Leo
Recently, I’ve been inundated with cards, letters and email asking me about Leo, the gentleman in the photograph on my ‘Pictures’ page. “Who’s Leo?” some say. “Where’d you get the picture of Leo?” others ask. “Is that your grandfather?” one wondered. No. Leo was not my grandfather. In retrospect, though, I think he probably could have been.
Leo is a memory kept alive by a trio of Botsford Street Boys – my friends, Russel and Steve, and me. Actually, Steve, is a Taylor Street Boy, but he was close enough in proximity to Botsford to be one. Besides, who the hell wants to be a Taylor Street Boy?!
Leo owned the General Store on the southwest corner of Lapeer Ave. and Botsford St. Noff was his last name. Most of what follows comes from memory and may not be accurate, but it’s all I have.
Leo and his wife (I don’t remember her name) lived in the same building that housed the store. It was a two story hodgepodge of brown and tan, wood and brick, shingle and stone. I doubt any permits were acquired when it was built, and judging by the look of it, that was sometime in the thirties, or possibly the twenties. The store was situated at the front of the building, accessible from both Botsford and Lapeer. The parking lot was well-worn gravel.
Leo was always dressed the way he is in the photo, plaid shirt with overalls and suspenders, and he always had a two or three inch cigar stub in his mouth, but I don’t recall it ever being lit. Mostly curmudgeon, Leo also had a subtle, playful side. He would always call all the girls, “boys” and called us boys, “girls”. Except when he said it, it was, “Hello, Gurlz.” I called him Grandma in return. I was taught to have great respect for my elders back then, and should address them only as Mister or Missus, but for some reason I felt it was all right to call Leo “Grandma”. I guess I knew he wasn’t going to rat on me. Leo was a guy.
Leo’s wife died when I was very young, so I don’t have many memories of her. I do remember her giving us kids candy from Leo’s store and him getting mad at her for giving away the profits. Not really mad, though. It was his businessman talking. She was a doll. I suspect he was fairly devastated by her passing, but I never saw it. Leo was an unwavering sort. He just plodded along, keeping his store open as much as possible. He was way ahead of his time. Back in a time when virtually every other store in town was closed on Sunday, and many others on Saturday as well, Leo stayed open day after day.
If you couldn’t find something anywhere else in town, you’d go to Noff’s, or Noffy’s, as we’d call it. Leo would have it. One of my childhood friends recently said his store was “squalor”. I suppose she’s right. I remember it as being more… lived in. The wooden floor was dark brown and black and had ruts worn into it from years of foot traffic. Even on a sunny day it was a bit dark inside, because Leo had so many items hanging over the windows, they blocked out most of the sunlight. Leo did not waste space. He supplemented the sunlight with a few bare sixty watt light bulbs suspended from the ceiling by frayed, black cords. The smell in Noff’s never seemed to change. It was combination of metal, grease, sugar, dust and old Leo.
Ask Leo for anything and, not only did he have it, he could lay his dirty fingers on it in seconds. Yes, dirty fingers. Among the rough surfaced aluminum address numbers and nails and screws of all shapes and sizes, Leo had a candy counter. It was a pretty damn good one, too. He had almost every kind of candy bar available at the time, but I wasn’t much of a chocolate fan, so I used to lean towards the penny candy and, back in the middle to late ’60’s, it was actually a penny for a piece or two. My favorites were Nickel ‘Nips (tiny, bottle shaped wax containers filled with flavored syrup) and paper dots (three or four inch wide paper strips covered with a matrix of different colored sugar dots that all tasted the same). I probably got most of my fiber from eating the paper that remained on the dot after peeling it away with my teeth. He also sold candy cigarettes before they became taboo.
Oh, yeah, dirty fingers. One of Russel’s favorite Leo stories is about a time he went to Leo’s to buy some candy. He wanted some of those orange, chewy marshmallow type candy peanuts. Now, this was before everything in the retail world was individually wrapped or service people had to wear plastic gloves. Leo grabbed a few of the peanuts with his bare hand and, when he set them on the counter, they were all smudged with what was probably black grease. Russel told Leo he didn’t want them because they were dirty, so Leo told him to go away. He did.
My friend, Steve, also has a favorite Leo story. One Sunday, Steve’s father was building something or another and ran out of a certain type of nail. He knew all of the other stores in town were closed, so he headed on down to Noff’s. Leo had the nails. When Steve’s dad asked Leo how much they were, he said, “A dollar nineteen a pound.” Steve’s dad couldn’t believe it. He told Leo that the same nails were only thirty nine cents a pound at Ace Hardware. Leo didn’t budge. He just said, “You want ‘em, I got ‘em.” You want ‘em, I got ‘em. I love that line. Steve’s dad bought ‘em.
Finally, here’s my Leo story. I, little troublemaker that I was, prompted Leo to enforce a rule, which was really amazing, because he didn’t have many rules. I think the only rules he had before that were “Cash Only” and “No Credit”. Anyway, when the weather permitted, Leo used to cross Lapeer and shoot the breeze with whoever was the gas station attendant at the White Rose at the time. I figure that Leo was probably hovering around seventy then, but he could (and would) talk to anybody. He didn’t talk too much, and I don’t even know what he talked about, so maybe it was more about just hanging out with someone. Well, whenever he was at the gas station and someone would pull into his parking lot, they’d wave to him and two or three minutes later, he’d finally shamble over. He’d make the sale and return to the White Rose.
One summer day, I rode into Leo’s lot on my tri-colored Schwinn Stingray bike. I was so cool. There sat Leo at the White Rose. I waved. When he finally made it behind the candy counter, I ordered one penny’s worth of candy. I didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, you see. Leo was as upset as I had ever seen him, chastising me for dragging him across the street for one penny and all. I didn’t understand. Business is business, I thought.
A few days later, I went into Leo’s and this time he was behind the candy counter, but he didn’t affectionately call me “Gurl.” That didn’t bother me. What did, though, was the hand made cardboard sign Leo had made in haste (and probably anger) that read “10¢ Minimum”. That’s all is said, but that’s all it had to say. I clearly understood. I became furious. “Ten cent minimum!” I said, “You can’t do that.”
Leo didn’t budge. “I can do anything I want.” he said, “It’s my store.” I argued with him and then pleaded, saying I only had three cents and I would spend all of it and, as long as he was already behind the counter, what’s the big deal. Leo stood his ground. I went home with three pennies and no candy. I complained to my dad and he sided with Leo. Damn.
Eventually, Leo took that sign down. I think he just wanted to teach me a lesson. He did.
I never called Leo “Grandma” after the ten cent minimum sign incident. He never called me a girl again, either. I think it was a right of passage or something. I don’t know. I do know, however, that Leo was a very special part of the Botsford Street Boys’ youth and will live on in our memories as long as we live on.
Thank you for reading about Leo. If you like Leo, and I’ll bet you will, maybe I’ll tell you about the banana flavored ice cream bars and other quiescently frozen desserts he kept in his freezer. Now go have a piece of penny candy, boyz and gurlz.
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Steve Mancini is co-author of the best selling satirical novel “Weeping Willow: Welcome to River Bend“
Tags: Childhood, Leo, Port Huron