I was talking to an old man today. He was missing half of his teeth. His mouth looked like the skyline of Gulfport and Biloxi. I hope he had insurance.
The old man told me about how, when he was growing up, the Fuller Brush Man used to stop by the house regularly. There was no Amazon back in those days. There wasn’t FedEx or UPS, either. Still, speedy home deliveries were still made.
The Fuller Brush Man would pop by every week, making his rounds, to drop off orders and to see if the household needed any other brushes, either replacement or new. The Fuller Company produced 350 different specialized brushes and brooms for every cleaning need. “That Fuller Brush Man sure kept himself busy!” the old man laughed.
The old man told me about the Fuller Brush Man who visited his mother when his father was at work. It was not uncommon for door-to-door salesmen to call on the lady of the house. She is the one who did the dusting.
The old man took a long swig of coffee and looked into the mirror we were facing across the bar. He studied his own face, then he looked at my reflection. He went back to looking at himself.
“I was quite the numismatist when I was a lad,” the old man said after clearing his throat. “I collected coins. I specialized in pennies. All the other kids in the neighborhood, they were jealous of my penny collection.
“The Fuller Brush Man, he would come to our house, and my mother would welcome him in. He would always promise me a roll of 1914D pennies and he would always seem to forget.”
The old man blew his nose. He wasn't getting misty-eyed, he just had to blow his nose.
“One time, the Fuller Brush Man came to the house and he was all smiles. He and my mother sat at the kitchen table. She had made him a cup of Sanka. He was all sprawled out in his chair, disheveled.
“He saw me peeking around the hallway corner and called me over. ‘Put your hand in my pocket, squirt. I have something in my pocket that I think you are going to like.’ I could see its outline in his pocket. It was in his left pocket.
“I put my hand in the Fuller Brush Man’s pocket and felt around. It was a long, hard cylinder. I took my hand out in a hurry. It was a roll of 1914D pennies. I was on Cloud 9.”
I clinked my glass against the old man’s coffee mug. What is life without fond memories?
I remember the Fuller Brush man coming to my grandma’s house. They usually had coffee and cookies, and I sat with them at the table long enough for a few cookies.