"Counter Culture endeavors to tell the stories of life behind the sales counter. Passed over the "counters" we've discussed so far have been shoes, windows, house deeds, granite countertops and dance lessons — to name a few of the purchases. In a bit of a twist, and to salute a longtime small business that Lexington will doubtlessly miss, we add to this list faces and hands: those of the numerous clocks that Al Dodson, master clockmaker, has repaired since 1971 for the time-conscious citizens of the Bluegrass. At the end of September 2006, his small shop at 1481 Leestown Road will tick its last tock, and his doors will close.
Jim Dodson, Al's father, was a watchmaker whose shop was originally located at 110 North Upper Street, and it was from this location that he passed his craft on to his son. With his father's knowledge and that acquired at a community college, he opened his own business in 1971. Beginning with a spot in the Lexington Antique Gallery, he moved to a house on the corner of Ransom and Central Streets, to the Meadowthorpe Antique Gallery and, finally in 1987, to his family-owned location, now up for sale. With a quick laugh and a ready smile, he shakes his head as he tries to recall a particular retail counter encounter that might be worth relaying. "People always amaze me," he said, "But I guess it was one elderly woman who admitted a mistake that I remember best. She came into the shop saying that I had one of her clocks. I didn't remember her bringing it in. She had brought one in, but that wasn't the one she was looking for. Anyway, we searched the shop high and low."
He sweeps his hands over the walls, hanging with wooden boxes with swinging pendulums dangling below them, and across to the shelves stacked high with beautifully aged wooden cases. "Finally she left, convinced, I think, that I'd lost it. Later on she came back in. I know it wasn't easy for her, but she told me she'd made a mistake. She'd found the clock. She was so embarrassed. I told her it wasn't a problem — but I guess it goes to show that the customer isn't always right!"
Again, his easy laugh mixes with the chiming tones of his keepsakes. The contagious smile that spreads across his young face begs the question of why he is closing down. "Burnt out, I guess you could say," he says as he shrugs his shoulders. "Values have gone way down, and the modern stuff is atrocious. It isn't worth the service or the fixing. I don't enjoy fixing it, and I can find a lot of other jobs that I don't like to do just as well!"
With a little over a month before he folds up, the task of emptying the shop's shelves seems daunting. "Been on the phone a lot," he explains. One or two pieces have been waiting for their owners for five years or more. "Not too many of those, though," he says.
Asked for a memorable piece he has repaired, he remembers a family piece, a grandfather clock whose original insides had been replaced with the new workings he dislikes.
"Ebay — we found original pieces," he explains.
Is there an apprentice he's taught to take his place? "No — I've trained one or two, but they are hobbyists," he says. His favorite clockmaker? "Chauncey Jerome — an American clockmaker," Dodson answers. "He was the Henry Ford of early American clocks. (From the) 1840s through the 60s, he understood the market — a great industrial realist," he says, though he denies an avid passion for clocks in general.
And what does the future hold? "I'm not sure," he says. Did the solitary nature of his craft play a part in his decision to retire? "Oh, no," he adds quickly, shaking his head. The multiple tickings of the surrounding time pieces seem to fade as I notice a beautiful guitar resting on a stand in the corner, next to his workbench. The wood deftly relays a warmth that implies a mellow sound from its missing strings. Readying to leave, I ask, "Do you play?"
"Yeah, but I made this one," he says. He picks it up and turns it over, and I hesitate to suggest that another time-honored craft is waiting for him. The high polish on the guitar face reflects an easy grin as he nods to my admiring compliments.
Have a remarkable tale of retail that you'd like to share with Business Lexington readers? Send your information to linda@bizlex.com.
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