Editor's note: This story was originally published on Oct. 27, 2017. We are bringing it back in honor of Chester Hollingsworth's 101st birthday on Oct. 18, when he finally retires from S&H Distributing in Dallas.
All he wanted was a little more sleep.
It was 5:45 a.m., 15 minutes before his alarm was set to ring, and Chester Hollingsworth lay in bed, tired, especially after a weekend celebrating a birthday he never thought he'd make.
A few more hours of rest, he thought, would do him well. But today was a Tuesday. And on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Hollingsworth goes to work.
The alarm clock rang. It was time to get out of bed.
He dug both elbows into the mattress and carefully twisted his body on its side. He dropped his legs off the edge, then slowly sat up. He rocked back and forth, warming up his limbs, before taking his first steps of the day.
Getting dressed took 30 minutes. The hardest part was his pants, where he leaned against a wall and tried to stay balanced.
That's what happens when you're 100 years old.
Hollingsworth hit the century mark on Oct. 18. Months before, he told family and co-workers the same thing: He would finally retire.
He has worked most of his life. By age 8, he was already picking cotton at the Greenville farm he grew up on. After high school, he worked odd jobs, as a waiter and at a credit union. When he returned from World War II, where he served in the Pacific, he and a partner started their own successful flooring company in Dallas.
By 1988, Hollingsworth was a founding partner in a new business — S&H Distributing in Dallas, where he still works, two days a week.
He said he'd retire, because that's what he thought a 100-year-old was supposed to do.
But now, just before 7 a.m. on a Tuesday, Hollingsworth was walking out the front door.
At his age, things beyond his control are constantly taken away. A hard day's work won't be one of them.
The love of his life
Mentally, he doesn't feel like he's 100. His mind is still sharp.
When asked about his wife, Catherine, Hollingsworth responds with a street address: 5430 Geer Ave.
They met at a USO dance in Los Angeles in 1942. Hollingsworth was in the Navy, and a month after meeting her, he was sent to a new base. In a time before cellphones, texts and video calls, all Hollingsworth could do to keep the spark alive was write her letters.
Her California address? 5430 Geer Ave.
Catherine died in 2011. They were married 68 years. Hollingsworth thinks about her every day.
He has actually retired — twice. The first time was in 1984, when his business partner bought him out. The second time was in 1990, for Catherine. He sold his share of S&H Distributing and went on a mission trip with her to Australia. Hollingsworth was in his 70s. Two years later, they returned to Texas, where Hollingsworth would play golf and relax all day.
"But my golfing buddies began to die off, and my score was going up instead of down, so I gave it up," he said. "Then, I got bored."
In 1993, Hollingsworth asked the owner of S&H, John Stacy Sr., if he could return and work two days a week. Ever since, his life has been built on routine.
Hollingsworth is Mormon. He doesn't drink alcohol, smoke or drink caffeine, but he does love sugar. Every day, he drinks a caffeine-free Dr Pepper. And every morning before work, he eats a chocolate-glazed doughnut.
When he's not working, he spends time with grandchildren, schedules lunch with friends or drives out to his farm in Celina.
But with age, that routine changed.
After Catherine died, Hollingsworth moved in with his son. Now, he lives in his daughter's guesthouse in Colleyville. And a few months ago, after a 96-year-old friend had a car accident, Hollingsworth surrendered his driver's license.
It was one more piece of independence lost.
What happened in 1917?
His off days are lonely. When he's not working, he's reading. He does a crossword puzzle every day. He relies on friends and family for rides.
Every day, there are reminders of his age.
At one of his many birthday celebrations, someone gave a speech about all the things that happened in 1917, the year he was born. The Titanic had sunk only five years earlier. A loaf of bread cost 7 cents. The hamburger bun had recently been invented.
"It made me feel kind of ancient," Hollingsworth said.
Technology is another reminder. It's beyond him. He never uses a computer. Just recently, his son upgraded his flip phone to a smartphone. The new device stresses him out. He doesn't have any contacts saved. Instead, he dials the dozen numbers he knows by memory.
