WALTER’S WAY

The Suzie Colbert Thrift Shop door is not yet open, but Walter has time to wait. It’s drizzling. He sits in his 1985 gray Camry that is beginning to rust where it shouldn’t, sees the lights go on in the shop next to Colbert’s. Twiddling his thumbs, tapping his foot, humming an old, very old, Eddie Cantor staple, ‘If you knew Suzie, like I know Suzie,’ he starts to smile to nobody but himself.

Just as the chief volunteer, Maggie, pulls her car in next to his, the rain stops. The grayness of the sky begins to fade East. Walter gets out of his car fast enough to open the door for her. She says, ‘I figured you’d be here. It’s the end of the month. Give me time to get the lights on, check the last minute items that came in over the week-end.’ ‘Sure, Maggie. I’ll just start unloading my car. There’s bound to be some good stuff in the big, black plastic bags. They’re from Mrs. Schwartz. Remember her husband passed last month? She’s cleaning out his closet. Give me first dibbs.’

He carries into the receiving area bags of all colors, sizes, cartons, an iron and ironing board. Clara, another volunteer, arrives, nods good morning and goes to help Maggie, but Maggie is on her way to Walter.

‘OK, Walter, let’s see what you have before lookers, paying customers come in and start tearing this place apart.’ The heavy, overflowing black bag from Mrs. Schwartz comes first. Neatly on top is a pile of men’s sport shirts. ‘Look at this, Maggie. It looks like my size. Can I try it on-over my shirt?’ ‘Do it fast, Walter. I don’t want any customers to see you. It’s against our rules, you know.’ ‘My things I’ll put on that faded brown chair that nobody wants yet.

Wish you could come to my room, Maggie. I have a closet that holds two nice suits. I don’t know why I have them. I don’t go many places where I might wear one but having them makes me feel good. If you’d see my clothes you’d think I was a rich man, a weirdo who lives in an assisted living building, doesn’t even have a private bath. I have a brown leather jacket, wool pants for winter and cotton for summer. You’ve seen them all, one time or another, so know I’m not making this up. Right?’

Maggie hesitates, looks around to be sure Clara is busy elsewhere. ‘Walter, it’s not my business but why haven’t you gotten a job? Why do you mess with these hand-me-downs?’ ‘Don’t mind telling you that I don’t need a job that pays me. My first wife was almost a famous blues singer back in the early 30s. She was also a miser. Baby Doll was murdered after a performance at the Blue Orchid Cabaret. Never found her killer but I found $2000 in the pocket of one of her dressing gowns. That was a lot of money in those days. People were selling apples, begging for handouts. I invested it in Standard Oil and interest alone has put food on my table. Once in a while I used to do some girder work. It paid well. I was one of many who built the Empire State Building. No complaints. I’ve enjoyed my life, like coming here.’‘Thanks, Walter. It’s nice to finally get to know you a little. Want another shirt?’‘’

‘Maggie, this load from Mrs. Schwartz is a gold mine for the shop. Everything is cleaned, pressed, high quality. Your take should cover the rent for a month.’ Walter was right. The entire lot was gone in two weeks.

The month passes and nobody is waiting for Maggie when she opens the shop. No car. No Walter. He doesn’t come the next day or the next. Maggie drives over to Walter’s building and locates the superintendent. Mr. Maxwell tells her what she didn’t want to hear. ‘Walter died peacefully in his sleep last September 30. Did you know he was 89?’‘Where are all of his belongings, the clothes he had in his closet?’ “Miss Maggie he told me about you many times. Here, look at the note he had pinned on the sleeve of a houndstooth checked sport coat. ‘To all my many friends, I leave you my clothes. Don’t argue. Be fair. If there is anything left, please donate it to Suzie Colbert’s Thrift Shop.Tell Miss Maggie it was mine.’

‘I’m sorry, Maam, there was only one thing left, a pair of soft bedroom slippers, a bit tattered, but still good. I took them.’