Bud and the Gang

Bud and the Gang

My neighborhood gang grew up together in a highly urban environment. We were all poor, so no one noticed. (Later, out teachers would describe us as “lower middle class,” which was charitable, at the very least.)

Store owners treated us like the dirt we tracked into the stores. Even though we had some spending money, we were always suspect and never invited to stay. And these places weren’t outlets of Bergdorf’s or Nordstrom’s. One was nicknamed, “Filthy Phil’s,” just to give you the mis-en-scene.

But then a retired man named Bud took over one of the soda shops. He installed pin ball machines in the back, which we could play for a nickel. Large glasses of Coke were ten cents, and a chocolate-covered donut the size of my head was a quarter.

(Digression: We had chocolate, drank sweet drinks, played in the street, ate candy that was pure sugar, some of kids smoked, there were roaches and rats around, and very few vaccinations. Somehow we all grew up, most of us are alive, and just a couple still in jail. Sometimes, listening to the “experts” in the media, I would think that any kind of empirical validity test of their theories would demonstrate that no child ever grew to adulthood prior to 1980 or so.)

In most places, the soda was likely to be warm, out of the fountain. But Bud provided ice. “Wait,” we cautioned at first, “what’s the price of the ice?” After all, cold wasn’t worth the loss of a pinball game or donut.

“The ice is free,” he said, and we looked at each other as if we had found the biggest patsy in the world. Only about a year ago did I realize that the ice filled up (with frozen water) a large part of the glass which would otherwise hold product. We were ecstatic at the time. In retrospect, it seems so was Bud.

He would encourage us to stay, so long as we purchased something if we sat at the counter or tables. He didn’t put a strict time limit on us, but would remind us. Occasionally, we’d get something “on the house.” (One of the three pinball machines was relatively easy to win on, and we were surprised Bud didn’t replace it. I have since realized this was another stratagem.)

None of us wanted to be thrown out of Bud’s, and banishment was unthinkable. The gang hung out there. So we were careful, especially with Bud’s adult clientele, and managed a fine symbiosis.

Bud knew a great deal that people today don’t seem to fathom. The customers want to perceive they are getting a good deal. They’ll conform to reasonable requests in order to perpetuate their good deal (e.g., timely payments, no returns). Above all, they want to be treated like assets and valuables, not like expenses and distasteful interruptions. We always gave Bud the benefit of the doubt when he had to close early or was out of stock of some cavity-inducing candy.

I’m sure Bud has passed on to greater rewards. It’s a shame. I think he would have done wonders running GM, or my soon-to-be-former dry cleaner, or United Airlines. I’m suspecting that Filthy Phil may have had something to do with those.

© Alan Weiss 2009. All rights reserved.