My Name is Sonny

My parents determined that everyone should perform some form of labor for the good of the family. You may call them chores but we called them jobs and I had one as long ago as I can remember. I had bathroom duty on my mother’s revealed logic that girls never miss.

My father refused to buy the automatic dishwasher his heirs craved with the irrefutable logic: he already had four dishwashers who could also perform other jobs. We took turns at the sink. “Washing the dishes” was a phrase that meant cleaning the entire kitchen thoroughly. Occasionally, as slackers must, I’d hide a particularly burnt pot in the oven. Of course, my mother would awaken me usually about 1:00 AM finish the job. My life was hard.

The next step was a logical one and my brother was the first to take it. He became a newspaper boy. Nowadays, grown-ups in pickups their beds plumped with wired bales of newspapers have relegated teenage entrepreneurs to the idling abyss of cookie cutter fast food stalls in suburban malls. When was the last time you saw a paperboy, a slung bag stuffed with dailies tooling through your neighborhood on a bicycle that he bought with his profits?

As soon as I turned 12, I went looking for my own work. The owner of Elmer’s barbershop listened politely to my inquiry. He suggested that I get a work permit and then come and see him. My job initially was to keep the floors hairless, stock the barber stations, run errands for Elmer, the other barbers as well as customers. Finally, Raymond, a good barber and a better man, decided I should also shine shoes.

Raymond taught me the steps to a perfect shine. First, brush the shoes to remove any residue. This was to be done quickly, applying enough pressure to make the customers’ feet tingle a bit. Depending on the condition of the shoe, one must apply a cleaning agent and then dry the shoe. The entire time, the bootblack is to massage the customers’ feet often. A serious bootblack would only apply the polish by hand; it warms the polish and, again, massages.Ã? 

A vigorous buffing with a brush in each hand follows. This must be done rhythmically or the bootblack will appear clumsy. When the shoe is gleaming, apply another coat of polish on the highly visible areas of the shoe. It is acceptable for the experienced bootblack to mix the polish with his saliva, carefully and discretely. This is the mark of expertise. After another rhythmic brushing, the rag is to be applied with vigor resulting in furious snapping. Again, rhythm is crucial to this step. Then the bootblack uses a liquid polish to touch up the heel and the edge of the soles. Only then does the skilled bootblack apply the whitening pencil to the soles stitching. Each step is important and must be completed with seriousness. Never rush. Never engage in conversations with anyone other than the customer. The successful shoeshine boy remains focused and diligent.

Customers expect this entertainment and they will pay well, based on the artistry of the bootblack. Only engage the customer in conversation on request. When the customer rises from the stand, the bootblack must dust the customer with a whiskbroom. Having done this successfully, the bootblack will be rewarded with a nice tip and a returning customer.� 

Then Raymond asked my name. I told him. He said no, he wanted to hear my real name. I told him that it was my real name. Again, Raymond said no. He then told me that every shoeshine boy is named Sonny. And now, that I had been educated in the art of bootblackery, I was to be called Sonny.

Shoe shines cost a 25 cents making tipping the only way to profitability because Elmer took 12 cents of every quarter but the tips were all mine. This was actually a fair arrangement and it made me hustle.� 

I met all kinds of people in my new line of work. I shined the shoes of gamblers, auto workers, pimps, felons and preachers and the preachers wore the best shoes.

I would look at a man’s feet before his eyes when he entered the barbershop. If he wore Stacey Adams, Florsheims, Ben B Burkes or other style setters, I would pounce on him as soon as the barber was done. The crucial whiskbroom would remove any vestiges of hair from his shoulders while I complimented him on his taste in shoes. They always smiled. Men are easy marks and want to be played.

In a matter of weeks, customers would stop by Elmer’s Thursday night and leave their Friday night dress shoes for my skilled hands to revive. I enjoyed my life as a shoeshine boy at Elmer’s Barbershop. I wish I could tell you more but the statue of limitations doesn’t run out on everything.