back. I do know when I stepped back, she gave me a lace handkerchief that was almost too pretty to use- I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. I handed it back to her. She smiled when I said:
“Thank you. I would throw that in the wash now.”
“I’ll remember to do just that.” Was all she said.
Then she surprised me with her next words.
“What if I make your sister a dress? For no charge.”
“No charge? What’s the catch?"
I may have been seven, but I was an inner city kid- scams and scammers were as common as pigeon poop on old monuments. I was leery.
She laughed.
“There is one little “catch”…you have to help me make the dress.”
I was stunned. Heck I couldn’t even sew a button on. I could thread a needle. I did that all the time for my Mom because she couldn’t see so well. She could see well enough to put a patch on a knee, or elbow part worn to bare thread. She could sew a button on faster than you could get it torn off playing king of the mountain. But we didn’t have a sewing machine…so it was just hand sewn repairs my Mom made.
“I don’t know how to sew. I can thread a needle.”
I was proud of the fact that I had one skill at least.
Rosy clapped her hands with glee.
“Well, that is the absolute basic skill you need to start sewing.”
The way she said it, kind of made me feel like I had a hidden talent. It made me eager to show her I could do it. She must have felt it, or read my face or something, because she went and got a needle and thread.
“Show me.”
I took the thread, broke off a piece with my teeth, wetted the end of the thread with my fingers, and poked it right through on the first try.
“My. My. My. You do have some skill. What is your sister’s favorite color?”
I didn’t hesitate.
“Blue, but I think she wants a Red Dress. It is for the Valentine’s Day Dance. She’s a girl, they fall for that romantic stuff.”
Rosy laughed out loud. I liked her laugh.
“Do you know what kind of red dress?”
I scrunched up my face to remember. When she showed me the dress in the thrift shop I was not really paying attention. I was just trying to be a good little brother. I forced myself to remember as much as I could.
“Well…it kinda looked like a boat at the top. It had a bow on one side. Oh, and it got narrow at the waist. The bottom part had a lot of straight wrinkles in it. And it was shiny. Really shiny.“
“Straight wrinkles? (Her face scrunched up just a bit, then brightened) Oh, you must mean pleats. You have a good eye.”
I don’t know why that made me feel proud…it just did.
“I think I have just the material. Now…which of your sisters is this for?”
I was surprised she knew I had sisters. I mean, sure, I have five of them so it isn’t like you wouldn’t see them in our yard or whatever. I answered her.
“Her name is Sheila, and she is the dark haired one (all my other sisters had red hair of some shade or another). She is fifteen and tall.“
Rosy smiled again. Apparently my definition of “tall” was a bit off. My sister topped out at exactly five feet.
“Okay. When does your sister come home from school?”
“She’s home now.”
“Could you ask her to come over? I have to take some measurements.“
No Hero ever moved faster than me. I shot out that door like a cannon ball. Raced the six houses down to our house, burst in the kitchen where my sister was doing her homework on the kitchen table.
I grabbed her by one hand, pulling her straight out of her chair. (I told you, people are surprised at how strong I am because of my small size.) I just kept pulling her straight out of the kitchen down the steps and turned towards Rosy’s house before she could even get a word out.
“Kevin (she was giggling) where are you taking me? Why in such a hurry?”
She wasn’t resisting me, just smiling flat out as I pulled her along.
“I need you to come with me to Rosy’s house. She is going got make you a Red Dress…for free. She needs to take measurements or something.”
My sister stopped. Just stopped. Her hand yanking me almost off my feet. (I should mention my sister is also much stronger than she looks, I guess it runs in the family.)
Her face had changed from a laughing fun being pulled along by an overactive little brother look, to one of: “I don’t dare hope …but I can’t help it.”
“A dress…for me…for free?”
“Yes. Well, I have to do some work for her, but you get the dress for free.”
My sister started to cry. I did too. She hugged me tighter than she ever had, kissed the top of my head (I told you she was tall) and laughed cried as she spoke.
“Kevin! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Don’t you know that Rosy is a retired Seamstress? She can make beautiful clothes. Oh. God. Thank you.”
