FIFTY-TWO DOLLARS

My dad always wanted to be an architect and was going to school at night to follow his dream. But when the depression hit, nobody was building anything and jobs were as scarce as hens teeth. He was married to my mom and they had me and my younger brother Ronnie and my dad was driving a taxi. If he made 50 cents a day he was lucky. He heard the New York Bus Company was looking for drivers, but you needed experience driving a truck. So my dad boldly walked into a truck company and asked the owner if he would give my dad a reference.  

“Why should I do that? I don’t know you!” the astounded owner asked. Now my dad was very charismatic, handsome, and persuasive, and never one to take no for an answer. He spoke to the owner in Italian and said he was a good driver and was unable to feed his two small children. The owner finally capitulated and gave him a reference, which enabled him to get a fairly secure job with the bus company.

This is why he was so taken aback when his wife told him about The Fifty-Two Dollars.

You have to realize, in the 1930’s little luxuries were almost non-existent. In East Harlem, even candy was such a rare treat that our parents had to hide the Brioschi, fizzy crystals used for upset stomachs, on a top shelf to keep it away from the kids.

Almost everything was purchased “on time.” The insurance man came once a week for the 25 cent payments on the policies that would—in 20 years—grow to a five hundred dollar bonanza when little Johnny or Mary was ready to get married.

Everyday items such as tablecloths and curtains were acquired the same way—60 cents down and 50 cents a week—who could afford to buy them otherwise?

One day when I was eight, a salesman appeared at the door lugging a case containing 12 wondrous  volumes of children’s books called My Book House, which he explained to my mom would provide a complete education—from nursery school to college years. For my mom, the clincher was a then little-known children’s story called The Little Engine that Could. As the salesman dramatically intoned, “I think I can, I know I can,” my mom was convinced. This would teach her children that any mountain could be surmounted—you just had to think you could!

I will never forget that humid August night when my dad walked wearily through the door, completely exhausted in his hot, scratchy bus driver’s uniform. He had just come off his shift driving a bus packed with passengers through the streets of Manhattan. This was before air conditioning, exact change, or automatic doors that opened to let passengers on and off. He was greeted by my mom excitedly babbling, “They are the most wonderful books, Mario! ‘I think I can, I know I can!’  And only one dollar a week for 52 weeks!”

I realize now what an enormous sum that was for a man struggling to bring home maybe thirty dollars a week.

My brother and I held our breath as the battle raged on.

“FIFTY-TWO DOLLARS!”

“I think I can, I know I can!”

Eventually mom won and the wonderful books were ours forever. Ultimately my children and my brother’s children learned all about Don Quixote, The Snow Queen, The Water Babies, Oscar Wilde’s Selfish Giant, The Midas Touch, and many many more. Truly these books were indeed an education.

And absolutely the best fifty-two dollars my mom ever spent.

Editor’s Note: Here are some pages from volume four of My Book House, Through the Gate. I loved this book so much my grandmother wrote my name and address on the title page for fear I would leave it somewhere since I brought it with me everywhere. I’ve also included a sampling of pages from my favorite stories—The Fisherman and His Wife, the Snow Queen and the Midas Touch. I also had to laugh when I saw my scribbles on the last page. “Cat. Dog. Lisa.”  (Click on the images to enlarge them.)