Physically, within the last six months, he's noticed how difficult it is to stand up. His knees hurt. He walks with a cane. He wears hearing aids. But he's healthy. The only medication he takes is an allergy pill.
Though he moves slowly, Hollingsworth doesn't want to sit still. Work gives him purpose.
He's limited in what he can do at S&H. He used to make weekly trips to Sam's Club to pick up coffee, paper plates, cups and toilet paper for the office. But that became too much.
Now, he manages the floor samples. He makes sure they're organized and up to date. The job is tedious and requires plenty of paperwork. He doesn't mind.
Part of him thinks he shouldn't be working. But in his eyes, it beats the alternative — alone in a room all day.
It's also his choice.
"It's always up to Chester," 72-year-old store owner Stacy said.
"I don't care if he doesn't do a thing. He can come in, and sit at his desk all day."
'The checks don't bounce'
Hollingsworth emerged from the front door of his guesthouse at 7 a.m.. He wore a blue Honor Flight jacket and a black World War II veteran hat.
His private driver, Willie Evans, was parked in the driveway. Evans drives Hollingsworth to and from work. He helped him into the car, then with his seatbelt.
Three minutes into the drive, Hollingsworth had a request.
"Hey Willie, can we get some doughnuts?"
They pulled into the drive-through of a nearby Krispy Kreme. Hollingsworth ordered his regular: a chocolate-glazed doughnut and a bottle of chocolate milk.
They arrived at the office at 7:45. Hollingsworth gets there early so he can leave early, usually around 3 p.m. On this day, his first stop was the break room. His feet shuffled on the carpet in short, jagged steps.
At first, Hollingsworth sat and ate alone. Then, his co-workers sauntered in. They asked how his birthday weekend was. If he got any presents. How he felt today. The conversations were short, but this is what Hollingsworth loves — being around people.
One asked why he would still work at 100.
"Well," Hollingsworth said with a smile. "The checks don't bounce." Everyone laughed.
Now it was time for work. Hollingsworth gripped the break room table and pulled himself to his feet.
He shares an office with a sales manager. There are no pictures on his desk. Just a tape dispenser with his name on it. He also has a drawer full of Oreos and Circus Peanut marshmallows.
"That's my nibbling drawer," Hollingsworth said.
To start the day, he walked the rows of the store. He held a pamphlet and flipped through the floor samples, making sure each was up to date. He did this for an hour, then returned to his desk for more paperwork.
He looks forward to lunch every day. On Tuesdays, he eats at Mama's Daughter's Diner. At 11, his son Chris picked him up. When they arrived, a waitress greeted Hollingsworth at the door.
"Hey Chester, are you here for your chocolate pie?"
When seated, he ordered his usual: a caffeine-free Dr Pepper and a bowl of beef stew. When his food was served, he reached for the salt.
Throughout the meal, a few people approached the table to thank him for his service. One even asked for a picture. But the best interruption came at the end. A group of waitresses snuck behind Hollingsworth. They held a slice of chocolate pie with a lit birthday candle.
"Everyone listen up," the waitress said to the restaurant. "This man is 100 years old!" The whole diner sang happy birthday. Hollingsworth smiled.
He ate his chocolate pie. Before he left, a waitress handed him another slice, packed away in a paper bag.
"For later," she said.
Hollingsworth returned to work. He spent the next few hours on more paperwork. At one point, he checked the wood floor samples. They were disorganized, and some had no labels.
"We need to straighten this up," he said to a co-worker.
Hollingsworth started to create the labels. Then Evans called at 2:45 p.m., announcing his arrival. The labels would have to wait until Thursday. Hollingsworth cleared the paperwork on his desk, then walked to the door.
"How was your day today, Chester?" Evans asked.
Hollingsworth started with the paper bag of chocolate pie in his hand. He talked about his co-workers. About his beef stew for lunch. About the labels.
"Some gals even sang me happy birthday," he said, smiling in his seat, staring out the window as thousands of others across the city finished their work shifts.
"It was a pretty good day."
