Ruth and I dropped our land line about ten years ago. We each had a cell phone and didn’t see the need for a third phone. Before the final drop, Ruth changed her cell phone number to our land line number. We felt a bit nostalgic about the number and didn’t want to let it go. Keeping the number also insured that we’d still get calls from people who weren’t aware of our cell phone plan.
About a month ago she received one of those calls. Ruth doesn’t answer her phone if she doesn’t recognize the number. She lets it go to voicemail. She listened to it later and found that the call was meant for our youngest son, about to turn forty-one, Michael. The lady on the phone wanted to know if he was still mowing lawns. He isn’t. (Unless he’s got a California gig I don’t know about.)
We’ve speculated that one of his old customers must have left his number near the phone, and when a lawn needed to be mowed, they took a chance. It may have been left in one of those “who to call in case of an emergency” books.
Michael and his older brother, David, mowed lawns for several years. I bought a used Chevy S-10 the summer before David’s senior year. Michael couldn’t drive a car yet, but he could mow a lawn. I provided the riding mower, a push mower, a gas blower and a trailer. They provided the muscle.
The township took mowing bids on three cemeteries under their jurisdiction. We bid on all three and were awarded one. That turned out to be a big mistake. The cemetery had uneven ground, irregular grave spacing, and a hill. It was a lot of work. More than we had bargained for. The boys did the work, but I fielded the complaints when the grass wasn’t cut in a timely fashion.
The boys took on several lawn customers around the lakes. They worked around Lake LeAnn, Lake Somerset, and Devil’s Lake. Mowing lake lawns turned out to be more profitable than mowing cemeteries. They bought the gas, sharpened the blades and sought “tune-up advice” from our neighbor, Emil. Emil taught the boys all he knew about keeping a mower in good shape. (I knew where to put the gas.)
Michael continued his lawn jobs all through high school. His client base grew and his customers remained loyal. Many new jobs were acquired by word of mouth. His customers knew he did a great job and shared his contact information with anyone who asked.
Sophie was a client for many years. She followed his path back and forth in the house through the living room, down the hall, and into her bedroom while he drove east and west across the lawn. In winter she hired him to shovel her driveway. Once she asked him to drive her to Detroit to visit her family. He declined.
Sophie called for Michael even after he headed off to college and quit the mowing business. Her deep, raspy voice was easily identifiable. Sometimes she just breathed into the phone. Occasionally, her voice was preceded by silence. We always knew it was her and what she wanted. Most of her calls contained only one word, “Michael?” She had trouble accepting that Michael was no longer available to help her. She trusted his dependability. Which brings me to today.
My “going on 102” friend, Ed, bought a new mower this week. He had a 1947 Rolls Canhardly riding mower. He loved the mower but the thingamagig locked up. He took it in to be repaired but locating parts for a 47 Rolls Canhardly proved to be problematic. Ed decided that it was time for a new one.
Ed’s son, Craig, helped him pick out a new mower. One of Craig’s friends sells them. After picking out the new ride, the salesman showed Ed its list price, offered to sell it a much lower price, and Ed said, “I’ll take it”. When he wrote up the invoice, the salesman said, “What the heck, I’m going to drop off another $100.00 and pay the sales tax for you. (The salesman must understand that word of mouth thing.)
Ed is happy with the great deal he received, but he did have one final question. “Can you throw in the extended warranty too?”
He figured that if he had the extended warranty on the Rolls Canhardly he wouldn’t have had to purchase a new mower at all. Seems like you can teach an old dog new tricks.
