Winner:

"A Cultural Exchange"
by Denise

The Bo Derek phenomenon for white America brought financial opportunity for me. I trained daily to NYC's Washington Square Park and braided the long hair of at least one to two gringas daily. It was a cultural exchange for us both. I told them the tricks of the trade and they in turn taught took me to their college dorms, homes, and I became friends with many.

Some were into things that I was too you to get into, but most were cool. For instance, a German female artist who lived in a beautiful terraced apt. across the street from Washington Square was a regular customer. Her hair was tired of being permed and colored and just fell out. I went to her beautiful home to wash condition and braid her hair over the course of two years, until it regained it's strength and beauty. In exchange she introduced me to the arts from her perspective. She told me of her favorite artists, and explained what was going through her head when she did her paintings. I lived in Paris many years later for four years, and I thought of her when walking through the Louvre, her passion for art moved me to check into it and take art appreciation in college.

In life even doing things for selfish reasons can open an opportunity to give of yourself.

Well when I'm desperate for cash I still have that itch to see how much has piled up in the couch. That is how I survived being a kid making money. It never added up to much but when your a kid you think your the richest person in the world with only a handful of change.

Boy are we getting away with murder or what! After what seems like 30 minutes we are getting bored, and are trying to figure out how to get it to stop. After all why should some other creep get to see the show for nothing? Strange logic, I know.... I rap the contraption on the side, and low and behold...... a dime comes out. A whole dime. We all grab for it, and in our haste it falls through the crack in the boardwalk planks and onto the beach below. 2 of the kids take off to find it under the boardwalk, (hence the title of the famous song is born). When they are gone, I rap it again on the side... this time 3 dimes come out into the little cup on the coin return. Well now we are laughing so damn hard it hurts. More raps.... more dimes.

Again and again till our little grubby hands are full of more coins than we've ever seen in our lives. Meantime the other 2 kids are directly below our feet still looking. We are helping direct them... "a little to the left", and "it fell right here". We are filling up our socks with the dimes all the while. Finally the flow of dimes stops. It never occurs to us to split it 4 ways. 2 is better. After all they left us. Th ey come back up without the dime, and shake the telescope in disgust. We walk the rest of the way home trying to hide our "dime" limp caused by the coins sliding in our socks underneath our feet. 2 of us are laughing like hell, the other 2 can't figure it out. The next day, we treat the whole gang to Mr. Softee... we paid in dimes.

There is more to the story about growing up in Coney Island at the author's website.

Where to begin? Would you believe adults paying ten cents, three times a week during the heart of winter here in Canada for a pail of frozen ice for their wooden ice boxes in the mid 1940's?. I really did wonder about it myself but, mother nature helped me make it and all I had to do was deliver it and collect my dimes.

P.S. They even saved my empty containers for me to refill.

My dad wanted to teach me responsibility at an early age. My first job was landed at age 7. I walked a neighbor girl home from local day camp. And because she was too short to ring her doorbell, I rang it and waited for her to be buzzed in.

Using hindsight, her mom could've been waiting downstairs just the same. But I can still remember the pride I took in doing my job. Twenty-five cents a week was enough to keep me in penny candy and BBQ Fritos for the whole summer.

So there you have it. I later moved on to removing trash every evening from the landings of the 4 flat and taking the 55 gallon drums to and from the curb once a week. But that was when I was the ripe old age of 9!

After a run from 110th st to 96th and back to 107th we feasted on hostess twinkees that cost .10 cents and a yoo hoo that cost .15 cents, cracker jacks and baseball cards, Mantle, Maris, Berra, Pepitone, Howard,, Ford, Boyer, Richardson and the rest of those great Yankees....

My mother would have made sure I returned it, if she found out. She never did.

We did this in about 1957 so we are talking big bucks for us. We tried again the next year and it flopped.

Growing up in the Bronx, I used to walk a mile to shine shoes with a home made shoe box (could not afford a store bought one). My first day, I earned $0.95,very excited I run all the way home to my mother and proudly gave her all the money.

