H. Dittburner & Son, Foresters Falls

Any time of the year could result in an impromptu visit to H. Dittburner & Son on Main Street in tiny Foresters Falls for anything from a welding job or tube of grease to a new Case or David Brown tractor. A New Holland Haybine, a Pioneer chainsaw, or a McClary electric range or refrigerator were all possibilities. Dittburner's wasn't a big dealership by some measures, but it was VITAL and busy. Any farm with New Holland hay and harvesting equipment in particular relied heavily upon it, and Roy Dittburner saw to it that they were taken care of in the best possible fashion. Bales of twine were stacked neatly inside the entrance during the summer to be right at the ready on a hay day when you ran out and had to make a "dash to Dittburner's". Such was their attention to detail for the customer.

As small potatoes as the Bowes operation was, each time Dad and I would go in, Roy would personally come out of his office to meet us with his signature huge smile and a genuine greeting of, "What can I do for you fellas today?" And a hand shake. Each and every time. THAT'S how business is done right there. It was as if we were his biggest dairy clients who had bought a Case 2090, a David Brown 1390, and a New Holland 718 forage harvester in the past year. I loved Roy. I loved his Dad, Henry, and I loved their operation. In 1976 or 1977, they celebrated their Golden Anniversary of being in business. Everyone who went in got a gold button, big or small, young or old. I possibly still have mine somewhere.

When my sister and I were little, and Dad went in for repairs or supplies, Henry would take us each by the hand, and lead us past the old crank phone (which still worked) on the front wall to the back of the repair shop, where there was a water immersion Coca Cola cooler in the glossy, trademark, contrasting red and white colours we all know. He'd fish in his pockets for the right change, and dole it out to each of us, so we could have the enjoyment of putting it in the coin slot ourselves. He'd then open the cooler lid and let us fish our own cold pop of our choice out the hanging rails and up through the release gate with that unique clinking sound of wet glass on steel. It was really fun to do that. There was a rag for wiping the water off the bottle near at hand. We'd then pop the cap off on the opener on the front of the cooler with it's own, unique, fun, 'ka-pish' sound, and take our first sip of our ice cold drink. I most likely got an Orange Crush while my sister, Polly, would have chosen a Cream Soda or a Coke, because she was so much more mature than me. She always watched TV shows that were over my head, and she chose soft drinks that were over my head, too. Big sisters are like that. Henry would pat us grandfatherly on the head and take us by the hand back to the front of the shop where it was safer for children, and then go to see to Dad while we enjoyed our drink. We were as poor as church mice, but Henry made us feel important and welcome and cherished. My goodness, where have such wonderful, wholesome people like that gone? What a lasting sentiment and endearing memory treatment like that leaves in your heart and mind. I grew up from that with the desire to seek out and treat little children at a store or gas station who appeared less fortunate, and got such immense satisfaction and fulfillment out of their joy, even if it may only have been short-lived.

Learning from Henry's heartwarming example, as a young adult, I carried change in my pockets to dole out to little ones so they could pay for their own treat of their choice. I was incensed and infuriated to no end when the time came, because of sick, vile, evil, absolutely ABOMINABLE people, that such behaviour was then regarded with suspicion, because it robbed both the child AND myself of our joy at such an encounter. I ranted and ground my teeth in fury at what we were being told was happening on the news. I would have been judge, jury, and executioner for such a one as that. The innocence of a child is absolutely PRICELESS. And so is their joy and the sight of it. It cost them so much. It cost me so much.

For a while, I would leave a couple of loonies or a twoonie for each with the cashier, and point out the children in the store to him or her, instructing them to give them to the kiddies as they approached the counter or the door, and then I'd leave. Nobody then ever knew it was me and couldn't accuse me of something so far beneath my character and intent. It wasn't the same satisfaction of seeing their little faces light up with delight, but I could imagine it in my mind's eye because I had BEEN there, first hand. Later I reluctantly stopped doing even that much out of caution and had to satisfy myself with, "It's the thought that counts". I was so sorry to see that time so quickly fade into oblivion.

I wish all little kids today could have the experience I had as one myself at H. Dittburner & Son, Ltd. There is something to be said for the 'advantage' of not having money. The sudden joy of an unexpected windfall, as tiny and finite as it might be, is certainly one of them. The children of wealthy people would and will never understand. Us poor family farm kids sure did, though. We learned lasting appreciation and respect for and from the kindness of others that way.