Back in 1961 – the year my Baby Sister was born and the last one of the six of us – my father got me a job. It was to get me out of the house and get me to interact with people.
At nine years of age, I was a shy, introverted kid who read books, was a Straight A Teacher’s Pet student, and secretly longed to be a cool kid like my older brother. Years later, I found out he really wasn’t as cool as I had thought, but.. this was 1961.
There was a donut shop/coffee shop a few blocks from the ancestral home that my dad would frequent – The Donut Center – owned by a guy named Niels Hoeck. The baker was an old German guy named Hans, and the donut maker was a guy named Steve. Bea and Ann were the waitresses/short order cooks/cashiers.
Looking back, I realize that Hans was probably in his late 30s or early 40s, but he was kinda gruff and just seemed really old to me – older than my 37 year old father. Niels hired me to work Saturday mornings from 7am-9am washing pots and sheet pans for Hans and to scrap gunk off the parchment paper pan liners so they could be reused. And reused. And reused… If I happened to tear one of the more brittle ones, Niels would be mad while Hans would be secretly pleased.
When I wasn’t busy washing pans, I’d watch what Hans was doing. I was pretty fascinated by how he could make these things look so good and taste so good. He seemingly effortlessly made Bear Claws and Figure 8s, every kind of fruit and cheese danish, and coffee rings and coffee cakes that were serious works of art.. Plus decorated cakes and pies… All the stuff you’d expect from a neighborhood bakery.
Being the inquisitive and eager-to-please little tyke that I was, Hans soon started teaching me some of the basics – like properly rolling out danish dough. He would usually have three or four batches going at once – one to actively roll-fold-turn-roll while the others were resting in the ‘fridge. Hans was exacting. There was only one way to do it – the correct way. It was about feeling the dough and having it speak to you.
I had been doing my 2-hour Saturdays for about a year when I started doing a few more tasks. Filling jelly and custard donuts and bars – ONE push of the pump, not any more, not any less, frosting donuts, or grinding old stale donuts to be used as filling for bear claws and other delights. We saved particular donuts and let them dry completely, and then ground them and mixed them with sugar and spices to create the filling. Totally delicious.
Another fun thing was I used to get a free breakfast! After a while, I even got to cook it myself on the griddle. I got the hang of it pretty quick. And, I started drinking coffee. My first cups were 90% cream and sugar, but Bea and Ann told me if i was going to work in a restaurant, I needed to drink my coffee black. They told me that business and breaks were unpredictable and I’d be leaving partially consumed coffee cups behind at a moments notice. Wasting things wasn’t an option, and there was no way you could ever get the proper ratios back adding more coffee. Adding hot black coffee to a half cup of lukewarm black coffee created a cup at the perfect drinking temperature. I still drink black coffee to this day.
I worked there until 1966. I learned to take orders, work a counter, be a fry cook, and a cashier. Firth thing I learned in handling money was that all bills were stacked and lined up with the nose pointing right. Every bill. Every time. It forced me to actually look at the bill and know what it was before counting back change. The second thing was that money from a customer never went into the till until change was given – to keep the customer from saying they gave me a 20 when they really only gave me a 10. And, today, my money is still always organized with heads facing up and noses facing right. And I balance my checkbook to the penny every month.
They were all tough on me – but not mean. They explained why they wanted things done a certain way and immediately corrected me when I forgot or got lazy.
It all paid off…..