(In honor of Father's Day, I've invited my Dad to be a guest writer this month. He has consistently shown interest and support in my genealogy research as well as doing his part by documenting his own life story. Dad's first self-published book "Remember the Good Times" is an excellent memoir of his personal life while "My Research Journey" documents his professional life as a research chemist. A novel, a collection of poems as well as an ode to the family cottage round out his writings. Enjoy his story and poem, our family is so very lucky to have all of these personal remembrances. Happy Father's Day, Dad!)
It was the late 1940’s on the south side of Milwaukee. I was in my early teens. We lived in a rented home that faced the alley, just off of National Avenue between 10th and 11th Streets. They named me William though everyone called me Bill, except my Mom; to her I was always Billy.
From early on I was always trying to do things to earn money for the things I needed, or for the places I wanted to go; like the movies. Usually I took a wagon and went up and down the alley or around the blocks, collecting scrap metal, rags and newspapers. Whatever I collected I had to take across National Avenue, down into “The Valley” to “Joe the Junkman”.
In our area there were numerous taverns, after all, this was Milwaukee. On my block alone there were three taverns. One evening I noted two boys coming out of the corner tavern on 10th Street. When I talked to them I learned they were shining shoes and they showed me their equipment. When I learned how much money they were making I started building my own shoeshine box the next day. It was my own design with a comfortable place for the customers shoe, a nice carrying strap and a compartment for everything I needed. There wasn’t another box like it.
My parents only allowed me to go shoe shining on Friday and Saturday evenings and I had to be home by 9:00 p.m. so I missed a lot of the real big business. My route was limited to up National Avenue to 16th Street and then down to 6th Street and back home. I extended the time later as I got older. My Dad knew many of the tavern owners as he painted activity signs for them and he also patronized their establishments, often taking me along. On a good weekend I could make $5-7 dollars, which was a lot of money at that time. Later I combined selling the tavern owners custom matchbooks with my shoe shining.
Billy's handmade shoeshine box.
circa 1940's.
More than six decades later I still have that box as well as the memories of my money-making experiences which I immortalized recently in this poem:
The Shoeshine Boy
One Saturday night, two boys I spied,
coming out of a tavern, from the door on the side.
Those boys, I think were a little older,
one had a box with a strap, over his shoulder.
I asked them what the box was for,
one said, we use it when we go in that door.
The customers we ask, if they want a shine,
if yes is the answer, then for the box it’s time.
On the box the customer, places his shoe,
then apply the polish is what you do.
Next use the brush to get part way there,
finally, with the cloth, buff to a glare.
Repeat the above with the other shoe,
then tell the guy, you are through.
A quarter you may get, if he’s pleased with the shine,
or less than a quarter, but at least a dime.
That’s when I decided shoe shining to go,
it seemed a good way to make some dough.
Next day I built a black shoeshine kit,
the edges with brass tacks, I decorated it.
My box was different, with an angled top,
a comfortable place for a shoe to flop.
The box height and angle the customer knew,
were just what he wanted, for his shoe.
Next Saturday night I went out to shine,
there were plenty of taverns, all in a line.
Along National Avenue, up to 16th Street,
then I crossed over and made my retreat.
All the taverns were, on Saturday nights,
filled with music, smoke and neon lights.
There were three or four, on each block,
closing time was two o’clock.
When I reached 6th Street I crossed over again,
then back to 10th Street I did wend.
My tavern favorites were in my neighborhood,
I visited them twice, if I could.
Just three more to go and the night would be past,
the tavern on the corner would be my last.
“Hey kid, I’m next” I heard a guy scream,
on the jukebox the song was “Goodnight Irene”
I left by the side door, where the kids I first spied,
then half-a-block to my alley, I did stride.
Down the alley another half-a-block,
I’d be in bed by ten o’clock.
Quickly I undressed and put on PJ’s,
then at the desk, counted the money I made.
I don’t remember all the taverns I did work,
but at home on my face, I had a smirk.
This was a way, good money to make,
on weekend nights, I had a good take.
I learned many tricks of the trade,
keep the polish off the socks, if you want to get paid!
There are some things you must master,
to get the real shine that you are after.
The technique of “spit shine” you must capture,
the cloth, you must learn to move faster.
Though the shine is important, the performance is too,
the customer is watching all that you do.
So when moving the cloth, learn to give it a snap,
the good ones could actually make it “crack”’
Now it sits in the basement, that old box of mine,
most shoes today, don’t need a shine.
Today if into a tavern I went,
I’d come out again, with nary a cent.
The art of shoe shining is virtually gone,
“The Chattanooga Shoeshine Boy” is now just a song.
Yet with fondness I remember, the time way back,
when that cloth, I could really make crack!