By Dick Suever

I loved living on the farm but was always filled with excitement when my Dad announced, “Time to go to town.”
We might shop at the W. T. Grant Department Store in the Busch Brothers Building on Main Street for thread, buttons or a clothes pattern; stop at the Pure Oil Service Station on the corner of Fourth and Main Streets across from the Delphos Herald office for 14 cent per gallon regular gasoline and get full service on our Ford. But, we always went to Marks Market, a grocery store owned by Jakey Marks, and Bush Brothers, a sundry store owned by Ed and Joe Bush.
People were always waiting to see Jakey Marks. Like other grocers in Delphos, Marks Market carried charge accounts for their customers. Since those were the Depression years with a lot of unemployment and some farmers having to wait until after the harvest to make payments on their accounts, I suspect they had to keep Jakey informed on a regular basis.
It always seemed to us kids that Dad spent too much time in the grocery. He would signal Jakey, and wait for his turn. Jakey always had lots of irons in the fire. They butchered calves, steers and hogs at Marks Market which resulted in the need to dispose of the innards. Jakey’s business innards told him this left a lot of profit potential on the table so, he asked my Dad to go into the hog raising business with him.
Jakey bought some young piglets and Dad turned them loose in the fenced woods on our farm. Then, 50 gallon drums of innards from the store were dumped in the woods. The pigs were expected to eat heartily, grow quickly and be butchered at Marks Market after which they would split the profits. Sounded like a nice plan.
However, that venture didn’t pan out! I suspect one of three things happened: the pigs Jakey and Dad thought would eat anything decided even they have limits; other creatures including buzzards, skunks and vultures found the innards to be delectable to their palates; or, neighbors within a 25-mile radius loudly protested that the foul smelling air carried by the shifting winds caused them to lose their appetites.
I remember Dad and I going into Bush Brothers every time we went to town. Dad would usually purchase a couple of packages of R.G. Dunn Cigars, a bag or two of Mail Pouch Chewing Tobacco and a newspaper. While he visited with one of the Busch brothers, Si Powell, or one of his cronies, I wandered around the store making sure to stop and see everything in the candy case because I knew Dad would let me make a selection before we left the store.
The store had a soda fountain and several booths for customers who wished to be served an ice cream sundae, banana split, root beer float, milk shake or other tasty delight.
I really enjoyed going in that store except when a big red-headed railroader who was always smoking a big black cigar was there. I always tried to stay away from him because he loved to tease me. One time, I was walking down the aisle between the booths when he stood up, grabbed me and started to administer a “Dutch rub” to the back of my head with his knuckles. From previous experiences, he knew I was timid so, he wasn’t prepared for the fist I threw up in self defense. I “accidentally” hit him flush in the face causing the red hot cigar ashes to fly in all directions including all over his face. I ran up to the front of the store and waited by the candy case not knowing how my Dad would react to the situation.
That guy ran up red faced with ashes falling from his singed eyebrows and told dad what I had done to him. Having seen everything, Dad told him he got what he deserved and more, and it might be wise for him to leave me alone in the future — which he did.
Bless Dad!

Next week: more about going into town.