Memoirs of a Worldly Guy
I knew Dutch from the days he and Lloyd had worked as ushers for Pete Egan at the old Palace Theatre on Eighth Avenue. I renewed my acquaintance with him when I came back from Trail in the autumn of 1967. I was living at home and Dad was gradually losing his faculties as he was subject to successive strokes.
All of the lads who had come home from fighting the war were entitled to credits from the Department of Veteran's Affairs. They were claimed for a variety of benefits ranging from entrance fees for college educations to land purchases. Some, who had been physically or mentally affected were hospitalized at no charge. Dutch had spent his benefits on at least two investments, a run-down cabin overlooking the stream at Bragg Creek and a bunch of rubber molds for casting Plaster of Paris decorative ornaments; he thinks he paid $350 or so for the lot of them and some advice on how to mix Plaster of Paris.
My entrepreneurial gene seemed to have become dominant sometime in the spring of 1948 and I agreed to join with Dutch in the manufacture and sale of plaster items. We should have been billionaires by now because most of the immensely rich young men today started their ventures in their garages. We started (and finished) in Dutch's garage. There were some critical exceptions; we were in the plaster business, not the computer business; we were not in an exciting new growth business and were selling to an extremely limited market.
Although we were too naive to have anything in writing and were not even incorporated we were unconcerned. Dutch was working full-time, first for Dr. Ballard's Dog Food and then for Kellogg's Corn Flakes and was spending what time he could calling on carnival operators, one of our most active markets for the sale of what was referred to as 'slum'.
I don't recall ever getting any money for our skimpy sales but I presume there was some sort of compensation for the work done. With true Low Countries thrift Dutch's mother urged him to 'never give up his day job' and he accordingly refused to do so. We had both of our girl friends working in the garage during the summer of 1948 with the promise of buying them the latest and most expensive bathing suits when the season ended. That was fifty years ago and they are still waiting!
I was urging Dutch to agree that our small scale operation would never be profitable and that we should rent the basement of Penley's Dance Hall and go 'big time'. He was reluctant to make the commitment so I told him that I was prepared to do it on my own. I offered him $300 for all the molds but he was holding out for substantially more than that.
'I'll just move them all across the lane and store them in Ed's garage until I get my asking price,' he said. They were still there years later when Ed's property was bulldozed to the ground and the molds disappeared forever. Dutch never lowered his asking price, though, and his mother kept complaining till her dying day that I had damaged her watering can!
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