Mr. Sanderson's Shoes

He always wore his worn-out, tattered leather dress shoes because that is what he did every day since he got them 52 years ago. It was just another day for Mr. Sanderson, who would continue with his usual daily routine. Mr. Sanderson was known to most as the crotchety old man on the street. His house was falling apart; shudders hung crooked, paint chipped off, and there were holes in the roof. He walked past his weed-filled and overgrown garden and past his dilapidated fence. He was always grumbling and complaining about this or that. If anyone found himself or herself walking on the same side of the street, he or she would cross the street just to avoid any contact with the infamous Mr. Sanderson.

His raggedy shoes would flop down the sidewalk each morning, alerting everyone to his presence. He would hear the little kids whisper as he walked by, “There goes Mr. Sanderson, the meanest man who ever lived... I heard he killed somebody and never got caught... I heard he was a hitman for the mob.” Still never smiling, Mr. Sanderson would continue his slow gait down the street. 

Each morning, he would go to Reynold’s corner store and grab himself a coffee. He’d continued this routine for the last 52 years.

“Morning, Mr. Sanderson,” the young store clerk welcomed him. Mr. Sanderson simply grunted in response. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the urn and trotted slowly toward the counter.

“Just the usual, Mr. Sanderson?"

“Yes."

The clerk pushed some buttons on his register and said,That'll be $2, Mr. Sanderson."

“$2?” Mr. Sanderson was aghast. “What do you mean, $2?"

The clerk pointed to the sign in front of the register. “My father had to make some price adjustments. Times are tough.” 

“Times are tough." Mr. Sanderson scoffed in disagreement. “Times were tough in the thirties, when we had no money for food for weeks and relied on the rotten fruit the grocer threw away at the end of the day. In fact, it was this store right here. Your grandfather, the original Mr. Reynolds, was a good man. I wish I could say the same about his son."

“That’s my father; you’re talking about you, old coot!” The clerk was offended.

“Your grandfather would be rolling in his grave if he knew how your father downgraded this place. It used to be a respectable place of business. That took care of its customers. Here!” After stamping down his two dollars on the counter, he stormed out of the shop.

The young clerk’s father, Mr.Reynolds, came out of the office to see what the commotion was and could only see the back of Old Man Sanderson’s shoes as they continued to flop out of the shop.

“What a crazy old coot!” The young clerk said to his father. 

The boy’s father grinned and said, “You know, he didn’t used to be like this; he was actually a really nice man, up until a few years before you were born. But, his cold demeanor didn’t just show up out of nowhere. Mr. Sanderson’s wife died about 20 years ago. He didn’t have anyone else. As far as I can remember, it was always him and his wife. They would come into the store every morning hand-in-hand, grab a paper and a coffee, and leave a dollar tip for each visit. Which, I know, isn’t a lot today, but in the sixties, it would be a decent allowance for a week for a kid like me.” 

“He was incredibly generous and had the best of everything. He drove the fanciest car and had the nicest house on the block with the prettiest flowers you ever saw. His house looked like Norman Rockwell built it.”

“Even those beat-up old shoes were once the talk of the town. Mrs. Sanderson bought them for him, and he would shine them each weekend so shiny that when he walked, it looked like he was walking with tinted mirrors. Ladies used to check and fix out their hair in the reflection of his shoes. He used to flaunt them as his favorite gift he ever received from Mrs. Sanderson or anyone."

“He once owned the only hardware store in town and made a killing. Hence, why he was so generous. But the Walmart down the street opened up, and he couldn’t afford to keep the business open with their low prices. I remember at a town hall meeting, he criticized the mayor and the town for forgetting their loyalty. He tried his best to keep it open. But he was right. Everyone went to Walmart to save a buck but lost a neighbor."

“It was about then that Mrs. Sanderson got sick. With the hardware store out of business, he spent every bit of his savings on hospital bills and medical costs until she passed away. He sold all of his belongings, including his nice car. Now, he lives on Meals on Wheels donations and what little he gets from his Social Security."

The young man behind the counter stood, trying to comprehend all his father had said. “Wow, I never knew that.”

“You see, son. Mr. Sanderson didn’t grow bitter. The world grew bitter around him. Tomorrow, when he comes in, give him his coffee at the old price, and take down the sign when he comes in."