I was seven. I knew I had hit a home run with my sister. I was probably going to get a brand new bag of Army Men on my birthday- but that isn’t what I was thinking. I was just happy that she was so happy.
What’s a Seamstress?”
She was holding both my hands and spinning us both around like you see those folks on dance shows do. It was fun.
“A Seamstress is what they call a female tailor. Kevin, she knows how to make clothes. Dresses, blouses, skirts, pants, shirts, suits …she made Mrs.Kaloski’s daughter’s wedding dress last year. It looked like it came out of a magazine.
Oh, Kevin. Thank you. Let’s go!”
Now my sister was dragging me, my feet just kind of tapping the ground every few steps as she hurtled me along to Rosy’s house.
We were both out of breath when we got to Rosy’s house. We didn’t even have time to settle down when the door opened. It was Rosy. In her hands was some kind of velvet like red material (I learned later it was called a bolt of cloth) wrapped around cardboard. It was red, pretty, and shiny.
She held it out towards my sister…without saying a word. It was an invitation to touch the material, my sister did. I guess that is how you would touch an Angel’s wings for the first time- at least that is how it looked to me. She didn’t touch that fancy material as much as caress it.
My sister got a quiet deep concentration look on her face, as she gently ran her hands over that silky material.
“It’s beautiful. Just beautiful.”
Her eyes were so wide that even as a seven year old brother, I could tell she was pretty. She turned those eyes, almost as shiny as the material in Rosy’s hand, up to look at Rosy.”
“Kevin said you would make my dress…for free. Is this what you are going to make it out of?”
“Yes, my dear. I wanted to see if you liked it first.”
For the second time that day, Rosy had to hold someone buried in her chest. I don’t know why my eyes started to water. For crying out loud, I am a boy.
“But how can Kevin make enough to pay you for this?”
She looked over at me, then up at Rosy (who was still holding her).
Rosy looked down at her, then over at me.
“Oh, he has agreed to be my apprentice. I am going to teach him to sew.”
My sister looked at me with a look of awe colored with respect.
“You are going to teach Kevin to sew?”
“Yes. I need a helper. I am getting old. (I told you, she must have been thirty or even more!) I need to teach my skills to someone. Kevin has an eye, and can thread a needle.“
I puffed up a little as my sister regarded me with a look somewhere between being an Angel, or I had grown a third eye.
“I say.”
Was all my sister said.
*****
I own a Tailor Shop. It is called: “Rosy’s”. Every February I make formal dresses for any girl who asks. For free. Some of my dresses and suits sell for five figures. But not in February. In February, I work for free. If you can’t afford a dress, you just come in and tell me. I have two assistants, between the three of us, we can make about 200 dresses in February. Our record is 217 (The Baby Boomers growing up). Oh, I am sure some of those girls could have afforded to buy their own. I didn’t care.
Most of them could not, and those are the ones I did care about. Something pretty is rare when you are poor. I could change that with a single dress. So I did.
When Mother’s would thank me, or ask who I am, I always told them the truth.
“I am Rosy’s apprentice.”
Rosy's Apprentice.(Kevin Hughes)
I make dresses. All kinds of dresses. Summer dresses, winter dresses, dresses for a casual day out or formal enough for a Ballroom, or Prom. I also make pants, but only three kinds: work, casual, or business. Oh, and I make them all for free. Why?
It started when I was seven.
*****
I was seven years old when I first met Rosy. God, she was old. I bet she was thirty or even thirty one. Believe me, when you are seven - thirty is doggone near death. I knocked on her front door. She lived behind the Kroner’s place on West 32nd Street. It was a separate house, small, only four rooms to the whole place. There were two tiny sheds out in the back by the garage. I didn’t know what those were for…yet.
I was looking for more “customers.” You see, I needed money to help my older sister pay for her first formal dress. With eleven of us kids in the house…well, buying a store bought dress was an impossible dream for a fifteen year old girl and way beyond the means of my parents. Only Dad worked, because this was the early 1950’s and that was the way it was back in the day.
One salary. 12 kids. You figure it out.
Anyways, I loved my sister. She always would walk me to the Zoo in the summertime. She always seemed to find some plastic Army Men to add to my growing collection. She would just ask her girlfriends older brothers if they had any old Army Men, tanks, or jeeps, that she could have for her little brother.
