O
ETCETERA
The "Gimme The Keys" Philosophy of Papa Vic
By Dan Shere
somewhere on Big Beaver Road when Vic tells
I 'm me driving
to turn left and park in front of a rundown hardware
store. I wait as he exerts the effort to climb out of my car. I
proceed to follow Vic inside the store to sell some paint.
Vic, my wife's 97-year-old grandfather, has been selling
paint supplies in and around Detroit for the past 80 years.
For the first 79, he drove himself, putting upward of 50,000
miles a year on his cars. But recently, Vic's vision worsened,
and he now needs family members to drive him. Today is
my turn.
I follow Vic into the hardware store, where a stocky guy
with a thick mustache yells out, "Who the hell let Vic in? I
thought he took all our money last months'
"I came for the rest of it,"Vic shoots back. He's got a
running joke with all his customers. They bust each other's
chops, ask about each other's families, and then Vic gets
down to business and makes his pitch.
"Things aren't like they used to be,"Vic says, as we climb
back into the car without having made a sale. Big box
stores have driven most of the mom-and-pop hardware
stores out of business, and Detroit's economy is, well,
Detroit's economy. We spend the rest of the day driving to
parts of the city I don't know —Warren, Eastpointe, Sterling
Vic Lawson with great-grandson, Eitan Shere, age 8, son of
Dan and Rabbi Rachel Lawson Shere.
Heights — and Vic passes the time by telling me about the
old days.
He graduated from high school during the Depression at
age 16 and found a job delivering 50-pound blocks of ice
— sometimes up five or six flights of stairs — for people's
iceboxes. Vic tells me about the time he worked for a
butcher in Detroit's Eastern Market making $5 a week, not
enough to support his family.
When his boss said the only way he could get a raise was
by learning to drive the company's semi-truck, Vic replied,
"Gimme the keys." He learned to drive the truck on the job.
At 17, Vic got his start in the paint business, mixing varnish
for 20 hours a day. Over the next 80 years, he worked his
way up to partner and helped build the company into a
regional powerhouse that competed with Sears and the
other big boys.
As I drop Vic off at home and say goodbye, I can't help
but think back to when I was 16: My biggest worries in-
cluded what to wear to the BBYO dance and what I'd score
on the next geometry test.
Sure, I mowed a few lawns and babysat so that I'd have
pocket change to spend at Tel Twelve Mall on the week-
ends, but I never hauled 50-pound blocks of ice to put food
on the table. I grew up with luxuries that my grandparents
could only dream of and almost none of their struggles. So
why can't I shake the feeling that the old days weren't just
older but ... also better?
Maybe it's the pride in Vic's voice when he talks about
building a company from the ground up. Maybe it's the
fact that he's never used a credit card or taken out a mort-
gage becauself you don't have the money, don't spend its'
Maybe it's Vic's bewilderment as to why people today
choose to spend their leisure time in front of computer
screens instead of bowling leagues or sing-alongs on the
front porch. Or, maybe it's the fact that my generation grew
up believing that we could become "whatever we want" in-
stead of taking the first available job — and yet seem to be
on a perpetual quest for career"fulfillment"that continues
A 1931 high school yearbook photo of Vic Lawson, age 17.
Lawson has been selling paint supplies around Detroit for the
past 80 years.
to prove illusory.
Maybe it's that our country, once again, faces a severe
economic depression but — instead of pulling ourselves
up by the bootstraps — it seems like my generation is just
trying to hold on for dear life.
As I look at my own children, I wonder what is best. Part
of me wants to help with every book report and hire a tutor
every time they get a B+ so that, one day, they'll be able to
compete in the increasingly competitive marketplace of
the future.
But the other part of me knows that for every"advan-
tage" we provide, and every struggle we eliminate, we
decrease our children's ability to take pride in their accom-
plishments. It's not that I wish hardship on my kids, but I do
hope they each have a "gimme the keys" moment in life —
just like their Papa Vic. P;Iy
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O
26 July 2011
I ITED TffittilD
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