That was then, now it seems $50 bucks is a pittance! Hey thanks for listening, it was a long time ago.

We'd run over to one of our houses and announce the idea. Our enthused parents let us try, every single week. So we'd get out the chalk and write CAR WASH in big letters on the front of her driveway and a another CAR WASH with a big arrow on it on my driveway. This must not have helped many people as my house was a few blocks away and following the arrow led you to a dead end. Following the ritual setting up, consisting of mixing soap and water and getting drenched, we'd each go beg our parents to let us wash their cars, to 'prime the pump' for the rest of the neighborhood.

A few people would usually come by, and we'd charge them a dollar and a half for a wash. We inevitably ended up spraying each other and the dog, sometimes the customers themselves, and if we were really lucky, our little brothers. In the end, we normally had about eight dollars. We'd sit down and discuss the fact that this was not the way to become millionaires. If we couldn't achieve our goal - today - then what could we do? In a flash, we always came upon the same answer. Burger King. It was just around the corner, our parents surely wouldn't mind. We'd run to each of our houses and tell them our plans, then go to burger king and get our money's worth. We'd come back to eat, and wind up soaked munching on burgers and splitting fries on the mess of chalk that was slowly draining into the grate in front of the house.!

Tomorrow, we'd say, would be different.

Being the middle child--and a tomboy to boot--I was quite a little "showman" and always accompanied my dad. (I loved the "neighborhood" and still do.) All my cousins and relatives lived down there still and it would give me extra time on the "street" with them. I was an adorable kid, my dad would call me Dondi (does anyone remember that comic strip?)

Well, once we got there I'd make the rounds--saying hi to all my favorite uncles and dad's friends attending the meeting. By the time I left the "club" I had a good 50 cents in my pocket from all the guys who told me to treat myself and my cousins to candy or ice cream. Sometimes we'd gather enough to all go to a Sunday afternoon matinee--you didn't need much--you bought a brown paper bag filled with penny candy and you were set.

I went from table to table showing off my cuteness and getting my cheeks wet with kisses and red with squeezes. I said to each table, "Tomorrow's my birthday, did you get me any presents?" I made out like a bandit collecting almost $30 (it was 1962). Afraid that I may have missed some people and of course wanting to give everyone a chance, I went up on stage and said into the microphone, "Hello everybody. I just wanted to remind you that tomorrow's my birthday." I came off stage and got hugs from my parents and aunts and uncles. I collected another 20 bucks.

Unfortunately, the next day my brother Richard gave me birthday punches.

Me and this guy Thomas from my neighborhood (he was a couple of years older) would get up just after dawn on weekday summer mornings. We would each take 15 cents and put them in the freestanding newspaper boxes. Papers were 15 cents at that time. 15 cents to open the Daily News box, 15 cents to open the Post box. But instead of taking just one paper, we would take ALL OF THEM.

Then we'd head over to the gas lines. There were several gas stations right in the area, and within a short time, they'd each have a line of cars going down the block. The lines would last throughout the rush hour, and we'd be there the whole time, walking up and down the lines, charging 25 cents a paper--ten cent mark-up for the convenience we were offering. Lots of folks bought papers, and some would give us as much as 50 cents a paper.

Then there were the people who would send us to the deli for coffee, rolls, bagels, egg sandwiches, whatever. The deli was a three minute walk away, but naturally they couldn't get out of the car. Those people would sometimes give as much as a dollar tip.

The great thing about the gas lines was they would pretty much be over by 9 a.m.--we'd have the rest of the day wide open, with what seemed like a lot of money in our pockets.

One day, my friend was standing near the entrance to the parking lot when a large black car turned sharply into the parking lot causing my friend to jump back to avoid being hit. As he jumped back, he yelled "Hey. Watch it. Who do you think you are, Henry Ford."

To our suprise, who should look out the rear seat window, smile and wave, but Henry Ford, himself. (He didn't buy a magazine.)