Part of the landscape of Sherman, Texas, in the 50’s and 60’s was the Mom and Pop grocery stores scattered throughout the older neighborhoods. These were located every couple of blocks and were an extension of everyone’s home kitchen.
If you needed a loaf of bread, a quart of milk or some other staple, one could walk to the corner store at the last minute and made the purchase. These local grocers often made wonderful barbecue, tamales, chili or hamburgers.
When we lived at 808 N. Willow Street, in half of a duplex shared with the 7 member Aleman family, we had a grocer across the street and another around the corner, arrived by way of our alley. In my younger days, I would walk across the street to the store with dad and younger brother Bob, often scoring bubble gum at 3 pieces for a penny.
As I was older, mother sent me across the street for something and told me to charge it. “What does that mean?”
“Just tell the person at the counter to put it on our bill. They will write it down and when your daddy gets paid, we will go over and pay them for what we bought for the month.”
OH, HO! That sounded like free candy to my 7 year old brain! If my dad was presented a bill, I did not see how he could discern a small amount of candy in with all the other items we consumed in a month. However, I had to act like I knew what I was doing.
The next time I was sent on an errand to the store I was ready. “OK, I need a loaf of bread, a quart of milk, all the bubble gum cigars you have, 4 cartons of candy cigarettes and 10 Baby Ruth bars. Please charge this to our account.”
Fortunately, (to keep me from being beaten to death) the man behind the counter was a family friend and smelled a rat. “Bucky, does your mother know you are buying all this candy?”
“Oh, sure” (I lied).
“Well, if you don’t mind, let’s give her a call”.
“WAIT, WAIT…my little brothers are taking a nap and the phone will wake them. Let’s wait until tomorrow and if I decide I still need the candy, I will bring a note from her…OK?”
“Sure, Bucky…that’s fine”. “PHEW”…that was close.
Occasionally, mother would send me to the grocer down the alley, because they had a butcher shop. Fifty cents would buy a chicken, they would cut it up and wrap it in white paper. My problem was the butcher was a mean-spirited, racist, pig-looking, blood-splattered, redneck from hell.
We had a number of African American’s living in the area and they frequented this store. They would request something and this “Son of Satan” would silently listen to their order, turn and mutter the “N” word under his breath, but loud enough for them to hear. This included young black children and the elderly.
The butcher kept a dog, who looked just like him, tethered to a pole behind the grocery store. This cross bred, pig-looking, mean mutt would bark and lunge at anyone who came by. He would pull earnestly against his rope and did everything in his power to get loose and bite pedestrians. Mr. Nazi Butcher would occasionally knock off for a few minutes during the day and feed his “Hound from Hell” raw meat scraps. At the end of the day, he loaded him up in his pickup and took him home.
Everyone was afraid of this dog and when asked why he kept him, the butcher laughingly said he was fattening him up to sell to Indians. He said Indians loved to eat dog and this was the 3rd or 4th canine he had fattened up to sell. While telling his story and there were black children present (no adults, just kids), this gutless wonder said his dog particularly liked “N-word” children's ears. The African American children were, of course justifiably shocked and frightened. He would occasionally be admonished for his cruel brand of humor, but he just gagged out his pig laugh, claiming it was all in fun.
I complained to my father about this soul-less blight on humanity, but dad said there was little that could be done. Yes, the man was offensive, but it was not illegal to be uncouth and stupid.
One day the dog vanished after being tied to the pole. It appeared the rope had finally given out after much strain and the dog ran away. The butcher wasn’t so sure…he was convinced a fine dog like this was stolen and he posted signs in and around the store, offering a reward for any information as to the identity of the thieving culprits.
I saw a wonderful opportunity and created a poster of my own. I tore off the cover of my Big Chief tablet, which featured an American Indian in full, feathered headdress. I then taped half a page of lined paper to the bottom. The only Indian I had ever heard speak was Tonto of The Lone Ranger fame. Using this as a reference, I wrote (in child-like, big cursive letters) below the picture of the Chief…
“UGH, MY TRIBE AND I LIKE-UM YOUR DOG. MADE A VERY TASTY BBQ. PLEASE FATTEN UP NEW DOG FOR US AND TIE TO POLE.”
I attached my poster to the pole out back of the grocery store and waited. Shortly, my poster had a prime spot at the butcher’s counter with a new note.
“THIS IS NOT FUNNY. I HAVE CALLED THE POLICE AND THEY ARE CHECKING FOR FINGER PRINTS TO FIND THE BAD KID WHO WROTE THIS AND STOLE MY DOG!”
YIKES! Was I going to be fingerprinted? By my handwriting, he had already figured out it was a child and believed this is who took his mean mutt. I decided to lay low and keep this stunt to myself. I still had to occasionally go to the store, but I made it quick and attempted to not touch anything. Sometimes I wore gloves to hide my fingerprints and never told a soul of my vengeful behavior.
I doubt the runaway dog ever returned. That mongrel cur barked and attempted to attack everyone, equally. I believe he could tell his owner was a cruel, bigoted scoundrel and wanted nothing more to do with him.
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