Uncle Leo . A Liberty Hill Story . By George Brewer . Part 1

Uncle Leo
A Liberty Hill Story
By George Brewer

Oh oh. 9:03 Monday morning on busy Chauncey Street in Fairfield, Ohio, “Hard by The Ripplin’ River.” The front door of Symanski’s Shoe Emporium flies open. Out comes a plump little man running for his life. He’s really moving. He’d better be quick because the irate Symanskis, Oslo and his son, Lazlo are in hot pursuit. They’re furious. Old man Symanski flings a pair of shoes at the little man. The expensive high heels from Spain sail over his head out onto the street where the 9:05 Lincoln bus runs over them. Scrunch! The Symanskis can be heard bellowing all the way down in Chauncey Square. Such language! A pumpkin shaped woman has joined in the chase. She’s caught up to the tiring Symanskis and has begun whacking at Lazlo with her umbrella. By now the little man is a half block away. Old man Oslo is sitting on the curb, clutching his chest.

***

Now, what could have riled the Symanskis so? And who is that lady? Let’s go back a week ago Tuesday before this episode took place, to Broderick’s Boarding House on Chauncey Street, south of the square.

***

As far as anyone knew he was nobody’s Uncle. Yet to those who knew him, he was “Uncle Leo,” a plump, jolly little man with sparkling eyes and a this-little-pig pink and white complexion. Kind, generous, and totally inept at any employment he ever undertook, Uncle Leo couldn’t hold onto a job to save his life, or after many years, his tiny room at Broderick’s Boarding House. Big Ed Broderick, a man with smoked shoulder size hands and a heart of gold, did all he could to shelter Uncle Leo, but with all the young fellows coming back from the war, living space was at a premium. After many months of prodding, Big Ed’s business partners finally got him to promise to put his pudgy little friend out onto the street.

Reluctantly, Big Ed told Uncle Leo that he had until the end of the month—three weeks—to pay his back rent. Big Ed felt terrible.

“Hey, Big Ed, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve been swell. Anyway, I’ve got a job—a good job. Before you know it I’ll have enough dough to pay all the back rent I owe you, plus I’ll double the money and give it to you, my good friend.”

“Uncle Leo, I’ve lost count of the number of ‘good’ jobs you’ve had and lost.”

“Well those days are over. I’ve got me a great job at the shoe store on Chauncey just north of the square.”

“Symanski’s?”

“Yeah. They’ve only been opened for a few months and they’re doing gangbusters. Mr. Symanski really likes me. I interviewed yesterday. I start this morning.”

“Does he know about your employment history?”

“No, Big Ed. What’s that got to do with anything? I tell you this time it’ll be different. This is the job for me.”

***

Maybe Uncle Leo was onto something. He got right into the job. He was really good at it. In just a few days, he had sold a couple dozen pairs of shoes. Even with a ragged suit and shoes with floppy soles, the customers, especially the ladies, liked his salesmanship. At the end of the week, just before closing time, two ladies came into the store. One of them was Mrs. Vaughn Normprescott, of the Lincoln County Normprescotts. Retailers all over the area longed to have Mrs. Normprescott’s patronage. Just one good word from her would send her wealthy friends to their stores. The other lady was a lovely young thing who was to be married the following day. Uncle Leo, realizing that he was the only salesperson on the floor, went to both ladies at once. Mrs. Normprescott told him about the excruciating time she had searching for just the right pair of waders. She said that she was going on a duck hunt with the exclusive Smythe Club Duck Hunters Association in Billows, a small town two counties up river. “I’ll die if I have to wear the utterly horrible waders that I wore at last year’s hunt. The wretched things squeaked so loudly when I walked, I nearly scared all of the ducks away, and jeopardized my club membership. Your store is my last resort. You must help me.”

The bride-to-be told Uncle Leo that she would be wearing her great grandmother’s treasured wedding dress. She said it was a most unique color—a greenish off white—she had searched all over central Ohio but couldn’t find any matching shoes.

