The Peddler
By Donald Jones
The Peddler would blow his horn a half mile down the road for everyone on our road to get ready to meet him. He would stop at the bottom of the hill and then come to the top of the hill, his horn blowing, and stop again for the families waiting for him.
Once every week, a large dusty red truck, would come down the road. It looked as if it were part of a sideshow. It had a distinctive sound to its motor; most likely because of the weight it carried. It was adorned, with small wooden chicken cages stacked on the back end of the truck.
The Peddler was a tall black haired man about 40 years old with a barrel chest who always wore bib overalls. He would come through his truck from the inside and open the back doors.
There were racks of bread, pastries, flour, meal, canned goods of every kind,. Boxes of candy bars of all assortments, and the ice box, with a varied assortment of sodas on one side, and ice cream on the other. There was detergents for washing, bars of soap, bottles of shampoo, matches, cigarettes, tobacco, pipes, Blue horse notebook paper, pencils, pots and pans, news papers, magazines, and every imaginable thing the country house wife could want.
When Dad was gone at sea for six months or longer in the Navy, mom would buy what we needed and sometimes trade eggs for merchandise. During the week I would walk up and down the road and hunt for soda bottles that were discarded so I could get enough to sell to the peddler when he came. I would trade in a couple of cartons of soda bottles. The RC Cola and the Moon pie cost a dime.
To me it was always exciting when the Peddler came. The truck was pure enjoyment to behold, all the gadgets on the truck, flash lights, batteries, light bulbs, tools for the farm, it was a wonder to me how he managed to get it all in one truck. The truck had a smell of fresh bread, with the aroma of the spices the Peddler carried with all his wares. This was the anchor to civilization it seemed. A break in the lonely country existence, in the middle of summer, for a boy in 1955.