I had Wallace Chronshaw come into the shop today. He carried with him a cathedral-case Philco and said it was ‘badly in need of a tune-up or something. Could you do it right away?’ Wallace is the local manager of the Farmers Union Bank. It’s not my bank but naturally I know him well. We belong to the same lodge and the Kiwanis too. I prefer not to work on a set with its owner watching my every move, seeing how much or how little time it actually takes me. Working on someone’s set with a different customer present is no problem. I’m not going to tell them whose set it is and most definitely not going to show them what my bill is. I pleaded urgency for the chassis on the bench: that I had promised to have it ready when the owner left town for home. Not true actually.
Bringing the set in and the ‘could you do it right away’ was an excuse to stay and talk because he sat on one of the stools and stayed anyway. He counted the number of sets on the floor waiting for repair and the now repaired sets on the shelf. I could see that he was preparing his opening. He commented on the high quality of the new stock out on the sales floor. From there, his comments were that the business was obviously doing well in spite of conditions. I could consider myself one of the town’s better businessmen. The buttering-up was obvious.
I assumed that he was going to try and wean me away from his rival. I was wrong.
“Have you considered that property prices are now the lowest they have ever been? They’ll never go lower, you know. Things can only go up from here.”
“But I’m not interested in property. I have everything I need. The shop here is paid for and the house too now. Okay, so the house is a bit small but it’s entirely adequate when there’s just me.” Wallace seemed exasperated at my stupidity although, naturally, he didn’t say so. It was in his voice though.
“Yes, but you’ve got to think of the future. Strike while the iron is hot as they say. There’ll be some sweet young lady come along, and that could be any day now, and you’ll wish you’d thought ahead, had a home to offer her. And you can. Then there’ll be children. Children need plenty of room.” It was none of his business but I laughed.
“I doubt if anyone will ever see me as Mr. Right. Me? And I’m quite happy anyway.” But he was serious.
“Maybe you don’t think so but it will happen. And probably soon. You’ll need a bigger house. You’ll need a mortgage and that’s what we’re prepared to offer you.” To get rid of him I said, “Okay, I’ll have a think about it.”
That conversation was close to one that I’d had with Josh Clements at Valley Merchant. He offered me a mortgage out of the blue too. And here I get another unasked-for offer from a bank where I do not even have an account. What do they know that I don’t know? Or is there something else behind it?
The banks here are a mystery in themselves. There are two local banks. The Valley Merchant Bank and the Farmers Union Bank both with their head offices in Gatewell. There is, of course, no such thing as electronic funds transfer. Checks and cash are used for local transactions with daytime business being written up by hand in ledgers. Transactions beyond the valley are also apparently written up by hand but during the night. The question is how could that be? By whose hand? When goods are ordered from outside by phone or mail, the appropriate amount is somehow transferred from the buyer’s account. Credit is available for local trade but not for external transactions. It is strictly a bank debit.
I am, of course, with Valley Merchant and keep in well with,Josh, my bank manager. Since ‘29 one needs to. Yet when I was buying this place and needed a little more to finalize the deal, I couldn’t have it. So what has changed? It’s interesting to note that while ever so many small banks have gone to the wall neither of our two banks seem to have suffered although both now cry the need for careful management. I asked Josh how he felt about the after-hours business that happens here: his having no control over it. “Everyone has gone home. The ledgers are locked in the vault. All the doors are locked. So how does it happen?” My query was dismissed with a shrug of the shoulders that said ‘stupid question.’ I didn’t tell him that I’d been poleaxed while watching his precious bank at night.