Chapter 13  (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7)

(Previous Page)

Meeting the Staff

When I showed up for work at the Cornet main office in Pasadena, Joe Cornet Jr. introduced me to his staff and explained that I would be going around to the various stores and doing sign-painting work, as needed. Since they never had anyone do this before, Mr. Cornet was somewhat unsure of what to call my job or what to call me (job-description-wise).

However, he had decided on a plan to get me started. The company had about 100 stores in half a dozen western states, and there were supervisors whose job it was to oversee groups of a dozen or so stores. I would accompany one supervisor or another as he made the rounds of his territory and do sign work in the various stores we would stop at.

I would also be expected to carry my lettering supplies with me, and decide what kind of sign work was needed on a store by store basis. Later they would give me my own company car—but for starters I was to accompany a supervisor named Joe Peterson, whose territory included several stores in Southern California.

Joe the Jokester (Not Joe Cornet Jr.)

Joe Peterson appeared to be in his mid-fifties, and was an incessant talker. He was also a compulsive practical joker who would never pass up an opportunity play a trick on someone. And his proclivity for playing tricks meant you never knew whether he was telling the truth or just making something up.

On my first day of accompanying Joe on the job, we had another young man with us in the car. He was a manager-trainee who had not yet been assigned to a store. Well, having a manager-trainee along with him was nothing new to Joe—but he didn't know what to make of me.

Arteest?

"So you're an arteest," Joe said. "You paint pictures?"

"Not pictures," I replied, "just signs. Unless a sign needs an illustration—then I can do that, too."

"So you're an arteest," he repeated.

Well, I could see there was no point in arguing, so I said, "Right—I'm an artist."

"You paint murals?" he asked.

"Well, I do lettering on walls—but I'm no muralist."

"You paint on walls?"

"Yes, at times."

"So you paint murals."

Well, I could see where this conversation was going, so I just shrugged and said, "Sure—I paint walls, murals."

Goldfish

Then Joe turned his attention to his other passenger, and said, "Did they tell you about the goldfish?"

"Goldfish? No—what about the goldfish?"

"You have to eat one."

"Excuse me? What are you talking about?"

"I'm surprised they didn't tell you. Very important."

Now I was all ears, too. What the heck could Joe mean by this?

"Well, I guess you know we sell goldfish in all our stores."

"Yes," I had heard you sell goldfish and various pet supplies."

"Well, we have to be sure you're not afraid of the goldfish."

"Afraid of them?"

"Right. Some people are, y'know."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said the puzzled young man.

Nor did I. But I had not yet learned of Joe Peterson's predilection for pulling gags on people.

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"You'll see when we get to the store," was the last Joe would say on the subject.

Well, as soon as we arrived, Joe introduced us to the store manager and then lead us to the goldfish tank. Without a word, he took off his jacket, rolled up a shirtsleeve and reached into the tank.

His hand splashed around, fish scattered in all directions, and suddenly we could see that a frantically wriggling goldfish was held between his thumb and forefinger.

Tasty Treat?

Then he yanked his hand out of the tank, held the writhing fish up for us to see, and then put it in his mouth. Finally, he smiled as he chewed it up and swallowed it.

"Your turn," he then said to the manager-trainee.

The young man recoiled and said, "You want me to do that?"

"Only if you want to work for Cornet," Joe casually replied.

At first the young man was speechless. Then he gestured toward me and asked, "What about him?"

"He doesn't have to," Joe replied. "He's not going to be a manager. He's an arteest."

"Do I have to do it right now? I'd like to think about it."

"Sure," replied Joe. "Take your time—as long as you do it before we leave the store."

Then he turned to me and said, "So what are you going to do? Paint a picture?"

"Well," I replied, still somewhat unnerved by the goldfish performance, "I thought I'd look around the store and see what needs to be done."

"Okay," Joe said, "I'll leave you to your arteestic endeavors."

So I went out to the car and brought in my portable drawing board and lettering tools.

Joe kept watching me out of the corner of his eye as I got set up. He didn't say a word until I dipped my brush into some red paint as I prepared to letter my first sign.

Heard All Over the Store

Joe had a very soft voice, and I often had to lean in close to hear what he was saying. Now, however, his voice could be heard by everyone in the store as he called out, "Quiet! Quiet, everyone! We have an arteest here who is about to paint a picture—and he needs to have peace and quiet so he can be arteestic!"

This brought everyone in the store over to where I had my drawing board set up, and they all waited breathlessly to see what I was about to create. I was so embarrassed, I could hardly hold the brush steady.

"I'm just painting a sign," I explained. "Nothing special. Just want to draw attention to some sale items on one of the counters."

Well, some of the customers went back to what they were doing, while a few stayed to watch.

Joe just smiled and said to them, "You know how temperamental these arteests can be. I just want to make sure he has the best working conditions possible."

Then, turning to me, he said, "Carry on, Rembrandt."

From that point on he would never talk to me without first addressing me as "Rembrandt."

One Remaining Question

Well, the day passed and, as it got close to quitting time, the trainee and I were both wondering about the goldfish ritual. Joe had told me to pack up my stuff because we would be leaving in 15 minutes.

As we headed out the front door, the trainee finally couldn't hold it in any longer. "So what about the goldfish?" he asked, with a trace of annoyance in his voice.

"Oh, that," smiled Joe. "That was just a joke. I palmed a slice of raw carrot before I reached into the tank."

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Don Edrington's Home Page     Shy Guy from Hollywood High     Brief Bio   All Stories

Prologue   Ch.1 Alameda - Los Angeles 1939-40   Ch.2 Echo Park 1943   Ch.3 Virgil Jr Hi 1944   Ch.4 Le Conte Jr Hi 1945-46
Ch.5 Gower Gulch 1946   Ch.6 Hollywood Hi 1946-47   Ch.7 Drop Out 1948   Ch 8 Norma Jean Salina 1948   Ch 9 Fort Ord 1949
Ch.10 Fort Belvoir 1950   Ch.11 Korea 1951   Ch.12 Dick Relf 1952   Ch.13 Cornet Stores 1953   Ch.14 Puerto Rico 1955
Ch 15 Signs by George 1956   Ch 16 Mexico 1958   Ch.17 Fullerton 1960   Ch.18 Fallbrook 1973   Ch.19 Costa Mesa 2000