One time when I was little (age five) she brought home two grocery bags filled with plastic Army Men, tanks, cannons, trucks and jeeps. The Army Men were all different sizes and colors, as were the mechanical vehicles of war- but I didn’t care. I could (and did) play with them all. I was so thrilled I gave her my quarter for the movies on Saturday. She didn’t want to take it.
I told her she could treat her best friend - Debbie Sheehan- who was even poorer than us! They had 22 kids to feed and house. My sister picked me up and swung me around. She ran right down to Debbie’s house, showed her the quarter, inviting her to join her on Saturday for the Matinee. 10 cents to get in. 10 cents for popcorn. A nickel for a full size candy bar (this was the early fifties, as I mentioned earlier).
I didn’t need to go see a stupid movie, when I had hundreds of Army Men to play with! Debbie surprised me when they came back from the movie. She had only bought popcorn. With the nickel left over, she bought me a Clark Bar. My favorite candy bar of all. I split with her. She always was a good kid.
So anyways, you can see why I wanted to help my sister get her dress. She needed three dollars and fifty cents for a dress she saw at the Thrift Store run by the local Church. She had almost two dollars saved up. When almost every penny goes back into the pot to help out the family, being able to save up two dollars when you only get a quarter a week allowance- is damn near a miracle. But it wasn’t enough to get the dress.
I would do little things for the Mom’s and Old Ladies on our street and the next block too. Take out garbage cans in the morning, bring them back in at night. Rake leaves, shovel snow, even go to the West Side Market to get fresh food or fish for those that could afford it. Lots of good cooks in my inner city neighborhood- from all over Europe (you know, because of the War). So I could make a pretty good haul on Saturday bringing dried or salted fish from the deli, or almost any fresh produce from the West Side market.
I usually got paid a couple of pennies, some times a nickel, less often…a shiny silver dime. Once I got a whole quarter, but that was because I shoveled a ton of coal down into Mr. O’Hara’s basement. He had one of those old coal furnaces in his basement. Every October they would deliver a ton of coal to his driveway. He would pay four of us little guys a quarter a piece (plus lunch, and a donut!) to shovel it thru the chute down into the basement.
I even helped other kids deliver their papers on Sundays. That was a solid dime’s worth of work. Those Sunday papers were huge, even if you weren’t a smaller than average red head who was only seven years old. I wanted to make at least a dollar for my sister’s dress. I only had two weeks until her dance.
And that is why I knocked on Rosy’s door that day.
It changed my life.
*****
“Yes, young man?”
Rosy was round, about as tall as my mother (little) with dark olive skin, soft full eyes, gentle red lips, and hands as tough as any steelworker I knew. She was of Italian ancestry and had married a Polish guy. It seemed to work.
“Do you have any jobs I could do? Anything at all? I need at least a nickel. But if you have something that would pay better, I could do that too. I am pretty strong for my size.”
I hated saying that last part, but most folks didn’t realize how hard, or how long, I could work. I put a lot of bigger kids to shame when they had to take a break, or even quit, and I could just keep going.
She smiled. I liked her right away.
“I see you taking out most of the garbage cans every week. I see you raking Mrs. DeAngelo’s leaves, and Mrs. Pavlac’s yard too. I see you stacking wood for Mr. Frick’s fireplace, and carrying dried fish back for Mrs. Rossi. You should be rich.”
I blushed. I didn’t know anyone noticed how hard I worked.
“No. Most of it goes to my Mom. Well…all of it. That’s okay. But this isn’t for me, or for my Mom. It is for my sister. She needs a dress. She doesn’t have enough money. She has saved up most of the money she needs for her dress, but she is over a dollar short- and the dance is in two weeks. I just have to make enough money for her to get that dress. She always gives everything away for us kids, she never keeps things for herself. I have to help. I have to.”
I don’t know why it poured out like that. I don’t know why I started crying. I mean, for crying out loud, I am a boy! I don’t know why Rosy hugged me close. I just know it felt right, so I stayed there and cried. She smelled like Garlic and Cinnamon. I liked it.
