Ben was behind the counter smoking a cigar.
He used to say: “People tell me if I smoke I’ll die. So if I don’t smoke I’ll live?”
Ben was in his late 70s. He did more than run a smoke and news shop. Ben (self-educated) was well-read, an intellectual, a philosopher, an iconoclast. He worshipped Mencken, Voltaire and Erasmus. He could quote them all and from Erasmus he learned that cynicism was the highest form of truth. Only one president, in his view, was worthy of the office, John F. Kennedy. The rest were bums.
When I walked in he winked at me. He was telling a customer I’d never seen before (only regulars frequented the place): “Sure everybody used to come in here, back in the old days. Duke Snider came in here once. Joe Louis was here. Rocky Marciano. Duke Snider. Everybody.”
“You already said Duke Snider,” said the guy, who didn’t know the protocol.
“That’s right. Duke Snider. Big Klu. Wally Post. Johnny Temple. They were all here. Those were ballplayers.”
“Well I seen Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle,” said the guy, who was obviously from New York and passing through, probably thinking he was in the HEARTLAND. Probably thinking he was in Cleveland. They all thought Cleveland was Cincinnati. They thought Ohio was Kansas. I remembered that from New York. People would say, “You’re the guy from…Cleveland, right?”
Hank, Ben’s partner, came over to help out, saying, “Had some of the finest jockeys here, too.”
“Best jockeys are in New York. I seen Eddie Arcaro.”
That made Ben laugh. “Mister, Eddie Arcaro is from Cincinnati. Cincinnati’s his hometown.”
“Anyway, that was a long time ago…”
“That’s correct, Mister. Everything was a long time ago. You seen a boxer like Joe Louis? You seen a ballplayer like Big Klu? You seen jockeys like Arcaro, Longden, Shoemaker? Don’t give me Vasquez. I’m talking jockeys. You want to talk writers? Gimme a Hemingway! Gimme a Lardner. You wanna talk presidents? Gimme a Roosevelt. You wanna talk horses? Gimme a Kelso, a Dr. Fager. You young people, you came too late. Everything’s ALREADY HAPPENED.”
Ben gave me another wink. For some reason, even though he could be my grandfather, Ben considered me part of his generation, at least he bestowed upon me the honor of his generation’s wisdom, seeing in me, perhaps, something of a tattered individual. Also, I smoked, the last to do so of MY generation.
“Tell me Roosevelt once came into your shop,” said the New Yorker.
“As a matter of fact he did. Everybody who was anybody was here at least once.”
When the guy left Ben said, “In the old days…you know how they sent in the results from River Downs? By carrier pigeon.”
“Those were the days all right,” I said, whatever they were, those days.
“You came for Harry’s cigars?”
“Yup.”
“He’s too good to come for them himself?”
“Yup.”
“Harry’s all right. I remember when he first started out, from the back seat of a Chevy selling remnants. He’s all right. Not like some of those salesmen of his.”
“They’re all right.”
“They’re wise guys. They respect nothing. Do any of them read?”
“Contracts for wall-to-wall.”
Ben liked that. “You’re all right, Eli. Someday…”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not like the other salesmen.”
“I’m not a salesman.”
“I know. You’re an actor. Matter of fact, you look like William Holden, doesn’t he Hank?”
Ben said that to me at least once a week. Also, “One day, Eli, your name will be up in lights.”
“Or up on the post office’s most wanted bulletin board,” said Hank.
Ben handed over Harry’s box of cigars – Cuban and contraband, but Ben had contacts. He could go to jail if word got out.
“What can they do to me at my age,” Ben said.
Hank already had some history with the authorities.
“They’ve done enough,” said Hank.
The shop was raided now and then even though Ben and Hank counted cops and politicians among their clientele.