When Jimmy Cox first moved to Dallas fifteen years ago, he says he went up to Chief’s Lock Shop and said: “I’ve got two shirts, three pairs of blue jeans, and I need a job.”
He was hired: “I stayed there for eight years and got on-the-job training.”
Eventually, Cox and wife Laura opened their “own little hole in the wall,” a locksmith shop on Greenville Avenue called Cox’s Locks.
They could join the fray and gripe about any number of things. For instance, Jimmy is wheelchair-bound due to a lifelong battle with polio.
Instead, they choose to stay on the fringe and modestly go about business of surviving. They say maintaining a loyal and steady customer base and being smart about how they deal with people in charge of their property have helped them survive the umbrella of uncertainty that taints many Greenville Avenue proprietors’ days. At one point, Cox says they avoided being turned into a “fancy Mexican restaurant” through a grandfather clause in neighboring John’s Cafe’s agreement.
For a long time, Cox’s Lock’s likely meant Jimmy Cox. But after using crutches most of his life, making service calls in his truck, Cox’s doctor told him seven years ago that he was “not meant to walk on (his) arms.”
As a result, the name on that sign has a full-fledged plural meaning now. During the past few years, Laura has shouldered many of the business responsibilities with the company’s four employees. Jimmy, whom Laura says won’t stay at home and rest, has concentrated on what may be the best place for this gregarious former Deadhead: up front and center, doing the PR.
“I wish I could still do it,” he says, on being out and about for the business. “A person has got to enjoy what they’re doing or else they are not going to be happy.”
But a sharp sense of humor and a strong relationship with his wife have helped him overcome much of the adversity in his life.
“Laura owns everything now; I work for her,” he laughs. “But what man don’t? You can’t get one to admit it!” he says, laughing even harder. But on a serious note, he add: “I’m just a locksmith. If it weren’t for her, this place wouldn’t make it.”
It has never occurred to him that his handicap would hold him back.
“I just don’t see how anybody could not work; that’d be boring,” he says, shaking a head full of scraggly red hair. “Of course,” he adds, smiling, “if I won the lotto, that wouldn’t be boring because my wife and I, we get along great. She’s my best friend.”
