How Pews Produced Profit

When I was a boy, Jaybird often took me to The Old Rugged Cross Chapel, a tiny country church, always packed on Sunday.

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I remember the towering, trumpet-voiced preacher, Reverend Moses Malachi Magee, whose sermons balanced hell-fire-brimstone admonitions with soft-spoken, impassioned pleas to do unto others, as we would have them do unto us. I remember the ladies, so dignified in their Sunday-best white dresses and wide-brimmed hats, who sometimes writhed uncontrollably in rapturous moments, shouting hallelujahs, offering orisons to the Almighty and waving bright red bandannas while being ushered outside to regain their composure. I remember the powerful, moving, rhythmic, hypnotic, gospel music — how it coalesced the congregation into a collective, swaying mass, chanting in a unified, volcanic voice that rolled like a symphonic tsunami across the surrounding cotton fields. I remember the pews — hard, uncomfortable, straight-backed, flat-bottomed, cypress board benches. When the church bought new ones, I asked Jaybird what would happen to the old pews. “They’ll burn ’em. Too bad. If a fellow was to fix ’em up, they’d probly sell like hotcakes.” “Really? Let’s do it! Please ask Reverend Magee if we can have them.” My mentor hoped I would say that. 

 From the pews that were beyond repair, we salvaged pieces, and used them to patch up the rest. When we finished, thirty were in fine shape, and we set one on the porch of the farm’s commissary store with a “For Sale” sign on it. 

I thought we should write “$10” on the sign, but Jaybird said, “First, let’s see if anybody makes us an offer.”

 Not long after, a town lady, Mrs. Cefalu, stopped at the store. Noticing the pew, she said, “That would look nice under the shade tree in my backyard. Is that yo’ pew, boy?” “Yessum.”

 “Will you take $20 for it?” Straight-faced, I held out my hand. I gave Jaybird the money, and we hauled another pew to the store. Smirking, he asked, “You still want to write $10 on a sign?” 

 The next day, two ladies, friends of Mrs. Cefalu, pulled up to the store in a pickup. Each wanted two pews. After loading them and collecting eighty bucks, Jaybird said, “We only got a few left. If y’all know anybody who wants one, we’ll take $30 apiece while they last.” The ladies nodded and drove away. “Do you really think folks will pay $30 for those old pews, Jay?”

 “Well, they didn’t cost us nothing,” he said. “So, whatever we make is profit. I say we risk sticking with $30.” 

 The gamble paid off. We sold all of the pews and divided the money. My share was a whopping $425! In an unforgettable way, Jaybird masterminded a simple little business venture to teach me a basic principle of free enterprise: Balance what you stand to gain against what you might lose. If the risk is acceptable, take it. For a wise old black man and a boy he loved, that’s how pews produced profit.