Another Good Friend, M. J. Leach of Pawtucket
And there was my good old friend, M. J. Leach of Pawtucket. I speak of him in the past tense because he, too, has departed. M. J. Leach died as he lived, with a happy smile and an expression of good cheer on his lips, as if to say, "I have run my race, and now let me get out!" Mr. Leach, whom I met about 1890, was always a friend to me. I vividly recall my first meeting with him. Despite the general notion of "laugh and the world laughs with you; weep and you weep alone," Mr. Leach seemed to have the laugh all to himself on that occasion. Things were not prosperous with me, and it was with a heavy heart, and discouragement written on my face, that I entered his store. I was a stranger to him, and a new drummer must perforce put on a smiling face whether so inclined or not. Else his battle is completely lost. In this particular case it was Mr. Leach who cheered me up by his attitude. First of all, he wanted to know if I was sick. Receiving a reply to the contrary, he demanded heartily,
"Then what the deuce is the matter with you? Isn't the sun shining, and isn't the bird singing?" (pointing to a canary in one corner.)
His good humor was contagious. I cheered up. I knew that an order was in store for me, and I was not disappointed. In the years that followed, my calls on M. J. Leach meant a great deal of pleasure to me. I often partook of his hospitality. Taking it for granted that the forbidden food, pork, was a diet obnoxious to every Jew, he would always delight in saying to me: "Now, Skidelsky, we have a feast for you, especially prepared for your benefit.
We have a fine roast of pork, and I know that you like pork. We can also accommodate you with a slice of fried bacon. Come along."
At one time—it was in the Summer—we were at dinner. The sky clouded up, a strong wind came from the east, then thunder and lightning commenced. Mr. Leach remarked that there was no reason why the elements should be in revolt, since we were observing all the Mosaic laws at that meal; in other words, since there was no pork on the table. He told a favorite story of Colonel Ingersoll's:
"A Jew entered a restaurant, and after scanning the bill of fare his eyes alighted upon an item that appealed to his palate. He called for ham and eggs. No sooner had the dish been placed on the table than a terrific thunder resounded in the air. The Jew jumped from his seat, exclaiming: 'What a racket, what a racket, over a little piece of ham!'"
Like all men, Mr. Leach had his likes and dislikes. The latter were especially directed against dogs, automobiles, and feminism. He could never bear the idea of a woman's taking interest in public affairs, asserting that God Almighty created her to bring up children and take care of a home. I never argued the point with him, preferring to keep my own opinions about it to myself. As to dogs, he simply could not bear the sight of the creatures, the truest friends of man. In his younger days he may have had an encounter with some brute of a dog in the western States where he lived for awhile; and perhaps it was the remembrance of that encounter that made him put a ban on all dogs. The automobile, however, got the best of Mr. Leach. In later life he was won over to its favor so completely that he owned a magnificent Packard himself.
My friendship of many years' standing for M. J. Leach continues with his sons, Herbert, Edward, and Raymond. These young men have not only inherited the business of their father, but his good qualities as well, both personally and in business. Mr. Herbert Leach conducts the stores in Pawtucket, while Edward and Raymond are at the head of the large greenhouse range a few miles outside the city.
