This reminds me of another true story, teo.
There was an old jukebox operator in Laurel MS. named Sam Bowers.
He called his company Sambo Amusment Company.
That was a takeoff both on his name and on Little Black Sambo.
Bowers was at one time the Grand Wizard of the Mississippi Ku Klux Klan.
You may have heard of him. He murdered a black civil rights activist and got away with it for decades because no jury would convict him. And then after he got old, they finally were able to convict him and put him in prison.
But between the murder and his eventually going to prison, I was buying antique jukeboxes and other old coin-op machines from him. What can I say, I'm a whore. If I didn't buy them and profit off of it somebody else would have.
Anyways, I'll never forget first going into his warehouse. The thing had tarps hanging from the ceiling all over it. And the tarps were filled with rainwater.
I asked one of his workers what that was all about. And what he told me was astonishing.
It seems old Sam was a skinflint like me. And a packrat and a hoarder.
Whenever he changed the oil in his vehicles, he didn't dispose of the used oil. He saved it in barrels. Had years of it stored up because he figured one day he could put it to use for something.
Well apparently that one day came. He never spent any money on roof repairs so the roof started leaking all over the thing.
Sam got the brilliant idea of how to patch the roof. He mixed flour with the used motor oil and thought that would make a good roof patching material to stop the leaking.
I asked the worker if it worked. He laughed and said after they got up there and patched the roof with that mess and the first rain came, instead of water leaking from the roof, it was like molasses leaking from the roof instead. Everything including the people were covered in it.
So old Sam abandoned that idea and bought a bunch of tarps and hung them from the ceiling to catch the water (and the molasses). And when I got there what I saw was tarps full of water about to come down on my head. Needless to say I worked really quick to get the jukeboxes out of there and onto my truck.
He really was a crazy old fuck. That was his main warehouse but he had other warehouses scattered around town. Even though he was a millionaire, he drove me around to those other warehouses in his wore out old Ford Pinto which would barely run.
Won't ever forget it.
When he finally went to prison, he turned the whole thing over to this kid who worked for him named Harmon. Harmon called us back to buy the rest of the stuff and old Harmon bragged that he was keeping all the money and screwing the old boy out of it.