“Retail Resurrection”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(3-18)

Note to readers: My parents recently entered a nursing home in West Virginia, after a long battle to retain their independence. Mom is 87, Dad is 88. As I grapple to comprehend this late chapter of their story, memories from bygone days have emerged to give comfort. What follows here is another example, still sweet to recall.

Lost and found again.

The story of my own ‘Prodigal Son’ episode literally reads like a more famous tale offered in the Christian Bible. As a teenager, I moved to New York State with my family and landed an apprenticeship through Cornell University in the field of television broadcasting. This experience would enrich my life in the coming years. But I squandered any opportunities that directly came from my study at Channel 13. With a head full of writing projects, potent Rock & Roll visions and a desire to avoid the drudgery of time-clock servitude, I crashed into alcohol abuse. My impulsive lifestyle was thrilling for the moment, but like sin itself, unsustainable. I became a ratty kid. A wandering scarecrow dressed in moth-eaten flannel gifted by friends. They pondered my foolish dance with disbelief and concern. I refused to listen to their voices, instead hearing the drumbeat of counterculture imagination. Every nod to insanity seemed to offer hope. Reason was a tiresome discipline to be feared. I made the moment of abandon last so long as possible.

But as winter took hold, the grim reality of failure became apparent. I was completely unprepared for life itself.

My girlfriend left for the west coast and I fell to living on the streets of Ithaca. I was empty in spirit and the flesh. Snow crusted my leather jacket. One by one, options disappeared. Friends grew weary. I felt hungry and cold. Finally, I landed a ride back to Ohio and made the trek palatable with a fifth of Jack Daniel’s bourbon.

Our first meal in Chardon was ‘Beef & Biscuit Put Together’ which came as a New England recipe my mother learned from an old widow at church. I had dropped to 148 pounds living under a bridge and on the sidewalks around town. So the dinner truly came as a feast worthy of celebration. I ate and ate until my belly could hold no more. Then, I made a bed on the couch. It felt good to fall asleep with a pillow and blankets instead of concrete or a bed sheet on the floor.

Morning brought the harsh realization that a lifestyle change was about to occur. Not by design or out of a sense of duty, but simply because I had no other choice. My family did not permit the use of beverage alcohol. So three months would pass before I had a drink. Camel cigarettes helped bolster my nerves during this process of drying out from daily consumption. The household routine kept me focused as I began to look for work.

My first attempt at gainful employment was a warehouse job in Cleveland. Because I was battling personal demons while struggling to get healthy again, the stint did not last long. Still, it set the pace for future endeavors. (A beginning in what would become a decades-long career in retail store management.)

Our local Fisher’s Big Wheel department store was being updated that summer and I got hired in with the remodel crew. Though the job paid minimum wage to start it was, with hindsight, the most important opportunity of my life. A forward step more auspicious than I could imagine. Since my position as a maintenance clerk was classified outside the normal bargaining unit of employees, I could perform various duties and labor for long hours without being affected by workplace rules. My schedule was altered on-the-fly as needs changed. But there were many chances to learn.

I welcomed each lesson in operating a business. Class had begun, again. 

 

Jim, our Store Manager, fit the prototype that I would come to recognize. He made friends easily, while being gifted in projecting an image of organization and authority. Yet behind this facade lay an individual undeniably human. Not wholly different from myself. Only more experienced in coping with the needs of daily existence. He was wickedly amusing, opinionated but diplomatic, and chain-smoked throughout the day. His example helped me to understand the necessary qualities of an effective leader. Not a cold, ‘corporate robot’ but a classic steward-of-business. When training fell short, he had the instincts to survive. As assistants came and went, he held the position for an unusually long period of time.

The crew made their own contributions to my course of study. One fellow named Harry had been an executive in the company offices, located in Newcastle, Pennsylvania. He loved the day-to-day interaction of waiting on customers. Another member of the team named Sherry was a veteran of A & P Supermarkets. She had an incredible wealth of knowledge about store work.

An Assistant Manager named Fred had served in various stores around the chain. He offered retail platitudes that I still found useful, over 30 years later. Another, named Karen, showed brilliance on the sales floor while being overlooked by superiors. A reality that made me sad. Her work ethic took precedence over traditions of style and chain-of-command decorum, something not welcome in the culture of 1980’s America. But she would later go on to great success with competitors. Most important of all, I met my first wife at Big Wheel. She also was a teacher, having reached the level of Office Manager. Her knowledge was an asset that I would come to rely upon throughout my entire career.

All of this was possible because of the incredible patience shown by my family. The yield of opening a door to someone who had rebelled, kicked, spat, cursed, battled and vociferously refused to be bridled by the habits of our brood. As a landed vagrant in 1983, I did not feel happy or kind. The mirror offered no friendship. I was sore at myself and the world. It might have been reasonable to extend a clenched fist of correction at that moment, as the wages of my own iniquity came due, But instead, I received the most precious gift of all.

Love.

Questions or comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Published occasionally in the Geauga Independent