The Nickel Nurser

Mr. Burton was hiring for the summer. He and Mrs. Burton owned the grocery-and-sundries store around the corner from where I grew up in Brooklyn, N.Y., in the 1940s.

There weren't many paying jobs open to a 15-year-old, and I wanted that job. So did a lot of other kids.

"Mr. Burton is going to talk to each applicant for a few minutes, and then make his decision," I explained to my grandparents. Grandma and Grandpa lived down the street from us, and I'd told them about the hiring.

"What would your duties be?" Grandpa asked.

"Mr. Burton needs someone to sweep the floors and straighten the shelves, and keep the coffee and flour bins filled. He also wants someone who's willing to take fidgety kids off their mothers' hands so their mothers can get on with their shopping," I explained.

"Smart plan! The old miser knows that the longer a woman shops, the more money she'll spend," Grandma said.

"So Mr. Burton is a nickel nurser?"

Grandma nodded. "It's not a nice thing to say, but yes, he is. Mr. Burton charges for each additional half-ounce when he weighs out the potatoes. And nobody's ever seen him give a free lollipop to a child."

"But you still shop at his store," Grandpa reminded her.

"Well, Mr. Burton has his good points," Grandma conceded. "He's honest, and he doesn't sell old bread as fresh, or put his thumb on the scale when he weighs out the butter."

Grandpa turned to me. "How much money would Mr. Burton pay you?"

"Twenty cents an hour. The pay doesn't matter, Grandpa. There are too many kids applying for the job. Mr. Burton isn't going to choose me."

"You need to make sure that Mr. Burton does choose you!"

"How?" I demanded.

Grandpa didn't answer. He just leaned back in his rocker with his eyes half closed. I sat for a long time, waiting. Eventually I decided that Grandpa had forgotten me. But when I stood up to leave, Grandpa motioned for me to sit down again. "You can get the job. Here's how," Grandpa said. "Tell Mr. Burton that you'll work the first week for free."

"For free? You don't understand. I want to earn money," I said.

Grandpa went on talking like he hadn't heard me. "Your grandma called Mr. Burton a nickel nurser. Once you say free, he won't turn you down. He'll figure that if he doesn't like your work, he can fire you, and it won't cost him a penny. But if he hires some other kid, and it doesn't work out, he's lost a week's pay."

I thought about Grandpa's plan. "I guess I'd better not tell the other kids," I said.

"I guess you'd better not," Grandpa agreed.

And that's how I came to work in Mr. Burton's grocery-and-sundries store during my 15th summer. But there's more to my story.

On my last day of work, Mr. Burton told me that he had a gift for me. Then he handed me a little bag -- the kind he used when kids bought penny candy. I opened the paper sack, expecting to see two or three peanut-butter chews. Instead, I found four dollar bills and two dimes.

"It's the money that I owe for the first week when you worked for free," Mr. Burton said in a gruff voice. "I hope you'll consider coming back next summer."

"Thank you," I whispered. Then I hurried home to show the money to Mama and Papa, and most especially, to my wise grandpa. Looking back, life was full of surprises in the Good Old Days.