The Cobbler
A fictional short-short story
My dad taught me how to be a shoemaker, a cobbler. In his little store in Little Italy in Manhattan, next to the olive oil store, I learned how to sew soles, glue heels, even shine shoes the right way. For example, you should fill the shoes with newspaper to firm up the shoe’s top so the polish penetrates the crevices.
As important, my dad said, “Every shoe tells a story:” Metal taps on soles suggest the person is a showoff or careful with money. Smelly shoes suggest good health — Sweating is a sign of good circulation. In contrast, heels worn more than toes suggest ill health or a reticent personality.
Get Marty Nemko’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
My dad never got rich but succeeded with nearly every customer, which felt good, and they were grateful for his honesty, like, where possible, suggesting a free or inexpensive fix. So he felt good about his little shop. Then he noticed his hand shaking and it got worse, Parkinson’s, so he retired and gave the shop to me. Tearful, really.
Over time, the business slowed. I don’t believe I was any less competent or kind than my dad was but the price of shoes is declining so people are replacing rather than repairing. And more people wear sneakers, even to work.
It became tough to pay the rent so I decided to ask upscale retailers like Nordstrom and boutiques if they would refer customers to me and they did, but those other factors were too tough. So eventually, I gave up my storefront but convinced the olive oil store next door to let me use the space in the back and to put my “Shoe Repair Shop” sign in his window. That has been working, but today, I just noticed my hand starting to shake.
I read this aloud on YouTube.
Marty Nemko is a career and personal coach, and author of 34 books including Dark: short-short stories on life’s darker side. You can reach Marty at mnemko@gmail.com
