Read Online As Luck Would Have It by Mark Goldstein - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mark Goldstein
Ads: Link
snacks that my father’s sister, A unt Janet brought for the game, along with her two sons that were close to my age. My dad’s brother Sonny was there with his wife and toddler twin girls, who loved the attention that they were getting from their older cousins and my father, who was crazy about them . My three living grandparents were there as well; my grandpa Williamson, my maternal grandfather, telling stories of the old neighbo rhood and sipping his bourbon, my Aunt Doreen with her eyebrows raised telling him to be quiet so the youngsters could watch the game. It turned out to be pretty much a blowout anyway, with the Redskins beating Detroit 20-0.
I loved Thanksgiving more than any other holiday; the cool air of the encroaching winter, the beginning of the holiday season of giving and family gatherings. The following year, Thanksgiving would follow pretty much the same script. I’d help my mother with some chores, we’d see the relatives and recount each in our own ways the good things we had to enjoy and be happy about. I remember that Thanksgiving in particular, with mom beaming over the compliments her roast brisket had generated and my dad playing with the nieces and nephews while we watched the Lions lose again. For a Bears fan, of course that was something to be thankful for. But what made this Thanksgiving so memorable is that it would be our last to share together. For in just two weeks I found myself alone with no chance of ever experiencing a holiday like that again, with just the memories to look back on and cherish from then on.
S ix
Regret
C &C Produce Company was painted on the side of the large panel truck. The C ’ s stood for Casslemond and his son Charles. Avery Casslemond had worked hard to build his produce business from a tiny fruit stand on Michigan Avenue that he opened in 1946 to a substantial venture that had provided well for his wife and five children, including Charles who had been in the business with his father since graduating from high school. By 1974, the family run company was providing fruits and vegetables to some of Chicago’s best restaurants, catering establishments, schools and hospitals. Now, with ten trucks and 40 or so employees, Mr. Casslemond and his wife were getting ready to move to a warmer climate and leave the enterprising Charles with the responsibility of servicing their more than 300 clients.
Mr. Casslemond was n ot one to sit around and never could bring himself to manage the business from their downtown warehouse and office location, where each morning the refrigerated trucks could be seen lined up at the loading platform awaiting the forklifts to bring in the fresh fruits and vegetables. Instead, he hired an office manager and secretary to help Charles with the administrative as pect s of the business, while he continued to drive one of the trucks and tend to the needs of his best customers personally. It had always been that way; the company was built on relationships that Mr. Casslemond had cultivated over the years and it was going to be hard for him to say goodbye to those customers, some of whom he had known way back from the old days . But the decision had been made to move to Florida the following year , and of course this would be an adjustment for him , away from the business and his family, yet still, he was looking forward to retirement. He was nearly 70 years old now and tired, not of the produce business itself, just tired. The long hours, the hard winters and the stress of running his own company had been enough; the enticing relaxation and warmth of the more semi-tropical retirement community now too much to resist.
****
For my fourteenth birthday, my parents were taking me to my favorite restaurant, Angelo’s, a wonderful Italian place downtown. It was a pretty good drive and it had been snowing on and off over the past couple of days, but my Dad announced that we’d manage the roads with no
I loved Thanksgiving more than any other holiday; the cool air of the encroaching winter, the beginning of the holiday season of giving and family gatherings. The following year, Thanksgiving would follow pretty much the same script. I’d help my mother with some chores, we’d see the relatives and recount each in our own ways the good things we had to enjoy and be happy about. I remember that Thanksgiving in particular, with mom beaming over the compliments her roast brisket had generated and my dad playing with the nieces and nephews while we watched the Lions lose again. For a Bears fan, of course that was something to be thankful for. But what made this Thanksgiving so memorable is that it would be our last to share together. For in just two weeks I found myself alone with no chance of ever experiencing a holiday like that again, with just the memories to look back on and cherish from then on.
S ix
Regret
C &C Produce Company was painted on the side of the large panel truck. The C ’ s stood for Casslemond and his son Charles. Avery Casslemond had worked hard to build his produce business from a tiny fruit stand on Michigan Avenue that he opened in 1946 to a substantial venture that had provided well for his wife and five children, including Charles who had been in the business with his father since graduating from high school. By 1974, the family run company was providing fruits and vegetables to some of Chicago’s best restaurants, catering establishments, schools and hospitals. Now, with ten trucks and 40 or so employees, Mr. Casslemond and his wife were getting ready to move to a warmer climate and leave the enterprising Charles with the responsibility of servicing their more than 300 clients.
Mr. Casslemond was n ot one to sit around and never could bring himself to manage the business from their downtown warehouse and office location, where each morning the refrigerated trucks could be seen lined up at the loading platform awaiting the forklifts to bring in the fresh fruits and vegetables. Instead, he hired an office manager and secretary to help Charles with the administrative as pect s of the business, while he continued to drive one of the trucks and tend to the needs of his best customers personally. It had always been that way; the company was built on relationships that Mr. Casslemond had cultivated over the years and it was going to be hard for him to say goodbye to those customers, some of whom he had known way back from the old days . But the decision had been made to move to Florida the following year , and of course this would be an adjustment for him , away from the business and his family, yet still, he was looking forward to retirement. He was nearly 70 years old now and tired, not of the produce business itself, just tired. The long hours, the hard winters and the stress of running his own company had been enough; the enticing relaxation and warmth of the more semi-tropical retirement community now too much to resist.
****
For my fourteenth birthday, my parents were taking me to my favorite restaurant, Angelo’s, a wonderful Italian place downtown. It was a pretty good drive and it had been snowing on and off over the past couple of days, but my Dad announced that we’d manage the roads with no
Similar Books
