The Country Boys, part 1

This weekend, I was rummaging around in a box of stuff I’d saved from high school and came across an old nametag from my first job. It got me thinking about those carefree days in the spring of 1973. Richard Nixon was still in the White House and we were just getting out of Vietnam. I’d just turned 16 and for the first time in my life, I would so learn what it means to live your life by the punch of a time clock. Hopefully, this will be the first of several stories, as I recreate my time at the store, kind of like I did when I wrote about my time at the bakery.


I became a country boy a few months after I turned sixteen. I’d gone with Mom to the grocery store and she pointed out the manager to me. He was standing in the front of the store, watching everything going on. Garnering all the courage I could find, I left mom at the meat country and went over and asked him for a job. “You have to be sixteen,” he said, obviously not thinking I was quite there. Admittedly, I was small for my age. “I am,” I responded, “can I show you my driver’s licenses?” He looked at it and said okay, that I’d need to get a social security card and that he’d start me off working four or five hours on Thursday and Friday afternoons and eight hours on Saturday.


That next Thursday afternoon, with a tie around my neck, I reported to work. Two of us were to start our grocery careers that day. Tom, the other kid, was from New Hanover High School, popularly known by those of us who attended John T. Hoggard as “New Hang-over.” He had bright red hair and a twitch and a lot of people thought he was weird, but he was a hard worker. As far as I know, Wilson’s Supermarket would his only job he ever had. That first day, we were trained to bag groceries. Bert, the manager who’d hired us, assigned each of us to a more experienced bagger. For an hour or two, we learned the fundamentals of bagging groceries. You don’t put can goods on top of bread or on cartons of eggs. If you have a lot of cans, double-up your bag for strength. You separate the cleansing supplies from the meat and produce. If the cart is loaded down, you can jump up on it as you go out the door and ride it through the lot, saving your energy. And most importantly, we were taught to recognize the big tippers and hustle especially hard for them, although Tom and both tried to give our best to everyone. Soon, we were on our own, taking out groceries and always saying, “Thank You, Ma’am,” as we slammed the trunk lid.

It now seems like a distant dream. It was the beginning of the end. Not only did I have to go to school, I now had to report to work and was expected to wear a tie! Beforehand, I’d only worn a tie on Sundays, an ideal that I still maintain. But unlike most of the newcomers at the store, I didn’t wear clip-ons. I knew how to tie a Double Windsor. Back in the 70s, with ties wide enough to serve as bibs, tying a big knot like a Double Windsor was quite a feat. Before the week was out, I was teaching Tom and others how to tie one. When you’re a runt, it helps to have a skill. Tom and I began to hang out and became good friends. Six months after I left the store for good, in my second year of college, Tom would become my second friend to meet an untimely death. Bert, our boss, served as a second father to both of us. Whenever I had problems, especially with girls, questions I’d never think about asking my own dad, I’d ask him. Looking back, I don’t know why? He was easy to talk to, but his martial record certainly left room for improvement. But Bert always gave me good advice.

I stayed at Wilsons through my first year of college doing a variety of jobs: bagging groceries, stocking the shelves at night, running a cashier, counting money, mopping and waxing the floors late on Saturday night and into the wee-morning hours of Sundays and managing the cigarette accounts. The pay was never very good, but I enjoyed my time there. There’s something rewarding about serving people.

More stories to come!