By Neal Pollack
“Everybody knows Stosh,” says Pete Rodriguez, who’s been stopping by the store for nearly 40 years. “You gotta know Stosh.”
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Stosh is a tiny man with big eyes, pants hiked up high, and a full head of hair that’s not entirely his own. In warm months, he sits on his stoop in a rusty brown colored chair, mumbling about the White Sox and waiting for the kids to stop by. If they don’t come, he’s usually visited by folks from the old neighborhood, Polish or Mexican, depending on which old neighborhood you’re talking about. If things are slow, he’ll invite visitors back to his kitchen behind the store for a snack or a game of cards. If the trickle of kids is steady, he’ll sling the bull from behind the counter.
“Hey, whaddya say, you bum?” called Stosh. “You finished that job?”
Another man walked in to buy a pack of gum and said: “It’s unavoidable. Every day of my adult life, I have to put up with Stosh. Is there any wonder why I turned out the way I did?”
“Eh shaddup, you cranky old brick,” Ray said. “I come in here smelling like shit, and he treats me like shit.”
Other items of interest include a copy of the March 1997 issue of Chicago magazine headlined “How to Remodel and Avoid Disaster,” a book called Valiant Companions: Helen Keller and Her ‘Miracle’ Worker, and a copy of Picture Week magazine from October 20, 1986. These are still for sale, Stosh says, along with ancient bottles of arthritis salve, Mexican votive candles, and dice, which go for 40 cents apiece.
