403

I was young then, maybe 6 or 7 years old. I couldn’t have been much older because we still lived in the Germantown neighborhood of Philadelphia. Our street was a dead-end an it ended at the railroad tracks. We lived in the last home on the street. My Dad worked in a steel manufacturing company just a few blocks away from where we lived. The shop manufactured small punched-out parts for the local radio factory. It was a noisy place and you could hear and feel the sounds of production a block away.

I was allowed to walk to the shop in the late afternoons to wait for my Dad and we would walk home together. I really enjoyed these walks because my little sister was not allowed to come with me. I had my Dad all to myself.

On this hot and humid summer day I walked my usual route and saw a lot of the neighbors on the way. They knew me as ‘little Mike” and called out to me as I meandered my way to the shop. One lady in particular was a close friend of our family and I was told to call her Aunt Missy, which I did. Sometimes, it seemed, if I smiled good, she would give me a cookie to eat on the way. I got a chocolate chip today.

I liked the oily smell of the shop and as always I was greeted by the voice of Frank Sinatra on the radio. My cousin Chas, the shipper, had his work area just off of the street right inside a side door located by the loading dock. I used this door to get to the shop and always got my hair messed by Chas. The radio was loud and Chas was singing along with Frank over the noise of the tumbler that was cleaning the parts before being counted and packed. He seemed to like being there. We talked for a minute and I went to find my Dad who was working on inspecting parts as they were coming off a punch press. Every time the punch came down I would feel the vibration through my shoes and my feet would tingle.

“Is it that time already?” my Dad would say when he saw me. It was as if he wouldn’t go home unless I was with him. I went back to stay with Cousin Chas, where it was safe, and I waited for Dad to wash up. We left Chas singing with Frankie and started home.

Dad was asking about my day when we saw Aunt Missy and he asked her if she heard today’s number.

“403” she shouted over to us.

“What”, he said, “you’re kidding!”

“That’s the truth” she answered with a grin. She knew that Dad played “403” every day for a dime.

Dad let out a shout and told her that he hit for $40. Her smile grew bigger and she told him not to spend it all in one place. We said good-by and walked home just a little faster.

I always walked on his right side because the fingers on his left hand were about the same size. He told me that he did not move his hand fast enough and the punch press took off the tops of his fingers. When he wasn’t looking I would find myself staring at his hand wondering if it hurt when he lost the tips of his fingers. I did not like to hold his left hand.

When we came to the first intersection he shifted his lunch box to his left hand and dropped his right hand down to hold mine as we crossed the street. His hand was rough and strong and he gripped my hand tight. We slowed down and crossed the street. He relaxed his grip and dropped my hand. I did not want to let go, but I did. I sniffed at my left hand and knew that I would detect a faint, comfortable, oily smell which made me smile.

Dad opened the door to our home and called out to Mom, “Hey, what would you do with $40?”

“Your number came out today?!?”, she asked with a high pitched smile.

“Yep”, he answered as he grabbed her around her waist and lifted her off the floor. They kissed small kisses and I knew it was time for me to go to the parlor and turn on the radio and sit with my sister.

Mom and Dad were happy and that made me happy too.