As if possessed, Uncle Leo, an expression of supreme confidence on his face, said, “Squeakless waders, ehh? Greenish off-white? Wait right here. I have just the shoes for the both of you.”

And he did.

“Good Heavens,” oozed Mrs. Normprescott, “I simply adore them.”

“They’re WONDERFUL!” Exclaimed the young lady, “YOU’RE WONDERFUL!”

Upon learning that Mrs. Normprescott was in the store, Lazlo Symanski quick-stepped across the floor. He dismissed Uncle Leo with a whisk of his aristocratic hand, and said, “Mrs. Normprescott, how lovely to see you. Welcome to our establishment. I’ll be waiting on you.”

“You will NOT!” huffed the wealthy scion. “This man has saved my life.” Mrs. Normprescott walked the length of the store in her waders. She was thrilled that they didn’t make a sound. “I love the bright orange color. They’re so cute. They look like little ducks’ feet. They’re perfect. I’ll take them.”

As Uncle Leo was wrapping the ladies’ purchases, Oslo Symanski, observing what was taking place, nudged Lazlo in the ribs. “I’m glad that I ignored your advice about not hiring our new shoe-selling wizard.”

“But, father, the man dresses like a bum. I don’t see  … ”

“That’s just it,” said Oslo, cutting off his son’s protest, “You never see. This man is a find.”

Mrs. Normprescott, clutching her Symanski’s Shoe Emporium shopping bag, said to Lazlo as she passed, “Thanks to your wonderful salesman, you can be sure that I and my friends will be frequenting your establishment from now on.”

“YES, Mrs. Normprescott,” said Lazlo. “Thank you so much for saying so, Mrs. Normprescott.” gushed a beaming Oslo.

The young bride-to-be literally waltzed passed the Symanskis, “What a wonderful man.”

Turning to Uncle Leo. Oslo made an “OK” gesture with his raised hand and piped, “Keep up the good work, my man.”

It was late Saturday afternoon.

***

Before the store opened for business early Monday morning, Oslo purposely diminished his enthusiasm toward Uncle Leo. The old man was wary that if he told his new employee how impressed he was with him, the man would be asking for more money. “The next time you make a sale, young man,” he said, trying to be critical, “be sure to suggest to the customer that he or she select the most expensive shoes.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Symanski, you can count on it. I’ll do better, you’ll see. I’ll ... who’s that pounding on the front door?”

“Why it’s Mrs. Normprescott,” said Oslo, “She promised to return to the store, but so soon? Try to sell her some of those pricey Spanish shoes. They’re expensive, but she’s got the dough.”

She had the dough alright, and she was threatening to get a great deal more. Breathless, wild-eyed, and waving her outsized umbrella, she ran the gamut of screeching, swearing, and crying as she related the horror of her weekend experience. Upon leaving the store on Saturday evening, she rushed directly to Fairfield Station to catch the Akron Flyer. Anxious to erase the embarrassment of last year’s squeaky waders episode, wanting to make a strong impression on club members, Mrs. Normprescott decided to wait until she got out to soggy Billows Marsh before springing her fabulous new waders on the snooty crowd.

On Sunday morning, she made great theater of opening the shoebox. Her movements were exaggerated and sweeping. With an exultant sneer on her face, she scanned the gathering of onlookers milling around her and said, “What do you think of these babies!? Eat your hearts out, duck hunters.”

To her horror, when she looked down into the box, she discovered one bright orange wader and one off-white green pump—both left shoes! Just before she lost consciousness, her screams did frighten the ducks away. When she came-to, she was informed by Howland Boisclaire III that she had been stripped of her club membership.

“BAWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!

You’ve made me the laughing stock of Lincoln County!” She bellowed, waving her umbrella at Lazlo, who had just come out of the back room, “I’m suing you for every last penny you have. You and that fat baboon of a salesman!” she cried, pointing at Uncle Leo.

And the chase was on.

