Dad's grocery store didn't last, but it raised a family

Like pretty much everyone in Coeur d’Alene, I stopped in at the new Trader Joe’s to check things out and do a little shopping. I found it a nice, cozy store. Pleasant staff. Fair prices.

As I wandered through the aisles, I had to smile because it brought to mind a grocery store my father, Ray Buley, owned and operated when I was growing up in Seattle. 

As I recall, he quit his job delivering mail for the Postal Service to go out on his own. He had a wife, six kids and not much money, but he scraped up enough for the deal. He was determined and believed he could do it. It was the simple dream of a man who worked hard.

After scouting out possible locations, he opened it near the University District on Ravenna Boulevard, just across from Cowen Park. Today, that’s an area of expensive housing. Then, it was home to middle-class folks. Houses could still be bought by blue-collar workers.  

The store was basic. It had a light blue exterior with a few windows, a meat department, frozen food section. Two check-out stations. It was called Ray's grocery store, or something like that.

My father worked insanely long hours, seven days a week. My mom helped as she could, as did the kids. I recall my oldest brother, Michael, maybe 12 years old, worked the front cash register on weekends. Younger kids were paired with older ones to go out and deliver flyers, designed by my dad. We went door to door in the neighborhood, spreading the word about that week’s specials. We swept and cleaned and kept the shelves stocked and displayed. We were not paid, if I remember correctly, but those lessons in personal responsibility stuck. 

It was a fun time.  

I liked to sneak around in the walk-in cooler where we kept the items that had to be refrigerated, like dairy. At night when the store closed, the lights were turned out and my brothers and sisters and I played hide and seek. 

It was also dangerous. 

My father kept a shotgun in the back room. It was nearly the end of my brother, Mark, who was messing around with it and managed to pull the trigger. It was loaded and put a hole in the ceiling, narrowly missing my brother. Today, we laugh about it. Then, not so much.

The store did well enough, but it was a struggle financially. We kids ate a lot of food in the store, and we seemed to think it was free. My father was a soft touch and let a lot of people, including relatives, keep tabs for their grocery bills. Some never paid up.

About five years after opening his grocery store, my father had to give it up, drowning in the sea of red ink. He returned to the post office, where he would stay for several years before retiring at 60.

But I believe what my father did, striking out on his own in the very competitive grocery business, was incredibly courageous. It took guts to give up a secure job and salary to open a store. Even then, the profit margins were certainly slim. He knew this. 

I know he felt defeated and that he had failed. I hope someone told him otherwise.  

At the time, being a little kid, I didn’t say anything. Didn’t give it much thought, really. I just assumed things would work out, and they did. My father pushed on. But it took something out of him. I wish I had let him know I was proud. 

My dad didn’t give up. He later opened his own janitor business, and again, the kids pitched in. We cleaned banks and office buildings. It helped keep the family finances afloat. I remember once asking my father if he thought maybe I could get paid for the work I was doing. My father was fair. He nodded and later gave me $35, a sum I’m not sure how he arrived at, but which I’m sure he likely needed to pay bills. To me, it was a fortune. A gift above all others. I was overjoyed and blew it on baseball cards, magazines and books.

While I did not inherit my father’s courage and sense of adventure, I learned the value of hard work and still follow in his footsteps. To this day, part time, evenings, I still do janitor work. My father would be proud.

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Bill Buley is assistant managing editor of The Press. he can be reached at bbuley@cdapress.com.