HARTSBURG AND THE TEMPERED GLASS
Shortly after World War II, Dad and Uncle Fred started their own business – Obermiller Brothers Amusement Company. They owned and operated coin-operated machines such as juke boxes, pinball machines, pool tables, slot machines and the like. All of us kids, Freddy, Nancy, Jan and I, worked at various times for Dad and Uncle Fred. I loved the business, the shop, the ‘locations’, fixing pin games, running routes, even counting thousands of dollars in coin by hand and wrapping rolls. From my earliest days of roaming until I entered graduate school I worked for Dad. I had many, many adventures in this connection, from brushes with strong-arm robbers and run-ins with the mob, to fending off hordes of Stevens College girls on Saturday morning while filling candy machines. This is a short lesson in life story from the tiny town of Hartsburg.
The Hartsburg story occurred when I was about 18. Hartsburg is a tiny river town south of Columbia on the Missouri. The town consisted of a general store, a church, some houses, and, of course, the tavern. Obermiller Brothers had a jukebox and a single pinball machine in the tavern. During the winter or school year I ran a candy machine route at the girls college. In the summer, I went where I was sent to service machines. Generally this was to the little rural towns such as Hartsburg. This summer I had a problem.
Saturday night is, of course, the big night in the rural taverns. The tavern at Hartsburg would fill up with farmers, river men, and red necks. As the evening wore on, the tavern patrons would get rambunctious. One particular young man played pinball as he consumed his beer. After some time, he would loose enough dimes that he would loose his temper. For several weeks in a row, he finished his last losing game by slamming his fist down on the pin game glass, breaking it. The tavern owner would call in the problem and I would be sent out to replace the glass.
Now, a pinball machine glass cost several dollars and sending me out to replace one every week cost several dollars. It doesn’t take too many dollars to eat up the rather meager profit gleaned from a pinball machine that is only played on Saturday night and then only for a couple of hours until the local yokel breaks it. Uncle Fred ran the pinball’s and we had a discussion. He decided I should go down to Hartsburg on Saturday and observe the proceedings. As no one in Hartsburg cared or perhaps even knew about the legal drinking age, this was all right by me. The tavern owner and I were well acquainted and as long as I was there on business I could drink all the beer I wanted. (It is amazing how that worked. I drank beer in numerous taverns all over central Missouri for years before I turned 21, but only when I was at the places alone and on business fixing machines.) I watched the guy play the game. He was really big – like 6’-2” and heavy – like 250 lbs., with a ½” beard and long greasy black hair. He drank six or seven beers while he played. He liked to bang the machine to help the balls move (this doesn’t really help but everyone did it) and frequently tilted ending the game. After a while he would be too drunk to win and with a last tremendous shake, tilt the game and slam his fist down on the glass, breaking it. Now, it is not easy to break a pinball glass. It takes quite a blow with a fist to do it, but the yokel was big enough and was very proud of his accomplishment.
So I reported to Uncle Fred. The next Saturday morning, some new pingame glass was delivered to the shop. Fred unpacked one and leaned it against the wall. “Come over and kick this,” he ordered. I demurred, not knowing why he wanted me to smash a new glass. “No, kick it and kick it hard,” he said. OK. I got in position and gave it my best karate kick. The glass bent, rebounded, and almost broke my knee. This was tempered glass, a new concept to me and quite expensive. Fred told me to load it up, run down to Hartsburg, and put it on the machine…and do it before patrons came into the tavern. Watch what happens and report back.
Well, I went down around 5:00 pm and did as directed. Later the tavern started filling up and my game was being played. Around 8:30, the yokel showed up and promptly commandeered the machine. The scenario played out as usual and by 10:00 he was clearly wearing out. Losing one last game, he picked up the machine a couple of inches, tilting it, and slammed it down. And now it was time for the big moment. Raising his fist over his head, he slammed it down on the glass. Like my foot earlier in the day, his fist rebounded into the air. The glass wasn’t fazed, but the guy let out a howl. He had broken his hand. I left later, taking the expensive tempered glass with me, and feeling enormously satisfied.
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