Ray J. was a one-man show. He walked to work, put in a long day and evening, and then trudged back home. He operated his own business. Sandwiches, sundries. Newspapers and magazines. There were a couple of beer taps to accommodate the thirst. It was called the Palace News.
High ceilings, like a palace. The old pressed tin tiles and suspended lights in white glass globes. Diamond-shaped ceramic in two colors on the floor, like you’d see in all the hotels and barber shops back then.
Ray Senior was a businessman. A retailer and a merchandiser. This I know because my father, Ray Junior – Bud, as he was familiarly known – told me. Bud took on a sort of glowing pride the few times he’d share a story. The pickled-egg tale, for example.
You never see them anymore, but I remember as a kid cruising into some five-and-dime and seeing the big glass jar filled with pickled hardboiled eggs. Some places had pickled pickles. I think they were more common. I remember how we’d ask the counter lady and she’d grab a long pair of tongs, unscrew the jar-lid, and go fat-green pickle fishing. They were all oversized and bumpy-skinned like an Arizona lizard’s back.
She’d slip the day’s catch into a special waxy envelope that featured a smiling pickle-man stamped in two-tone ink. I never saw Ray Senior’s technique, but I can imagine the egg-fishing went much the same way.
What impressed Ray Jr. was the fact that the eggs were free. An egg and a small bowl of salt, for dipping. No charge. Peanuts came in a bigger bowl than the salt, but – guess what? They were free, too.
Salted peanuts, all you’d like.
Of course, the glass of beer carried a slight charge. Tasted pretty good, I’m sure, but mostly it washed down all that darn salt.
Then, there were the Kleenex Travelers. You remember those. Little rectangular packages of tissue that could fit in a pocket or purse. According to Ray Jr. (and I wish I could have verified this with Senior…) – according to Bud, some fellow came ‘round with a case of Travelers and Ray Sr. bought ‘em. The whole case. (I still wonder about strangers coming round selling Kleenex by the case. Sort of random, if you ask me.)
With a marker, Ray Sr. made a sign: Kleenex. 10 for a Dollar. I’ve seen Reasors pull the same gimmick with two-liter soft drinks and other items. Of course, I rarely need ten bottles of Diet Coke at one time, so I buy one. Two if I feel a future thirst coming on.
The way my father told it, those tissues flew out of the Palace News. People grabbing up handfuls of them. Ten for a dollar – no limit. Everyone bought ten, said Ray Jr.
Like my grandfather, I’m a one-man show. Don’t have Kleenex Travelers here at the shop like Ray Sr. did. And I don’t walk to work. (In Oklahoma, capital offenders are given the choice of having the sentence carried out by lethal injection or lethal pedestrianism. Some of you may have been unaware of that, since – to date – no one has ever chosen “The Walk” which would have them crossing Main Street in Broken Arrow.)
Editor’s note: The author is not implying that drivers exceed the limit or that pedestrians in the shopping district are ever at any risk.
Author’s note: Oops. Oh, yeah. Righty-oh! (Wink.)
No, I don’t walk to work, or trudge back when the last chores are finished. But I put in a day’s work in a shop very similar to his. You can click on the images to compare – although my not-so-smartphone has the special blur feature. You can see how the bookstore has the same tin-tiled ceiling and suspended light fixtures. One of which is burned out, you’ll notice. A project for tomorrow.
Ray Sr. climbed up a ladder to replace a bulb and fell off. Broke something. Ray Jr. was called into duty while his father was on the mend. He’s there in one of the images wiping down the counter. I spent my share of time today in that same pose, returning the tables to a presentable state.
Maybe both Sr and Jr would feel a little sense of pride after stepping into the shop. They might even marvel at the similarity between this place and the Palace News. I’m happy to follow in their footsteps.
But I’m going to be extra-cautious on that ladder tomorrow.
Come visit!
McHuston
Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main, Broken Arrow OK!
