My Guest Post This Week on Liz Strauss’ Successful Blog.
I grew up in East Boston in a three-decker dumbbell tenement building. My grandparents lived on the first floor and we lived on the third floor. We spent a lot of time on the first floor with my grandparents and ate dinner there practically every night. My grandmother was a seamstress and worked piecework in Boston, and my grandfather worked construction, tended bar, and worked at Suffolk Downs race track as a pari-mutuel teller. He juggled all of these jobs to make ends meet, and needed all three because of the seasonality of the work. What he really wanted was to own his own breakfast place and sandwich shoppe.
When I was about 9 or 10, he scraped together enough money to rent a store near the square and purchase all of the items needed to get things going. I used to walk to the store every chance I got to watch him in action. He loved making food for people and seeing them enjoy every bite. The shop wasn’t a cash cow, but he took great pride in it, and enjoyed owning his own place. One day, I noticed that a couple of firemen were there getting sandwiches and my grandfather told them it on was on the house. Another day, I saw him do the same for a couple of policemen, and then one day I saw him not charge a very popular business man in the city.
Click Here to Continue Reading:
