The Baker

First jobs make lasting impressions.

I drove by the place a month ago when I was back in my hometown of Tomahawk, Wisconsin for my sister’s funeral. The storefront is still there, and it looks pretty much the same as it always has. It’s a small furniture store today, and there was wooden furniture for sale in the large front windows. Next to it sat a small cafe, where my wife and I went for breakfast on the day of the funeral. As we walked toward the cafe, a Maine Coon cat looked down on us from the canopy of the furniture store. Unable to resist, I looked in the windows of the store, and a flood of memories came to me.

In 1975, this furniture store was Otterholt’s Bakery, and it was where I got my first real job. I was 17 years old, and like most kids my age, I wanted to earn money to buy the things I wanted. Growing up in a small town, the opportunities for summer employment were limited, however. With a population of only 3500 people, there are only so many supermarkets, gas stations, and drive-in restaurants. Some of my friends had parents who owned businesses and they worked there. Of the remaining businesses, you had to have an “in” with them, a connection, to get hired. Those business owners hired the kids of their friends, and unless you were in their circle, the prospects were dim.