I don’t know how long she patted my back. I do know when I stepped back, she gave me a lace handkerchief that was almost too pretty to use- I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. I handed it back to her. She smiled when I said:
“Thank you. I would throw that in the wash now.”
“I’ll remember to do just that.” Was all she said.
Then she surprised me with her next words.
“What if I make your sister a dress? For no charge.”
“No charge? What’s the catch?"
I may have been seven, but I was an inner city kid- scams and scammers were as common as pigeon poop on old monuments. I was leery.
She laughed.
“There is one little “catch”…you have to help me make the dress.”
I was stunned. Heck I couldn’t even sew a button on. I could thread a needle. I did that all the time for my Mom because she couldn’t see so well. She could see well enough to put a patch on a knee, or elbow part worn to bare thread. She could sew a button on faster than you could get it torn off playing king of the mountain. But we didn’t have a sewing machine…so it was just hand sewn repairs my Mom made.
“I don’t know how to sew. I can thread a needle.”
I was proud of the fact that I had one skill at least.
Rosy clapped her hands with glee.
“Well, that is the absolute basic skill you need to start sewing.”
The way she said it, kind of made me feel like I had a hidden talent. It made me eager to show her I could do it. She must have felt it, or read my face or something, because she went and got a needle and thread.
“Show me.”
I took the thread, broke off a piece with my teeth, wetted the end of the thread with my fingers, and poked it right through on the first try.
“My. My. My. You do have some skill. What is your sister’s favorite color?”
I didn’t hesitate.
“Blue, but I think she wants a Red Dress. It is for the Valentine’s Day Dance. She’s a girl, they fall for that romantic stuff.”
Rosy laughed out loud. I liked her laugh.
“Do you know what kind of red dress?”
I scrunched up my face to remember. When she showed me the dress in the thrift shop I was not really paying attention. I was just trying to be a good little brother. I forced myself to remember as much as I could.
“Well…it kinda looked like a boat at the top. It had a bow on one side. Oh, and it got narrow at the waist. The bottom part had a lot of straight wrinkles in it. And it was shiny. Really shiny.“
“Straight wrinkles? (Her face scrunched up just a bit, then brightened) Oh, you must mean pleats. You have a good eye.”
I don’t know why that made me feel proud…it just did.
“I think I have just the material. Now…which of your sisters is this for?”
I was surprised she knew I had sisters. I mean, sure, I have five of them so it isn’t like you wouldn’t see them in our yard or whatever. I answered her.
“Her name is Sheila, and she is the dark haired one (all my other sisters had red hair of some shade or another). She is fifteen and tall.“
Rosy smiled again. Apparently my definition of “tall” was a bit off. My sister topped out at exactly five feet.
“Okay. When does your sister come home from school?”
“She’s home now.”
“Could you ask her to come over? I have to take some measurements.“
No Hero ever moved faster than me. I shot out that door like a cannon ball. Raced the six houses down to our house, burst in the kitchen where my sister was doing her homework on the kitchen table.
I grabbed her by one hand, pulling her straight out of her chair. (I told you, people are surprised at how strong I am because of my small size.) I just kept pulling her straight out of the kitchen down the steps and turned towards Rosy’s house before she could even get a word out.
“Kevin (she was giggling) where are you taking me? Why in such a hurry?”
She wasn’t resisting me, just smiling flat out as I pulled her along.
“I need you to come with me to Rosy’s house. She is going got make you a Red Dress…for free. She needs to take measurements or something.”
My sister stopped. Just stopped. Her hand yanking me almost off my feet. (I should mention my sister is also much stronger than she looks, I guess it runs in the family.)
Her face had changed from a laughing fun being pulled along by an overactive little brother look, to one of: “I don’t dare hope …but I can’t help it.”
“A dress…for me…for free?”
“Yes. Well, I have to do some work for her, but you get the dress for free.”
My sister started to cry. I did too. She hugged me tighter than she ever had, kissed the top of my head (I told you she was tall) and laughed cried as she spoke.
“Kevin! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Don’t you know that Rosy is a retired Seamstress? She can make beautiful clothes. Oh. God. Thank you.”
I was seven. I knew I had hit a home run with my sister. I was probably going to get a brand new bag of Army Men on my birthday- but that isn’t what I was thinking. I was just happy that she was so happy.
