My Mother was the bargain queen. Raising 6 children by herself on infrequently received child support and tightly regulated government assistance, I am still amazed to this minute that she was able to pull it off - keep all 6 of us fed, clothed and sheltered and, for the most part, out of trouble.
We were easily the poorest family in a neighborhood of poor families. Until my oldest sister got her hands on a '70 Pontiac Catalina, there was no car - we took the bus everywhere. To this day I hate having to take a bus anywhere, for any reason - some kind of psychosomatic thing, I'm sure.
Having to keep 6 kids fed (well, it was 6 kids from when I was 2 until I was 8, then my oldest brother went off to the Army, so after that she only had to keep 5 kids fed - heh, easy breezy) is a task I cannot imagine. I can barely keep myself clothed and fed.
My Mom was a coupon queen before it was fashionable. Not once in the entire time I lived under my Mom's roof did I ever eat a meal, or anything at all for that matter, that wasn't bought with a coupon, and usually on double-coupon day.
She would diligently shop the Big Bear market in Lomita Village, though it was a bit of a hassle to get to. The only bus that went to Lomita Village was the #4, and we had to either walk clear down to the Skyline & Meadowbrook bus stop to catch it, or take the #11 down to that intersection and get a transfer to the #4.
Being white did not make any of those choices a pleasant experience.
But my Mom insisted on shopping there at the Big Bear market, as they gave out S&H Green Stamps with every purchase, and after every shopping trip us kids would fight to be the one to affix the stamps we got in the little booklet that was provided for collecting the stamps. Once we got enough stamps, Mom would go down to Walker Scott or some such store and trade the stamps for something we needed - like pots and pans, or cereal bowls.
Mom also collected Blue Chip stamps at the DeFalco's grocery store in the Spring Valley shopping center- she actually preferred that market, as the bus stop for the #11 bus to Spring Valley was nearly right outside our door, and she could take the laundry with us as there was a laundromat a couple of doors down from the DeFalco's (when DeFalco's closed, the space they had occupied was filled by Von's).
Mom played all sides of the the fence. Whoever and whatever was going to get her that new flatware set the fastest.
My Mom was raised in Northeastern Pennsylvania, during the depression, and it was as hardscrabble an existence as one can imagine. Aside from her parents not being fluent in English, she also had to deal with being a coal miner's daughter - literally. Not the highest strata of society, esp. in a small coal mining community where you definitely stayed on your side of the tracks.
However, enduring such a challenging childhood taught her serious real world survival skills. We used to joke that Mom could go into the DeFalco's and come out with a cart of groceries, a few of the plastic DeFalco "cash coins" they gave to loyal customers, and more money than she went in with - she was that shrewd of a shopper.
A story my Mom liked to tell was of the time she had to shop for a tie I had to wear for my first holy communion. Now, of course it was going to be a clip-on tie, as nobody in my family knew how to actually tie a tie ( I learned how to when I enlisted in the USAF after High School), and of course it was going to have to be cheap.
My Mom relates it was impossible to find a coupon for a clip-on tie, which means she was going to have to walk into the only store in our area that she knew sold clip-on ties essentially unarmed, meaning she would have to pay full price.
My Mom hated the thought of paying full price.
As my Mom tells it, she walked into the store and was greeted by a salesman she had dealt with before. He was a tough negotiator, and Mom said she never left that store feeling like she got a bargain.
But that day, she says that the only thing she told the man was that she needed a clip-on tie for her son's first holy communion, and it had to be black. The salesman replied that they had the perfect tie for the occasion, walked to a counter to retrieve it, brought it back to her for presentation, and then, after a brief pause, told her it was $2.50.
My Mom said that she looked at him and could tell he was expecting her to try to bargain. She actually swears he was beginning to perspire as he held out the tie. All Mom did was say "That'll be fine," and then told him to ring it up. She paid him for the purchase and left.
When my Mom first told me that story I immediately asked her why she didn't counter-offer as she always did. She told me that it was because of a couple of things:
1) She thought it would be almost profane to haggle over the price of such a special tie.
2) She could tell by the way the salesman was sweating that he was opening with a lower price than he actually wanted to sell the tie for.
And 3) She knew when she left with the tie that the salesman would spend the rest of the day kicking himself for not asking for the $3.50 the tie was marked at.
The first time I heard my Mom tell that story I realized that she had a sense of humor - and that she also wasn't above trying to pull a fast one. The first time I heard someone else tell a similar story I realized that all survivors of the great depression like to have at least one tall tale in their repertoire in which they get the better of the big guy.
I wish I'd known that about the bus.
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