Fifty Cents Down And Fifty Cents A Week Antonio D'Andrea   © Copyright 2025 by Antonio D'Andrea

Vintage Benrus Men's Manual-Wind Goldtone Watch. Photo by Joe Haupt at Wikimedia Commons.

My parents decided that Larry should have a gold watch for a going away present. As this was a very special purchase, the neighborhood jewelry stores were not "good enough," my mother's words, for such an important gift. The following Saturday, my mother led my father and dragged me by the hand, into the ferocious mouth of the subway, for our thirty minute trip "Downtown."

We were spewed from the monstrous eel at Fulton Street, the heart of “Downtown Brooklyn “, across the street from the Paramount Theatre. I was excited by the sights and sounds of the street, and was secretly glad my mother made me go. After a hot dog and an orange drink at Nedick’s, we started our trek in search of a watch. After, what seemed like endless window shopping, my mother had narrowed the selection down to two stores. One, a small family run store, the other, a large jewelry chain-store, called Finley-Strauss, later to be called Kay-Finley, and today known as Kay Jewelers.

My parents, who were Italian immigrants were always wary about doing business, in unfamiliar surroundings, with non-Italians, but this was their “Lucky Day”. As we perused the sparkling goods, in the Finley-Strauss window, a salesman obviously recognizing my parents as people “from the other side”, came out of the store with a hearty “Buon Giorno “ My father relieved of not having to go into the store and “bargain”in English. He looked like a man being pulled from quicksand. He quickly grabbed the hand being offered by the salesman and allowed himself to be led into the store. Everyone was smiling and talking in Italian, and my mother explained their request. We were ushered into small velvet chairs, and the salesman without skipping a beat, brought out several beautiful watches, amid their conversations about “the old country”.

The gift was finally selected. It was a Benrus, gold filled watch, with an expansion band. It was beautiful.

“How much was this handsome timepiece.?” My father inquired.

“Eighty-nine, ninety-five” responded the salesman, “And a bargain at that price”.

I watched my father start to squirm with the realization, it was much more than he had intended to spend, and was not prepared with that much money. If we were not in”public”. He would have said “Are you crazy? That’s three months rent!”, as we were paying twenty five dollars a month, for the six room, cold-water flat, we were renting at that time. Or, he might have said, “That’s almost a months pay!” He was earning Thirty five dollars a week, but my family always had a tendency to exaggerate.

However, being the proud man he was, he would never say “I can’t afford it..” So, instead he said, “We’ll have to think about it.”, thus, shifting some of the embarrassment over to my Mother as well. Wrong move, Pop. My Mother spoke up.

“What’s there to think about? Larry is leaving in less than two weeks. When will we have time to shop? Isn’t he worth the money? He may never come back from the war.” Tears began to swell in her eyes. “It’s a beautiful watch, I want him to have it.”

My Father had no response.

The Salesman grinned, knowing my Mother had overcome the “client’s objections “ a lot easier than he would have been able to. He enjoyed his victory for a few moments, before he let my Father stop sweating. Then, he said,”You don’t have to pay for it all at once. We can accept, let’s see….” He paused long enough to assess my father’s financial condition..”….thirty dollars down, and you can pay for the rest on CREDIT.”

CREDIT, my father thought, the magic word had been spoken. CREDIT! In America you could buy things without money. In the “Old Country “ only a select few had that privilege. “Buy today, pay tomorrow “ was one sign hanging over the cashiers window, at the back of the store. “Fifty cents down and fifty cents a week” was the store’s newspaper advertising slogan. The whole idea of going into debt made my Father very, very nervous. No one in our small circle of friends and family had any credit whatsoever. Hadn’t Frank DiPasquale, our neighbor and owner of the local grocery store, buy his home and even his business on CREDIT? Now, that he thought about it, his brother, my Uncle Cono, who spent last summer visiting with us, went back home to Calabria bearing some gifts he had bought on CREDIT.

My Father, a simple man, never understood the complexities of loans, interest rates or contracts. His handshake and his word were his binding agreements.

The magic word had been spoken. It was time he modernized his thinking and embraced his fellow Americans in the race of “Who can buy the most on CREDIT “

“Okay” my father answered. “ I guess we’ll take it.”

To make my father feel good about his decision to buy the watch, the salesman continued his pitch. “The CLOSE.”

“Wouldn’t your son be proud to own such a fine watch?….and to think he’s going off to war…to fight for America “ he went on and on talking while all the time as if by magic, a Credit application appeared before us. “ You’re a good man, a good father.” He concluded, brandishing his pen like a magic wand.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fill it out.” He said, “you just answer the questions I ask you.”

