Mick’s Farewell Tale
As you probably know by now, I am handing over the helm to the young bucks, Charlie and Brenton, and moving to Mildura, on the River Murray, where all our kids and grandkids are living.
Of course, I still have a role in the business, I’ll be doing a lot more writing for theses pages, and I’ll be back from time to time, when the weather is warm and balmy and the tides are good.
It’s been a fifteen year roller coaster ride full of ups and downs, lots of pain and fun, and I guess that’s what life is all about, so no – no regrets!
Its been fifteen years filled with customers, thousands of faces, many friends. Some of whom have passed on, and I miss them dearly. Others, remarkably, who still wander in. “Howzitgoinmick?” I’ll miss you too!
When I first started at Coolalinga, a lot of customers realised that I didnt know a hell of a lot, (bugger all, they said) and they would spend hours on end teaching me the finer side of lures, rods, reels, bows, arrows, and the more obscure customs and practices of rural area culture! That was a fun time.
I remember with fondness Arnold Payne, who spent a lot of time kindling a passion for fly fishing that lasts today, before he passed away suddenly not long afterwards.
Then there was Dave the “Black Pom.” I was quite naive at the time, and late one Friday afternoon I had just finished counting the takings into the till. There was a few thousand dollars in notes. A bloke came in, and asked for some advice regarding the new soft plastic lures at the back of the shop. I vaguely remember that another bloke came in shortly afterwards. When they had both left, I opened the till to continue with the banking, to find it empty. I’d been set up!
I was pretty upset, as you can imagine. In those days a few thousand was big time, and the fact that I was fully insured had not yet dawned on me. The Black Pom walked in.
” What’s up Mick, looks like yuv seen a ghost”
I told him. “Bastards! It’s hard enough trying to make an honest buck without those pricks feeding off ya”
Dave had been one of my business coaches. He wasn’t a great fisherman but what he didn’t know about the phsycology of the Humty Doo mob wasn’t worth knowing. He springs into action.
” I think it’s time I bought that Calcutta Loomis combo we’ve bin talking about” he says, prising a roll of greasy $100 notes from the back of his shorts. ( Dave was a brickie; I’ve long suspected that he never saw a legitimate paycheck in his life!)
“I’ll let a few of the boys know,” he fires over his shoulder, leaving with his rod and reel. “An missus, you’d better get this lad a rum, he’s a bit shook up.” to Mrs Happy Mick as she walked in, responding to my panicked call.
To cut a long story short, next day was a record. (This was before the days of mobile phone, but the bush telegraph was a wonder to behold.) The shop was full of locals all day, spending up like it was Christmas Eve! By the end of the weekend I had covered our loss and more.
There are many stories like this, all customers, good blokes and all. And their womenfolk.
They’d come into the shop to complain about how much their hubbies were spending.
“I can fix that, you need to join Micks Family Club” I says, on the spur of the moment!
“Whats that?”
“Well, you pay us $500 per annum, and we refuse to sell your old man anything for a whole year!”
To my horror, some of them wanted to take me up on it.
Those were the days! It was fun. So here’s to all those rascals who made it so. Arnold, Spencer, Dave, Wayne, Rod, and all those whose names I can know longer remember.
Thankyou.
