The Neighborhood Business

by Charles C. Cole

With sunset approaching, Max Banyon, 30ish, wore his best suit and sat in a formal wooden chair from his dining room at a makeshift busker’s booth at the end of his driveway. He was crocheting an orange and yellow Afghan blanket for a new baby. During the busier parts of the day, he sold homemade lemonade, made balloon animals, painted children’s faces, shined shoes, tied shoelaces, changed diapers, sharpened chainsaws, whatever he could do.

He was unemployed but hardly out of work. All services were free, while donations were greatly appreciated. Kids gave him change. Parents usually gave him a dollar. It was enough to pay for groceries. This was an adventure and a way to meet his neighbors. He had a great attitude that seemed palpably infectious.

Jonah Stinson, 5, four houses down and across the street, was having dinner with his parents. His father was absorbed with scientists from NASA on the television doing a press junket for an upcoming trip to Mars.

“What do you think, Jonah?” he asked playfully. “I hear they’re recruiting.”

“It’s too lonely in space; I’d miss my friends. And Billy says there’s no Internet.”

“When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut. What do you want to be?”

His wife shook her head, as if to say: “He’s only five, Darren!”

“I know!” said Jonah with sudden enthusiasm. “I want to be like Mr. Banyon. With a whole bunch of things I can do from home that make people happy.”

“Not much money in his type of work, sport.”

“I’d only need enough to buy comic books and chewing gum.”

“What if your feet grew and you needed new shoes?”

“Mommy would take me to get new ones.”

“I see,” said Dad, looking at Mom. “Maybe, after dinner, I should talk with Mr. Banyon. Tell him he has a fan, find out the tricks of his trade.”

“Could we set up a booth like his?” asked Jonah.

“You don’t want to compete, do you? All your friends would probably choose you over him. I know I would.”

“We could sell different stuff, like toys I don’t use anymore or some of my leftover crayons and colored pencils. Maybe I could sell pictures I drew.”

“People only have so much spare money. Let me talk to him. See if he minds the thought of competition on the same street.”

Later, Jonah’s dad approached Max, who was busy closing shop for the day.

“Mr. Banyon?”

“That’s me. Can you come back tomorrow? It’s getting too dark to do business.”

“I can do better than that: I can help.” The two carried things back into the open garage, for storage. “I’m Jonah’s dad.”

“Bright kid. Asks lots of good questions. Did I do something wrong, Jonah’s dad? I don’t get a lot of dads.”

“I was hoping you could tell me how long you’re going to keep up your little shop.”

“A good question. It depends on how long my mother charges me rent. I should ask her.”

“Mr. Banyon, my son says he wants to grow up to be just like you.”

“Why? Are you charging him rent?”

“Not yet. But maybe if he’s still living at home at your age.”

“So, you are here to criticize.”

“No, just to understand. For instance, I’ve never seen anyone else parked in the driveway.”

“Mom lives in Florida,” Banyon explained. “This is just part of her investment portfolio.”

“And she’s charging you?”

“I believe it’s to teach me a lesson on financial independence. She was probably hoping I’d get a real job in an office, but this was my compromise.”

“I have to admire your verisimilitude.”

“You know ‘lawyer talk.’ Dad used lawyer talk when I was a child whenever he wanted to teach me an important lesson. What’s your lesson? Are you planning to shut me down?”

“Just reconnaissance, for now. I wouldn’t want to upset the neighborhood kids. I think they’d miss you. Apparently, you’re sort of an urban legend: Santa’s kid brother who can fix anything for anyone, for little more than spare change.”

“Hardly,” scoffed Banyon.

“I suppose that’s why it’s a legend,” said Darren. “You worried about the police at all? Business without a license, that sort of thing.”

“Mom and the Chief went to prep school together.”

“Well, can you do me a favor?”

“Don’t ask me to chase your son away; it’s bad for business. And I need all the business I can handle.”

“Just be honest: tell him it’s a lot of work to do what you do.”

“It’s not. It’s fun,” said Banyon. “Customers usually talk about their lives while I’m fixing whatever. I hear a lot of life stories. I’ve got a greater appreciation for the American Dream than I ever had.”

“My son wants to open his own booth,” explained Darren. “I told him the neighborhood probably can’t support two.”

“Maybe it can.”

“That’s not what I want him to hear,” said Darren.

“You’ve got big plans for him: where he goes to school, where he goes to college, who he marries.”

“We haven’t fleshed it out, but we have hopes. And selling used toys and crayons in the driveway isn’t going to get any of us across the finish line.”

“My parents never wanted me to work for a living until after I was through with college. They wanted school to be my full-time job. A noble notion. But maybe, if they’d encouraged my starting earlier, I wouldn’t be so bad at it now. Just an unsolicited thought from a guy changing diapers for a living.”

Jonah’s dad returned home. His wife met him at the door.

“What happened?”

“To my utter surprise, the fella’s simple logic won me over. If Jonah wants to sell old toys, let him. He doesn’t have many. How long can it take? I think he’ll find sales exhausting. He’ll probably quit the first day to go play with his friends, but let’s see what happens.”