Pluckemin

Pluckemin New Jersey is at the intersection of Interstates 78 and 287 in North Central Jersey.  Local lore says it got its name from a tavern master in the 1700's who saw men loitering in front of his establishment. He appealed to a bar patron and said go pluck 'em in! Makes sense to me. 

It was a small town where everyone knew each other. My hometown church, Pluckemin Presbyterian was close by to the A&P grocery shopping center. In addition to the supermarket, the center housed Valley Pharmacy, a barber shop, Buxton's Diner and Ice Cream, Martha's Cleaners and the Peapack-Gladstone Bank. Jack Stine's Colonial Liquors was across the street. Ballentine's Exxon Garage made its longtime home across the road on the other corner.  Local "celebrities" and the police force...all three officers, including Officer Stulach (stoo-lack), frequented the curved counter closest to the kitchen at Buxton's to drink "Hottles" of coffee.  Everyone else, not on the wagon, holed up down the street at The Pluckemin Inn, affectionately known as The Plucky. It was a beer and shot joint and sometimes patrons spilled out in front of the church manse that housed the Pastor next door. 

Pluckemin was the center of my teenage life in the 70's. I worked there and frequented all the businesses aforementioned. Colonial Liquors and The Plucky came on board when I turned 18, the legal drinking age then.  Monroe Ballentine fixed my car when I couldn't. Monroe was gruff and short, but he always charged a fair price.  There were no Walgreens or Rite Aids yet, so we got our prescriptions from Valley Pharmacy. Smokes were 50 cents a pack. I got my hair cut at the barber shop where I'd go after some prodding from Mom. I let them take maybe an eighth of an inch off. Rich always did an entertaining stand up comedy at Martha's and I made regular deposits at PG Bank.

Of all the businesses in town, the A&P was the coveted destination for a part time job. Everybody who was anybody worked there. My pal Rusty worked the Produce Department. I pestered the store manager, Mr. Mitchell, a tall man with touch of gray hair until he finally said "come in tomorrow at 4 wearing a shirt and tie." 

 On my second day, Mr. Mitchell said "come with me Davy, I've got a new job for you." He led me back to the Meat Room and introduced me to Tony Capo, the Meathead...errrr, meat manager.  Tony was about my parent's age and had a jet black, slick back hair style with an ever present, expertly knotted necktie.  I later learned that he had an artificial limb on his right leg below his knee. I never knew why and I didn't ask. He had a wide white tooth smile and he handed me a white meat coat as he proclaimed me the new Clean Up Boy. Mr. Mitchell departed with a "he's all yours."  I looked around the room and could hear Keith saying "wait until you see the sh!+ they make you do." I didn't know it at the time, but working there would be life changing in large part because I learned the meat cutting trade. 

In 1973, the meat room had a wooden floor, covered in sawdust, butcher blocks, a meat grinder, a band saw, a meat tenderizer machine....and tons of knives in all sizes. An overhead rail came out of the 34 degree cooler into the cutting room with what they called "meat trees" on a single wheel rolling on the rail. Each meat tree had 6 hooks on either side attached to a flat piece of iron. Big quarter parts of beef were primarily hung on the trees. Next to each butcher block was a fat can for disposed fat trimmings from the meat. Every Tuesday the Fat Man came to cart off the fat can contents.

Across from the butcher blocks there were wrapping machines where Maryann, Ma Dobson and Roberta wrapped and priced the finished pieces of meat. My dear old friend Cindy, who was my age, was the Cold Cut Czar. 

The butchers who were there when I arrived were Joe K, Jack, Bob and Tony the boss. Bob greeted me and said I'm a BHB. Puzzled, I asked "what's a BHB?" He quickly answered "a Bald Headed Bastard." He seemed too friendly to me to be an actual bastard. 

Jack was a chain smoker and always had a cigarette hanging from his lips with an inch or two long ash while he cut at his block. From setting a smoke down there were burn marks lining either side of the block, all the way from end to end. Jack was also the one who sent me all over the store looking for the left handed shelf adjuster. 

Joe K was the Elder Statesman on the staff. At 65 years old, his retirement was imminent. Maryann affectionately dubbed him Duffer. He liked to say I looked like Abe Lincoln. I'd scratch my wooden head and tried to picture the perceived likeness in my in my head. Duffer liked to chew Beechnut while he worked and a trash box next to his block was always filled with discarded tobacco balls. I had never chewed tobacco, so I asked him if I could try. He handed me his pouch and cautioned me not to swallow any of the juice. I shoved a good sized wad in my mouth and immediately swallowed some juice. I turned green and hacked for a half hour. That was the last time I considered chewing tobacco.

It was my job to clean the place. Believe me, a grocery store meat room needs serious cleaning every day.  All the machine parts from the grinder, saw, tenderizer, walls and all the knives needed daily attention. I spread corn meal on the butcher blocks and ground them white with a special brush. The sawdust floor was raked free of errant fat pieces and fresh saw dust was added. Every week, the band saw blade was replaced.  Mr. Capo stressed that all machines were to be unplugged before cleaning. 

It was turning out to be a great job as I worked independently and could leave when the job was done. Payday was every Friday and we got paid in cash contained in little manila envelopes with the amount and deductions written by hand on the back. All the butchers stood around in a circle and played liar's poker with their bill's serial numbers. 

Pluckemin Part 2 up next