"Sattidy is Coming"

    

An appealing sentiment

  Or so the 'old-timers' around whom I grew up sometimes pronounced it. In the small-town/rural oriented  milieu of my youth and adolescence, Saturday was kick-back and ease up day.  Even for those of us with 'jobs', there was something different.  Don't believe it could be called 'festive' and certainly not 'celebratory'.  

    Much of the local economy was driven by agriculture.  Before the advent of so called 'farm to market roads' in the late 1940's , the distance to 'town' was longer and not as often travelled.  Saturday was the exception --- especially Saturday afternoon.  That's when we would see our rural friends as they came for their weekly grocery store run or having their prescriptions refilled or just plain ole socializing with folks that they had not seen since last Saturday.

    In my freshman and sophomore years in high school, I worked in one of the two local drug stores.  At that time we had an added feature that today's CVS, Walgreens, etc. do not provide their customers ... we had a 'soda fountain', complete with soft drinks, milk shakes, banana splits, sundaes, ice cream cones, and various concoctions limited only by the 'soda jerk's' (as we were called) imaginations.  Pay was not so great but access to all the treats of he fountain helped ease the strain.

    Two women invariably came in around 8:30 pm, thirty minutes before closing time.  Their order was always the same :  "a small coke and a pack of nabs". When the outside lights were turned off and I began sweeping the floor, they continued their conversation.  I do not remember how Mrs. Pegram, the proprietor, eventually diplomatically had them to leave.

    Having previously worked in a local 'branch' of a regional 'supermarket' chain, I had already had a front-row view of the Saturday phenomenon.  On one particular Saturday evening, two of the most beautiful girls my 14 year old eyes thought they had ever seen continuously walked up and down the sidewalk in front of our store, making eye contact in a flirty (or so I thought) manner. Only when school began that fall and I knew their identities, their beauty (as well as any they had perceived in me) faded.

    Prior to my junior year,  our family moved to another small town about 15 miles away.  Soon I was back working in the same chain's local grocery.  Most people still did their weekly shopping on Saturday. Twenty-five dollars was a large weekly grocery order and 'carry out service' was usually provided by the high schooler who bagged the order.  And that usually meant carry arms full of bags great distances ... and tips were  forbidden.

     Then one day Dan, a local pharmacy owner, sent a note asking me to come by and discuss coming to work at his establishment where I received compensation above the 40 cents per hour that my earlier parsimonious employer paid.  Invariably, Saturday was the busiest day with Friday nights a precursor.

    The Statler Brothers had many songs that evoked nostalgia for an 
idyllic past.  One of their recordings asked "do the stores still stay open on Friday nights downtown ?" and "do the kids still spend Saturday nights riding  'round Hamburger Dan's ?"

    In time, the advent of 'Shopping Centers' and malls, extensive highway pavings, and several other social and economic changes made Saturday into 'just another day' and changed many small downtowns into rows of empty buildings. 

    A former colleague noted his transition to retirement as "every day is Saturday."  I have the birthdays to qualify for retirement but, gratefully, find satisfaction in my profession and my dislike of  the 180* different time ---Monday morning --- is minimal.   And every day as a "Saturday" sounds alluring . . .  but without the 40 cents per hour salary.

     Satchel