My uncle Jack had just turned 14 that spring of 1914. Given that, my grandfather thought it was time for Jack to start helping out in the family business. My grandfather ran a small store on Chicago’s South Side that sold eggs, milk, and other dairy products.
As was the practice, he had a horse-drawn wagon to make deliveries to his customers’ homes. My uncle Jack took over the delivery route, getting up at 3:00 each morning to make deliveries before he went to school.
Uncle Jack had been making deliveries for the better part of a year when my grandfather, who was up and out earlier than usual, noticed the delivery wagon rumbling down the street one morning. Up in the driver’s seat was Uncle Jack, his head tilted down and sound asleep. Thinking that no good would come of this, my grandfather began to follow the wagon.
As the wagon approached an intersection, he watched the horse pause momentarily to let a streetcar turn left in front of the wagon. Taking off again, the horse paused at a watering trough to drink while my uncle slept soundly.
The horse continued on, and in a few minutes, it came to the first house on the route and stopped precisely in front of the residence. Noticing that my uncle hadn’t gotten off the wagon, the horse jostled the wagon to wake up my uncle, who then scrambled down from his perch, walked up to the house, placed two milk bottles into the built-in insulated box to the left of the door, and returned with the empty bottles that had been set out.
Jack dropped the two empty bottles that he had retrieved into the back of the wagon, climbed aboard, and proceeded to doze off again as the horse stepped off from the curb.
“She deserves an extra scoop of oats,” my grandfather thought as he watched in wonder.
As was the practice, he had a horse-drawn wagon to make deliveries to his customers’ homes. My uncle Jack took over the delivery route, getting up at 3:00 each morning to make deliveries before he went to school.
Uncle Jack had been making deliveries for the better part of a year when my grandfather, who was up and out earlier than usual, noticed the delivery wagon rumbling down the street one morning. Up in the driver’s seat was Uncle Jack, his head tilted down and sound asleep. Thinking that no good would come of this, my grandfather began to follow the wagon.
As the wagon approached an intersection, he watched the horse pause momentarily to let a streetcar turn left in front of the wagon. Taking off again, the horse paused at a watering trough to drink while my uncle slept soundly.
The horse continued on, and in a few minutes, it came to the first house on the route and stopped precisely in front of the residence. Noticing that my uncle hadn’t gotten off the wagon, the horse jostled the wagon to wake up my uncle, who then scrambled down from his perch, walked up to the house, placed two milk bottles into the built-in insulated box to the left of the door, and returned with the empty bottles that had been set out.
Jack dropped the two empty bottles that he had retrieved into the back of the wagon, climbed aboard, and proceeded to doze off again as the horse stepped off from the curb.
“She deserves an extra scoop of oats,” my grandfather thought as he watched in wonder.
