My First Job

"My first job was in this little market called Springer's. It was owned by Mr. Springer, a real sweet gentleman with gray hair and glasses. If I had to tell you his first name, I couldn't.

"The market was just across the street from our house in Florence, Ala. It was back-in-time, with wood floors and wooden shelves.

"I started working there the summer before seventh grade. I kept all the shelves straightened, and I had an old peacock-feather duster to keep them spotless. Let me tell you, Mr. Springer kept an eye on things. I had to earn my rank to work the cash register, and in all the years I worked there, Mr. Springer never let me touch the cigarettes; he always kept them locked up.

"I started out making about 50 cents an hour. What did I do with it? Heaven knows. But what was neat was that it gave me a sense of earning capacity; I had my own spending money to save. I also learned that when you give your word, it's your bond. When Mr. Springer asked me to work and I said yes, he expected me to be there, even if that meant I missed out on being with my friends.

"I loved that Mr. Springer knew everybody. When you came in he'd ask, 'How's your momma doing?' or 'How's this and how's that?' His market was the town hangout. Kids would buy soda from the old Coke machine with the bottle opener on the side and gather on the front sidewalk. I remember my grandfather coming in for RC Cola and a MoonPie after work. It was a step back in time.

"Did I realize Mr. Springer gave me an opportunity back then? Absolutely not, but now I look back on it as a blessing."