I know somewhere around, in my well-organized boxes of pictures, there is a picture of me "posing" with my new tennis racket. I can't find it (the picture, not the tennis racket)!
And, I may have written all this before. But, it's not crossed off my list. So here goes, again, probably.
In the summer of my 13th year a new store opened in Runnemede -- Gilch's Sports Supplies. It was a fascinating shop, and who had ever heard of a sports supply store before. We had lumber supply, magazine supply, food supply, floral supply, but sports supply? No. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your point of view, the shop was located right next door to Hegeman's -- the place where I took my piano/organ/music theory/violin lessons. As you can tell from the number of music lessons I took each week, I was at that store often.
It started with a need for tennis balls. Dad would send me into the shop to get HIM tennis balls. Of course, I was permitted to use the balls, as long as he was my partner on our school-yard tennis "court." And, the cost of a tin of balls (3) was only $1. Those yellow balls were three for a dollar. Can you imagine that?
Now, I know I've mentioned my thirst for my own tennis racket someplace in these tomes, but that summer, after that store opened, the thirst was akin to dehydration. I really wanted my own tennis racket. Dad's "second" racket was heavy and cumbersome, and Spalding had just come out with a new racket called "young star". I coveted that racket something fierce.
So, I asked Mrs. Gilch (who, by the way was a member of our church and owner of the store) how much the racket cost. It was a collosal $15. Fifteen dollars! Where was I ever going to get $15. I wasn't a baby sitter -- ever. Babies just weren't my thing.
Well, it happened that a man in our church needed some typing done. My wonderful father was a gem when it came to finding me tasks for which I could receive compensation if he thought something I wanted to buy was worthwhile. So, on an old Royal manual typewriter, just like the one pictured here, I typed that man's reports. I got 50 cents a page. So, doing the "math", I needed to type 30 pages. However, he only had 20 pages that needed typing. I knew my allowance -- which was up to $1 a week, would help if I didn't drink any Hires rootbeer, or buy any pickles, or get any school supplies, so I figured I could do without for 10 weeks -- NOT! I mean that was almost the whole summer, and I wanted that tennis racket before the end of the summer, I wanted it NOW!
Once again I walked the streets looking for coins, and soda bottles. I could get two cents per small bottle, and a nickle for the large bottles. Back then the bottles were always glass -- no two-liter size large bottles, but the large bottles were one-quart size, no plastic. The quart-size bottles were harder to find.
So, one day, I went up to Suicide Hill, walked down the hill to the town dump and found quite a stash of bottles. I finally had enough money, almost.
I went home, told my father I had $13.75, would he please, please, please give me $1.25 so I could get the tennis racket. He did. I got the racket.
My game improved greatly after that because the Spalding Young Star was a lighter weight racket, and soaking wet I weighed a whopping 95 pounds. I still was no match for my father -- I was never a match for my father in tennis -- but he played the game with me and seemed to enjoy the camaraderie we shared on our make-believe tennis court in the school yard across the street.
And, I may have written all this before. But, it's not crossed off my list. So here goes, again, probably.
In the summer of my 13th year a new store opened in Runnemede -- Gilch's Sports Supplies. It was a fascinating shop, and who had ever heard of a sports supply store before. We had lumber supply, magazine supply, food supply, floral supply, but sports supply? No. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your point of view, the shop was located right next door to Hegeman's -- the place where I took my piano/organ/music theory/violin lessons. As you can tell from the number of music lessons I took each week, I was at that store often.
It started with a need for tennis balls. Dad would send me into the shop to get HIM tennis balls. Of course, I was permitted to use the balls, as long as he was my partner on our school-yard tennis "court." And, the cost of a tin of balls (3) was only $1. Those yellow balls were three for a dollar. Can you imagine that?
Now, I know I've mentioned my thirst for my own tennis racket someplace in these tomes, but that summer, after that store opened, the thirst was akin to dehydration. I really wanted my own tennis racket. Dad's "second" racket was heavy and cumbersome, and Spalding had just come out with a new racket called "young star". I coveted that racket something fierce.
So, I asked Mrs. Gilch (who, by the way was a member of our church and owner of the store) how much the racket cost. It was a collosal $15. Fifteen dollars! Where was I ever going to get $15. I wasn't a baby sitter -- ever. Babies just weren't my thing.
Well, it happened that a man in our church needed some typing done. My wonderful father was a gem when it came to finding me tasks for which I could receive compensation if he thought something I wanted to buy was worthwhile. So, on an old Royal manual typewriter, just like the one pictured here, I typed that man's reports. I got 50 cents a page. So, doing the "math", I needed to type 30 pages. However, he only had 20 pages that needed typing. I knew my allowance -- which was up to $1 a week, would help if I didn't drink any Hires rootbeer, or buy any pickles, or get any school supplies, so I figured I could do without for 10 weeks -- NOT! I mean that was almost the whole summer, and I wanted that tennis racket before the end of the summer, I wanted it NOW!Once again I walked the streets looking for coins, and soda bottles. I could get two cents per small bottle, and a nickle for the large bottles. Back then the bottles were always glass -- no two-liter size large bottles, but the large bottles were one-quart size, no plastic. The quart-size bottles were harder to find.
So, one day, I went up to Suicide Hill, walked down the hill to the town dump and found quite a stash of bottles. I finally had enough money, almost.
I went home, told my father I had $13.75, would he please, please, please give me $1.25 so I could get the tennis racket. He did. I got the racket.
My game improved greatly after that because the Spalding Young Star was a lighter weight racket, and soaking wet I weighed a whopping 95 pounds. I still was no match for my father -- I was never a match for my father in tennis -- but he played the game with me and seemed to enjoy the camaraderie we shared on our make-believe tennis court in the school yard across the street.
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