Publication: HERALD-NEWS
Publication date: 03/16/2003

Golden Boys elicit fond memories

By Scott Deininger
SPECIAL TO THE HERALD NEWS

To many of you, 928 W. Jefferson St. may be just an address. To me, it's a place filled with many memories of great friends and times that have come and gone.

Although the gas station has changed owners since I left in December of '92, all it takes is a drive by it to remember the days of doing full-serves, stocking coolers and laughing with lottery customers. I knew it as Bob's Amoco, once owned by Bob "Red" Lusciatti. Now it has a BP sign featuring shades of dark and lime green.

I stopped inside the other day. A copy machine and ATM machine now stand where many great men once stood. I often had the chance to stand beside them, talking about anything from a heated Cubs-Sox debate to the odd-looking character checking his oil at Pump 6."Scotty, you got a full serve" was something I heard often. This meant I pumped the customer's gas and possibly washed windows, filled tires or checked oil.

If I had a nickel every time I tried to convince the little, old, blue-haired ladies that the spot was on the inside of the windshield, I could've bought out Bob within a year.

It was while working at Bob's where I ran out of gas twice -- while on my way home from work. That's like working at a hospital and calling in sick. I guess I was creating my own destiny as a comedian simply by living.

More than stocking milk, fillin' her up with unleaded or brewing coffee, Bob's was a people place. If Hollywood could've gotten their hands on the surveillance tapes from any of the shifts, books, movies and TV shows would've resulted.

I worked all three shifts, beating sleep to man the graveyard shift on occasions while usually working the night shift to accommodate my school. However, the most fun and liveliest bunch of folks were seen during the day.

One group in particular was four old men who I often refer to as the Golden Boys: Ray, "Toots," Don and "Sandy."

Ray had been working for Bob since 1952. When the station switched over to a food shop, Ray stayed on to stock the cigarettes and coolers among other jobs. Hell hath no fury like Ray's scorn for others moving around the cigarettes. An 18-wheeler could have come barreling through the store, but as long as Ray's cigarette stock was in tact, no major concerns were present.

Toots was a guy from down the street who chewed Copenhagen snuff 'til part of his tongue fell off. Literally. And he kept on chewing even after the fact. A box of doughnuts from across the street would usually accompany him on one his morning visits. He would make three to five visits a day, covering all three shifts and getting as much free stuff as possible from whatever cigarette promotion was going on. What a 70-something man did with 14 insulated six-pack coolers was beyond me.

Don lived behind the station and only came over in the morning and then again around 2 p.m. during the week. You needn't even look at the clock. If I was working the day shift and saw Don stroll in, I knew work was almost over.

Sandy was another neighborhood guy, popping in without as much regularity as the others. However, he was always good for at least one off-color joke that would make the ladies shake their heads and have me asking to hear more just like it.

On Friday mornings, the big weekly delivery would come in. Ray and Don would be there to stock the shelves, singing old songs and doing the play by play that went along with pricing pasta and Pringles.

Rare but cherished occasions saw all the Golden Boys there at the same time, and I prayed to have no full serves or tires to fill. There was nothing like hearing them talk about the old neighborhood or stories from the war or what life what like when they were my age.

Many years have passed. Ray and I talk or visit once in a while, sometimes eating breakfast across from the station. He keeps me up to date on things and some of the Boys. He called me a few weeks ago to tell me of Don's death on March 5. We went together to the services.

I'll never forget Don's kind words or his infectious laugh with a smile that stretched ear to ear. It seems like just yesterday that Don was sitting on the stool telling stories and drinking his soda while I rang up a can of Coke and a carton of Camels.

Bob and Toots have also passed on over the years. Bob afforded me with an opportunity to meet some outstanding people in addition to signing my paycheck. I still often wonder what Toots' wife is doing with a room full of Winston caps, Newport T-shirts and Marlboro key chains, though.

Thanks for the memories, Golden Boys.

Scott Deininger, who goes by Scott Derenger for comedy work, is a touring standup comedian living in Shorewood. Contact him via his Web site www.ShaveYourHead.com.

03/16/03