Life in a Mississippi Delta Chinese Grocery Store
Nov 11, 2013 9:45:11 GMT -5
Post by Henry on Nov 11, 2013 9:45:11 GMT -5
An excerpt from a penning of a reminiscence that occurred in 1958 in the Yazoo Delta town of Moorhead, Mississippi:
"My cache of money had been set aside starting in the summer and fall of 1957. I was fortunate enough to gain part time employment at Lamb’s Grocery Store in Moorhead and my parents insisted that I put a part of my wages in a kitty to fund my food and incidental expenses for my Washington DC senior trip. Thanks to them, I had money in reserve for the trip, otherwise I would have been inconsolably broke if it had been left to my inherent financial irresponsibility. What is it about old folks that make them so sensible…but then again my parents were not that old…they were just 39 years old but they had been through hard times in the depression and they knew how to be practical in money matters.
Cutting up and packaging chickens, pork loins, beef and clerking behind the meat counter was my primary job at Lamb’s Grocery. The work was steady and not that hard but Lamb, a China native, and an old man in his seventies was a go-getter and never seemed to tire…was a regular buzz saw, not real fast but the guy worked from daylight to 11:00 PM every day except Sunday and I believe he and his wife stocked on that day. On Wednesday afternoons, the store was closed but I would report for work at 1:00 PM to help the old man cut and package meat. Like I said, I would cut up chickens and pack the parts in heat sealed plastic packages. On a band saw, pork chops were sliced off by the hundreds and packaged similarly to the chicken pieces…in the meantime; Lamb was cutting up the beef…round steak, sirloins, t-bones, rib eyes, etc. He never let me cleave the beef…I guess he didn’t trust me but it was amazing how adept he was in the way he manipulated the big butcher knives as he worked relentlessly. It was almost musical; like he was a maestro leading an orchestra as the knife swished in broad strokes and parted the beautiful pieces of chilled meat. In between cuts he would flash the knife’s edge across a sharpening stone held in his left hand, the sound of honed steel reverberating across the chopping block and beyond. It didn’t matter if the sound was rasping because he and I were the only ears in the store. This meat cutting symphony…it was all done in an effortless but syncopated virtuosity by this ancient Oriental man who still had the attitude that he was a butterfly.
If I could somehow enlist a little of Lamb’s high level of esprit vigor in my intellectual pursuits at Sunflower Junior College, I would no doubt have become a star pupil. But no, I didn’t have it in me to stick my nose in a book and let it osmose for a while; however, I had no trouble flouncing like a carp in a farm pond as opposed to Lamb’s butterfly metaphor. Admittedly, the word, “focus” was not part of my vocabulary in my butcher block days. I was content to flit.
It was left to me to take the individual cuts of beef and package them in the same clear plastic covered containers. Then the packages had to be weighed and a price label attached to the top of same. In recompense for my time and labor my pay was $.50 an hour. Not bad for a farm boy who could bebop in the soy bean fields to the tune of his own disjointed rendition of “Bebop a Lula”. Yep, this mode of making a fifty cent piece was a step up from my honorary PhD degree in agronomy, you know, (cotton maintenance, i.e. hoeing and picking) that my good father bestowed on me when I reached the age of five.
Actually the reason I had the job was due to the necessity that I was a stand-in for Lamb’s protégé and heir apparent, Jones Wong who was a young Chinese emigrant from the China mainland. Attending Delta State University required a lot of his daylight hours, thus Lamb had to have a person to fill Wong’s duties during the weekday hours. For the record, Jones had been in our class for several years but being older, and after obtaining a good grasp of the English language he leapfrogged on to college ahead of the “Class of 1958”.
Lamb was a legendary worker and I had an unstinting respect for this pleasant industrious septuagenarian, a harder working human I have never known. Poor Lamb’s legs were shot, causing him difficulty in walking but through sheer will power he just kept going and going for 16 hours a day. It was amazing… and on top of his persistent work regimen, he was a fine gentleman. I liked Lamb a lot.kept going and going for 16 hours a day. It was amazing… and on top of his persistent work regimen, he was a fine gentleman. I liked Lamb a lot."
