It was a Wednesday.  I know that.  1979, if I had to guess; but it could have been 1978 when I was introduced to the greatest kitchen cleaning tool I've ever encountered. 

Wednesday was pasta night at Cassano's Pizza and I was a dishwasher, working the busy Wednesday evening shift from 6:00 p.m. until 10:00 p.m.  As the tables were bussed of the green rarebit oval dishes which once held baked ziti, lasagna, spaghetti and veal parmesan, it was my job to keep the dishes clean and at the ready for more baking and serving.  The cheese and sauce and pastas would encrust the dishes so the industrial dishwasher could only do cleanup work.  Human hands were required to break through baked on mess. . .human hands and Chore Boy Golden Fleece scrubbing cloths.

"Put the pasta dishes into the water to soak a while or you'll never get the burnt cheese off," Kenny, the full-time dishwasher instructed me. 

Kenny operated the kitchen sprayer and washer.  He rinsed the plates, silverware and cups and ran them through the big round dishwasher.  My job was to get pans and other encrusted items clean enough that the dishwasher could sanitize them.  Golden Fleece was the perfect tool - a terry cloth treated with abrasive.  The rough cloth was flexible enough to get into tight corners and wrap around the edge of dishes, yet it easily released all the cheese and funk that came out of the dishes.  And that is the beauty of Golden Fleece.  Unlike so many competitors, Golden Fleece finishes its work and manages to stay relatively clean.  And since it isn't a sponge, it doesn't stink after a couple of day's use.   I grew to appreciate and respect the Golden Fleece as the "choice for serious cooking enthusiasts" even though I was just a cleaning enthusiast at the time.

Today I demonstrated this appreciation and respect.  As our home kitchen's last Golden Fleece wore thin, no new Chore Boy boxes filled the void in the cupboard under the sink.  "I'm having a hard time finding Chore Boys," my wife had told me earlier.  She brought home from the grocery a set of Scotch Dobie Pads.  "They didn't have Chore Boys," she reported as I went for my coat and recruited Ben in a Sunday afternoon mission: Search for the Golden Fleece.  I knew that Ben sensed my frustration as we marched in store after store to find sponges, scrubbers, brillos and brushes, but no Chore Boys.  Five stores we visited before hitting pay dirt at Lil' Bear Grocery Store in downtown Newark.  Mission accomplished, we stood in the check-out line with three boxes of Golden Fleece in hand - plus a couple of Slim Jims for the ride home.  Ben couldn't have known the tradition that was kept alive today.  Some day, I'll tell him but for now he better understands the meaning of "determination".