The Little Supermarket That Could

     Where Palm Blvd. runs into Boca Chica Blvd. now stands Taco Palenque.  Before that stood a Lopez Supermarket which before that was Glen's Supermarket.  Glen Herman,  who had once been the manager of Brownsville's first H.E.B. had run his own store since 1940.  Mr. Herman was a stoic, almost stereotypical shopkeeper.  Entering the store in a business suit with a white shirt and bowtie, he would proceed to his perched office, a raised platform giving him a view of the entire floor.  His dark course hair was combed straight back, his businessman's smile accompanied a businessman's handshake.
     His fidgety, wiry son Elwyn seemingly had a different DNA with their almost daily squabbles being part of the fun.  Elwyn's money making schemes were just a bit out of Mr. Herman's comfort zone on occasion.  Elwyn would jump headfirst into a project singing a rapidfire version of the song "Ricochet Romance" while Mr. Herman would simply shake his head.
     Marna Herman, Elwyn's wife and I started cashiering at about the same time.  Marna was a very conservative midwestern gal, stricty obedient to Mr. Herman and tolerant of her husband.  She explained the store's unique rules to me:  Boxes in the box bin were sold for ten cents, not given away.  Cold beer was ten cents higher than warm beer.  Checks from unknown people had to be approved by Mr. Herman.
     Brownsville's grocery competition was more intense in those days.  Fed Mart on Central Blvd. where H.E.B. is now was cheaper than anyone else.  Minimax had great breads.  El Centro had its followers, as did Villa Verde. King Mart was there for people from across.   Pace Grocery on Central was our sister store.  If we ran out of something, Mr. Herman would send us to his buddy Jimmy Pace to borrow a case until our next delivery came in.  And, of course, there were the two H.E.B.'s, one downtown and the one on Boca Chica.
     All of our ordering and stocking was done by Santos, known only by his last name.  He was from Matamoros as was Tony, the meat man.  Santos ordered from a book, keeping the store absolutely full and perfectly faced at all times.   Like Tony, he spoke no English.  Meat man Tony was a big flirt, always in Mr. Herman's dog house.
     Drunken shrimpers were more than welcome to cash their huge checks, especially if they bought groceries.  The gypsy girls who came in were the thought to be the daughters of Madam Palm.  They were not as welcome.  Much of the store's business came from the streets behind the store;  Carthage, Villanova, Marquette and Stanford, but also from Palm Blvd. and, of course, Rio Viejo.  Mr. Herman himself lived in Rio Viejo and  knew what those customers wanted.  He would personally help choose their meats, wrapping them in white butcher paper, marking the price with a black grease pen.
     It's odd how the memory works.  When asked my cell number, I have to think for a minute.  But I remember that we sold Biltmore Luncheon Loaf at Glen's 3 cans for $1.00,  Hoffman House beer at .79 a six pack, lard for .10 per pound and cigarettes for .35 a pack and Elwyn had his penny gum machines and ten cent riding horses always ready, freshly painted.