(Or Why I’m Not A Lawyer)

When I was a small child in the early sixties, there were two shopping centers that seemed most popular to Montgomery shoppers. One was East Brook, located out on the east side of town and the other was Normandale, which was located on the southeast edge of town. When we moved to Chuchill Drive, this put us within about three miles or so of Normandale.

There was a Lovemans that seemed to anchor the front side of the complex but there was Kwik-Chek, A&P, Toyland, Grant’s and Woolworths to name some, but certainly not all. There was a men’s store that bragged of being the choice of “discriminating gentlemen”. (We don’t use that adjective anymore, even in Alabama!) Music came from speakers located every twenty or thirty feet in the ceilings of the covered walks.

My favorite place to go if shopping with Dad was Parker-Sledge Hardware. With mother, there was a good chance of covering half the place on a given trip. Before school started at the end of summer, I had to go try on clothes to see which size I had grown into. Fat little boys like me had to wear “husky” sized pants. (It does sound a lot better than “fat boy sized”, for sure!) She would usually let us shop around in Grants and Woolworths for toys. Water pistols or cap pistols were favorite choices, but there were also little rockets that were launched by partially filling them with water and then pumping air into them with the pump attachment and balsa wood planes with rubber band driven propellers. Toyland had little “secret agent” pen radios. You connected a small clip to something like a metal downspout and if you were lucky, you could pick up one of the fifty thousand watt radio stations.

So, one day my sweet mother and I had made a little foray to Normandale. If I had to guess, I bet she was shopping for material with which to make a dress. She made almost all of her clothes back then since she was not about to wear the crazy stuff that was stylish at that time. When we got to the register, I “set in” for a piece of chocolate covered peppermint candy. You know, the ones wrapped with an aluminum foil label. Mother said no. (Something about spoiling my lunch, as though such a thing was even possible!)

Well, she was busy placing her purchases on the counter and the cashier was busy turning up labels with her left hand and deftly punching keys on the cash register with her right, so I just eased me a piece of that candy into my hand, sort of sly like. Oh, yes. I knew better, but I REALLY wanted one!

On the drive home, I decided that I would go ahead and eat the candy before all of the chocolate melted off. To avoid Mother’s keen eye, I positioned myself directly behind her. Seat belts were unheard of in those days, so I scooted up to the edge of the seat where she couldn’t look over her shoulder or see me in the rear view mirror. I carefully unwrapped my treasure and popped it into my mouth. I didn’t contemplate the fact that the peppermint would give off a fairly strong aroma and the next thing I knew, the car was screeching to a halt! Mother whirled around and shouted, “Hal Leary! What in the world have you done?”

Now, I feel that I should pause here and explain that my parents were simple, somewhat ignorant folks who didn’t know any better than to behave like they did. What happened next would be considered rash and unacceptable behavior today, but again, they didn’t understand all the psychological stress that you and I hold dear in our enlightened age.

Mother promptly turned the Oldsmobile around and drove back to the store where she marched me in like someone on a mission! She asked to speak with the manager and while he was being summoned, she drew a nickel from her change purse. When the puzzled man appeared, Mother told me to tell him what I had done. My little face was flushed with shame and tears streamed down my cheeks as I confessed to my sin. He assured me that it was okay and thanked Mother for bringing me back. I don’t recall who won the argument of whether or not he would accept the nickel. I know he didn’t want it.

Now, if the story ended there, I may or may not have gone on to a life of crime. But Mother wasn’t finished. When we got home, she broke some switches from the Chinese elm that grew near the back door. She then ordered me to take my pants off and proceeded to stripe my little legs up good! (She was from Mississippi, so I assume that that’s the way they did it back there.)

I know that I should hate my mother for humiliating me like that and I’m sure that Child Protective Services would have been very interested to know the violence that lay behind the closed doors of our home, but somehow, I still love her. The incident did have one life-long effect on that little boy. He didn’t ever want to steal anything again!

Oh, yes… about why I’m not a lawyer. Had mother not driven the propensity to theft from my young mind, I may have become a criminal, gone to prison, taken free classes at night and become a lawyer.

Better for mother to have a few violent spankings on her conscience than a lawyer, don’t you agree?

God bless us, every one!

Hal F. Leary