In some previous posts going back nearly 4 years I mentioned my father’s jewelry store in the heart of Chicago’s downtown jewelry district. I talked about his customers, in particular, gypsies who would frequent the store with cash and a desire to purchase jewelry. I referenced taking care of one of my dad’s customers years later when I was in medical school and doing my internal medicine rotation at Northwestern Memorial Hospital.
As much fun as it was to watch a motivated buyer and a motivated seller haggle, argue, joke, negotiate and make a deal, there was little else left for me to do in the jewelry store. I made lunch runs and occasionally ran around the corner to the bank to make deposits. I watched the jewelers, largely from Mexico, watching soccer matches on black and white televisions with Spanish speaking broadcasts, while they made necklaces, bracelets, rings, set diamonds and fix watches. They would teach me a few things including some Spanish but not words I was to use around my parents. And the Spanish announcers of course had a fantastic way of yelling “Goal!”.
So, by the time I was about 10 years old when I went downtown with my dad, particularly during this time of year, after spending some time in the jewelry store, I would head to the restaurant in the building, first, to get a serving of cottage cheese and fruit, which was actually canned fruit cocktail, and a chocolate phosphate soda while I sat at the bar and watched the other patrons. Once I had my late breakfast/early lunch, I would get an apron, fold it in half and bus my own dishes to the back and start bussing other tables around the restaurant.
Most of the full-time busboys who worked there taught me a few things I probably thought was better I not share with my parents. They worked hard and played hard. Despite my efforts, they never let me do their jobs. Lunchtime was as crazy as a Jewish deli at lunchtime, I guess because, it was a Jewish deli at lunchtime. Lines would start forming and tables had to be turned over as quickly as possible. Of course the older busboys could carry a lot more in their bins but I did my part, clearing, wiping and resetting the tables for the next group of dealers, wholesalers, couples looking at engagement rings, gypsies and all the other characters from The Den of Thieves. I could bring the water and replace dirty silverware.
After lunch until about 3 PM we would clean all the booths and tables and mop the floors before closing. I don’t recall how much I was paid for all of this other than I don’t seem to remember ever paying for any cottage cheese and fruit and chocolate phosphate sodas or at least canned fruit cocktail from gallon sized containers.
Clearing the tables and the chairs and booth cushions and mopping the floor would ineviably yield a loose stone, a Rolex watch, ring, necklace, bracelet or locket.
Any of those could have paid for a lot of canned fruit cocktail.
The other busboys and I would collect what we found and sit around a table or at the counter and try to guess if the ring was 14 or 18 karat or if the diamond was “VVS” or VS2” and so forth. Google wasn’t around to tell us so we had to rely on our collective experience “appraising the merchandise”. We would try to guess the wholesale and retail prices of the pieces and think about what we would do with them if they belonged to us.
But they didn’t and in most cases the rightful owner, dealer, customer or person taking the merchandise somewhere on consignment would come to pick up their merchandise before closing. I don’t recall how the lost and found worked exactly but I don’t remember anyone getting any more or any less of what had slipped out of a pocket or off the table.
The busboy job beat rolling newspapers at 5 in the morning but the newspaper route had fewer gold watches and diamonds.
