I was in Perdue's to purchase a red rubber ball, the kind you throw against a wall to practice your pitching or to play the game "Baseball Off the Wall."
On this particular Saturday I was assisted by Mr. Perdue. You would think that the man might have had better things to do than help a 2nd grader buy a ball but that was Mr. Perdue. He was filled with patience and saw immediately how much this meant to me.
My father had been there many times before and he recognized him well enough to give him a hearty hello. We were only there to make this one purchase though instinctively Mr. Perdue knew he had a new customer and that I might come back every year until I went to college to buy sporting goods from him. It wasn't a cold calculation on his part, only common sense. I handed over my ten cents to Mr. Perdue and I left the store the happiest kid in town. On this particular day I had been out, just me and my Dad on a beautiful Saturday morning in early Spring, and had been to Perdue's, where the nicest shopkeeper in town had personally made certain my simple purchase was completed with the utmost dignity.
Perdue's Sport Shop is now a parking lot. Though if you stare at it and squint your eyes you can see it, and the old wood paneled truck with the Perdue's name emblazoned on the side. Mr. Perdue had a commute to work that most men who lived in Ridgewood would have taken in a heartbeat. And he had a job I bet most men also admired. Not just because it involved selling all types of sporting goods, but because he did it with such aplomb and assurance of manner that people were drawn back as often as they could find a reason to shop there. Even if it only meant a ten cent rubber ball for your son.
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