If losing Mrs. Normprescott’s patronage, and facing a lawsuit weren’t enough, the Symanskis had to deal with a rather large ex-marine who barged into the store that morning demanding to see the blankity-blank salesman who sent his daughter to her wedding wearing a lovely off-white green pump and a bright orange wader—both right shoes! “You ever try waltzing in a wader?” He demanded as he landed a size eleven brogan into Lazlo’s rump.

***

“I hear your boy has been up to his old tricks,” said Shorty Palmer, the best barber in Fairfield, as he trimmed what little was left of Big Ed Broderick’s hair, “I swear someday he’s going to hurt somebody.”

Big Ed grimaced.

“Hurt somebody!?” said Pete Feldman, putting down the two month old edition of Pic Magazine. “He’s hurt everyone who’s ever been dumb enough to hire him.”

“I know,” said Shorty, “I mean one of these days he’s gonna do somebody in.”

“Now, Shorty … ” said Big Ed.

“Now, my Aunt Maude’s potato salad,” said Shorty.

“What do you call what he did to old Wally Hazlett, the plumber?” asked Pete.

“Yeah,” said Shorty, “Wally hired him knowing he didn’t know the first thing about plumbing, but thinking that he could teach him some of the tricks of the trade. He brought him along up to Hazel Raferty’s house to show him how to replace a worn washer in her kitchen sink faucet. He gives Uncle Leo an adjustable wrench to do the job, and ... ”

“ … All three of them nearly drowned. HAW HAW HAW,” said Pete.

“What about the limousine?” said Shorty.

“What about it?” asked Pete.

“You haven’t heard about the limousine? This is a doozy.”

“Shorty ... ” protested Big Ed.

“Never mind, Big Ed, Pete here hasn’t heard about the limousine. He got a job as a chauffeur for a wealthy, elderly gentleman up in Bradford, where all the rich people live. Things went pretty well for the first few days until the old man asked to be driven up to the Lincoln Country Club on top of Bradford Hill, overlooking the river. Uncle Leo did a real good job of navigating the winding road that rises up to the club. When he pulled up at the front entrance of the main building, the doorman heard the old man say, ‘You drive well.’ Can you imagine that? Uncle Leo must have been beside himself—praise from an employer.

"The doorman said that Uncle Leo was beaming when he got out of the car. He opened the rear door and bowed deeply as his boss got out. The old man said, ‘Thank you!’ Uncle Leo said, ‘You’re quite welcome, sir!’ Then Uncle Leo swung the door shut, causing the stick shift to pop into drive. Uncle Leo had neglected to secure the car properly in park. The brand new Cadillac lurched forward. The old man shouted, ‘CATCH IT, YOU FOOL!’ Uncle Leo took off after the car.

"The limo mowed down a bunch of expensive, whadaya call ’em—topiary—and a some miniature stone statues of some of the past club presidents. Uncle Leo’s got those short legs. He was no match for the now speeding automobile. The car leaped over the edge of the cliff and landed in the river a hundred feet below. SPLOOSHHHHH!

"Luckily, nobody got hurt, The old man was fuming. ‘YOU MORON! YOU IDIOT!’ he shouted, ‘Get my shotgun! I’m going to shoot him!’ The doorman tried to calm the old guy down. He told the irate tycoon that if he killed his chauffeur, he might go to jail. The old man came to his senses. Then Uncle Leo hollered from across the lawn, ‘Does this mean I won’t get paid?’ The old man lost it. ‘I’m gonna strangle him!’"

***

Whoever said, “If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all,” must have had Uncle Leo in mind. The boarding house door had clicked shut behind him. A chilly mist in the air belied what is expected of the first week in June. Every bench in Liberty Hill Park was sodden—so much for using one for a bed. Uncle Leo considered going to one of the churches for shelter but he decided he had relied far too long on the kindness of others. He knew that sooner or later, he was going to have to find a way out of his predicament.

Knowing that his bumbling had become notorious in the region, he had only one recourse: he headed for the bridge.

***