My second home in San Francisco was the playground. Joe was in charge and we all showed our reverence to him. We had opportunities to learn arts and crafts, play Monopoly and scrabble like there was no tomorrow.
My mom would give me a quarter every day while she went to work. I often had to manage my money so I could either get my sandwich, cola, or snowballs. We all went to the small grocery store down from the playground. Mike would slice the bologna, smear our rolls with mayonaise, in a most methodical way. We were proud and felt adult like that we could buy our own lunch on our own. Mike was our friend and he anticipated our arrival on a daily basis. He sharpened his knife to extract that special cut of meat from a huge roll of bologna. He was delighted in our appearance and gave us the respect of any adult customer.
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