Henry
"My cache of money had been set aside starting in the summer and fall of 1957. I was fortunate enough to gain part time employment at Lamb’s Grocery Store in Moorhead and my parents insisted that I put a part of my wages in a kitty to fund my food and incidental expenses for my Washington DC senior trip. Thanks to them, I had money in reserve for the trip, otherwise I would have been inconsolably broke if it had been left to my inherent financial irresponsibility. What is it about old folks that make them so sensible…but then again my parents were not that old…they were just 39 years old but they had been through hard times in the depression and they knew how to be practical in money matters.
Cutting up and packaging chickens, pork loins, beef and clerking behind the meat counter was my primary job at Lamb’s Grocery. The work was steady and not that hard but Lamb, a China native, and an old man in his seventies was a go-getter and never seemed to tire…was a regular buzz saw, not real fast but the guy worked from daylight to 11:00 PM every day except Sunday and I believe he and his wife stocked on that day. On Wednesday afternoons, the store was closed but I would report for work at 1:00 PM to help the old man cut and package meat. Like I said, I would cut up chickens and pack the parts in heat sealed plastic packages. On a band saw, pork chops were sliced off by the hundreds and packaged similarly to the chicken pieces…in the meantime; Lamb was cutting up the beef…round steak, sirloins, t-bones, rib eyes, etc. He never let me cleave the beef…I guess he didn’t trust me but it was amazing how adept he was in the way he manipulated the big butcher knives as he worked relentlessly. It was almost musical; like he was a maestro leading an orchestra as the knife swished in broad strokes and parted the beautiful pieces of chilled meat. In between cuts he would flash the knife’s edge across a sharpening stone held in his left hand, the sound of honed steel reverberating across the chopping block and beyond. It didn’t matter if the sound was rasping because he and I were the only ears in the store. This meat cutting symphony…it was all done in an effortless but syncopated virtuosity by this ancient Oriental man who still had the attitude that he was a butterfly.
If I could somehow enlist a little of Lamb’s high level of esprit vigor in my intellectual pursuits at Sunflower Junior College, I would no doubt have become a star pupil. But no, I didn’t have it in me to stick my nose in a book and let it osmose for a while; however, I had no trouble flouncing like a carp in a farm pond as opposed to Lamb’s butterfly metaphor. Admittedly, the word, “focus” was not part of my vocabulary in my butcher block days. I was content to flit.
It was left to me to take the individual cuts of beef and package them in the same clear plastic covered containers. Then the packages had to be weighed and a price label attached to the top of same. In recompense for my time and labor my pay was $.50 an hour. Not bad for a farm boy who could bebop in the soy bean fields to the tune of his own disjointed rendition of “Bebop a Lula”. Yep, this mode of making a fifty cent piece was a step up from my honorary PhD degree in agronomy, you know, (cotton maintenance, i.e. hoeing and picking) that my good father bestowed on me when I reached the age of five.
Actually the reason I had the job was due to the necessity that I was a stand-in for Lamb’s protégé and heir apparent, Jones Wong who was a young Chinese emigrant from the China mainland. Attending Delta State University required a lot of his daylight hours, thus Lamb had to have a person to fill Wong’s duties during the weekday hours. For the record, Jones had been in our class for several years but being older, and after obtaining a good grasp of the English language he leapfrogged on to college ahead of the “Class of 1958”.
Lamb was a legendary worker and I had an unstinting respect for this pleasant industrious septuagenarian, a harder working human I have never known. Poor Lamb’s legs were shot, causing him difficulty in walking but through sheer will power he just kept going and going for 16 hours a day. It was amazing… and on top of his persistent work regimen, he was a fine gentleman. I liked Lamb a lot.kept going and going for 16 hours a day. It was amazing… and on top of his persistent work regimen, he was a fine gentleman. I liked Lamb a lot."
Henry