The application had been completed. The deposit was made and my parents were told to come back the following week, to pick up the watch. “After all, the credit has to be “approved “ .” The salesman concluded with a handshake and my parents were dismissed.
During the subway ride home, everyone was quiet. I could see my fathers mind churning. Had he made the right decision? Well, he had intended to spend as much as fifty dollars anyway, and he was wondering why my mother never asked about the down payment money. She was preoccupied with her own thoughts and reservations.

Would the store contact his references? Or his Employer? That would be a “disgrace “ he thought, should his friends, family or employer find out he couldn’t even afford to buy his son, a going away present. What an embarrassment!

My Father had only had CREDIT, of a sort, one time in his life, and that was when he worked in the coal mines of West Virginia, at the “Company Store”. That didn’t feel like credit. You were expected to shop there and the money was deducted from your pay. They never fired anyone who owed the store money. When your store “privileges “ were suspended, you knew you would soon be out of a job as well.

The week went by slowly, with the anticipation of the upcoming party. Every night at dinner, the conversation between my parents, always seemed to come back to the “CREDIT APPROVAL “. We all waited anxiously for the weekend.

“GOD FORBID, THEIR CREDIT NOT BE APPROVED !”

Saturday came. Once again we were transported “downtown “, in the belly of the eel. This time, I would have to wait until we picked up the watch, before I could get my hot dog and orange drink.

As we entered the store, the Italian salesman, approached us with a big smile and an extended hand, speaking Italian “Buon Giorno, your credit is approved and your watch is ready for pickup.”

A wave of relief swept across my father’s face, erasing the worry lines of anxiety, he had been etching for the past week. Although, he knew nothing of the procedures involved in approving credit, he was sure it had to do with his reputation of honesty.

So, of course he had been approved. Why had he been worrying? He was an honest man and honest men in America all had CREDIT.

After the ritual of signing contracts, and the issuance of a payment book, (payment one dollar per week). The beautiful watch was presented. It came in a blue velvet box, with the name Finley-Strauss, embossed in gold letters, on the satin lining of the box top.
What a wonderful gift it was. One to be cherished for a lifetime.

We left the store, the watch securely locked in my mother’s large handbag. She held the pocketbook, as if she were carrying the “Jewels of India”, with my father riding “shotgun “ at her side. The pride of having a “charge account “, made us all feel giddy. After my hotdog and orange drink, on our walk back to the subway, my father, never one to squander money, asked me if I would like a pinwheel, that a street vendor was selling. Quickly, taking advantage of this unaccustomed generosity, I asked for a yo-yo instead. He gave me a curt look, then smiled, “Why not”, he said. We went home, Yo-Yo in hand and pride in our hearts.

Larry’s going away party was a great success. All my Aunts, Uncles and cousins were there.Young friends of my brothers and sisters played Tommy Dorsey records, and danced in the living room, which had been cleared and decorated for the occasion. Rental chairs lined the walls, balloons adorned the ceiling, and people overflowed in every room. Some were even sitting on the steps in the hallway. Larry got to hug and kiss all the girls, yuk. Some of his friends had “the hard stuff”, hidden in pocket flasks. My father only served wine and beer, so they drank the beer and took secret sip from their silvery flasks, when they thought no one was watching.

The evening climaxed with the presentation of a big cake made by my uncle, who worked in a bakery. “Good luck Larry “, was scrawled across the white icing in red, and the sides were decorated in blue. Then the procession of gift bearers began. A razor…a shaving brush…a toilet kit..an ID bracelet and several St. Christopher medals assured us of his safety.

Finally, the opening of the watch.

As Larry slowly opened the gold paper wrapped box, a hush fell over the guests, awaiting his reaction. When he finally opened it, tears filled his eyes, for being the oldest he knew what a sacrifice this must have been. He went to my mother and gave her a big hug and kiss. Acting the man, he extended his hand to my father, who pulled Larry to him, gave him a crushing embrace and kisses on both cheeks.

Everyone oohed and ached over the gift. My relatives patted my father and Larry on the back. Everyone hugged one another, and laughed and cried, and the party went on long after I had fallen asleep in my mother’s lap.

Larry left early the next morning for boot camp, and we did not see him again for the next three years, when the war ended. He lost the watch somewhere in the pacific, and is probably being worn by a South Pacific Islander today. The family didn’t care, we were happy to have him home safe and in one piece.

During that time, my mother religiously took me every Saturday to make the payments on the watch. The subway, which was once a monstrous eel to me, became my friendly “Puff, the magic Dragon “. I was four years old when they bought the watch and seven when Mom made the last payment. My parents had no debt at that time, and America didn’t have much debt either. I guess you can call us a “real American family “, because like America, we are in debt today and still spend more than we make.

Ironically, as destiny would have it, I was to become the Credit Manager of that store, I had visited so many times as a child. I replaced a young man who left New York, went to Hollywood to become an actor. His name was Bob Crane.

Twelve years after that, I went to Hollywood too.

But, that’s another story…………………..