What’s a Seamstress?”
She was holding both my hands and spinning us both around like you see those folks on dance shows do. It was fun.
“A Seamstress is what they call a female tailor. Kevin, she knows how to make clothes. Dresses, blouses, skirts, pants, shirts, suits …she made Mrs.Kaloski’s daughter’s wedding dress last year. It looked like it came out of a magazine.
Oh, Kevin. Thank you. Let’s go!”
Now my sister was dragging me, my feet just kind of tapping the ground every few steps as she hurtled me along to Rosy’s house.
We were both out of breath when we got to Rosy’s house. We didn’t even have time to settle down when the door opened. It was Rosy. In her hands was some kind of velvet like red material (I learned later it was called a bolt of cloth) wrapped around cardboard. It was red, pretty, and shiny.
She held it out towards my sister…without saying a word. It was an invitation to touch the material, my sister did. I guess that is how you would touch an Angel’s wings for the first time- at least that is how it looked to me. She didn’t touch that fancy material as much as caress it.
My sister got a quiet deep concentration look on her face, as she gently ran her hands over that silky material.
“It’s beautiful. Just beautiful.”
Her eyes were so wide that even as a seven year old brother, I could tell she was pretty. She turned those eyes, almost as shiny as the material in Rosy’s hand, up to look at Rosy.”
“Kevin said you would make my dress…for free. Is this what you are going to make it out of?”
“Yes, my dear. I wanted to see if you liked it first.”
For the second time that day, Rosy had to hold someone buried in her chest. I don’t know why my eyes started to water. For crying out loud, I am a boy.
“But how can Kevin make enough to pay you for this?”
She looked over at me, then up at Rosy (who was still holding her).
Rosy looked down at her, then over at me.
“Oh, he has agreed to be my apprentice. I am going to teach him to sew.”
My sister looked at me with a look of awe colored with respect.
“You are going to teach Kevin to sew?”
“Yes. I need a helper. I am getting old. (I told you, she must have been thirty or even more!) I need to teach my skills to someone. Kevin has an eye, and can thread a needle.“
I puffed up a little as my sister regarded me with a look somewhere between being an Angel, or I had grown a third eye.
“I say.”
Was all my sister said.
*****
I own a Tailor Shop. It is called: “Rosy’s”. Every February I make formal dresses for any girl who asks. For free. Some of my dresses and suits sell for five figures. But not in February. In February, I work for free. If you can’t afford a dress, you just come in and tell me. I have two assistants, between the three of us, we can make about 200 dresses in February. Our record is 217 (The Baby Boomers growing up). Oh, I am sure some of those girls could have afforded to buy their own. I didn’t care.
Most of them could not, and those are the ones I did care about. Something pretty is rare when you are poor. I could change that with a single dress. So I did.
When Mother’s would thank me, or ask who I am, I always told them the truth.
“I am Rosy’s apprentice.”
JD
03/09/2019What a beautiful inspirational story, Kevin! It is so wonderful when people help one another and share their skills and talents with others, just to make the world a better place. Your story provides a glowing example of how one act of love and kindness can last a lifetime and change many lives. Wonderful. Just wonderful! :-)
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Kevin Hughes
03/09/2019Aloha jd,
Thanks a lot. I know, Kindness goes a long way - doesn't it? Folks forget how little it takes to make a big difference! Smiles, Kevin
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Kevin Hughes
03/06/2019Thanks Aziz,
This is based on a semi-true story of when I was a kid. Once a month, on a Saturday, the Barber Shop would cut hair - for free. When I was a kid most big families cut their own hair. But to have a professional Barber cut your hair, was a big deal, and all three Barbers would be busy all day.
And there was an Old Lady who would do alterations, or even make clothes for people, but she did it on a one to one basis. If she liked you (or your Mother) all you had to pay for was the material. And then there was the Milk Man- he would deliver the milk to all the houses on the street. And if you had kids, once a month he would leave a half gallon of chocolate milk, or an extra quart of cream- no charge.
Little ways of giving back. So maybe this story will inspire somebody with a talent, to share it once in a while- for free!
Smiles, kevin
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