If you hear someone singing Elvis Presley tunes over the intercom at Schnucks, don't get all shook up.Â
It's only the meat manager, Edwin Nichols, having a great time.Â
Nichols is one of those people who always raises the spirits of those around him because he's consistently in a good mood. He has a loud cackle and a happy greeting - often a kiss on the cheek or a vigorous handshake - for everyone he meets.
"He's loud, but he's enthusiastic," said Vivian, his wife of 20 years.Â
"I'm the same with everybody," Nichols added. "I treat everybody the same way."Â
A resident of Hartsburg since 1972, Nichols is regarded as one of the best commercial fisherman on the Missouri River.
Although he hasn't fished nearly as often this year, in the past he worked four to six extra hours a day to supplement his grocery store income. He catches two main species - buffalo and carp - throwing back the more-popular catfish, per state regulations. For about 15 years, he caught sturgeon - prized for its caviar - from the river, until that practice was also curtailed.
Fall and wintertime are the best time to fish with nets, because the dormant buffalo and carp are less adept at swimming away.
Working together from a jonboat, Edwin and Vivian use three kinds of nets - trammel, gill and hoop - to gather up the fish. Many times the nets are anchored from the wing dike that line the river's banks. They use the commotion from their motor boat to disturb the creatures and force them into the nets.
"She's one of the better boat drivers around," Nichols said.Â
Most of the fish he catches are sold to individuals. Perhaps because Nichols is now 60 years old, and perhaps because buffalo and carp aren't customer favorites, the couple's fishing efforts have slowed.Â
"There's just not that much of a market," Nichols lamented. "Net fishing is a lot of work. It's heavy."Â
But the couple still enjoys throwing their rods and reels in their vehicle and heading out for the afternoon to entertain their nieces and nephews.
Although those years spent commercial fishing were marked by hard work, they were satisfying as well.Â
"We made a small salary and it paid for all our stuff. And we got to do it together," Nichols said.Â
The couple have known each other all their lives, but married 20 years ago in May. Like many other people, Vivian was attracted to Edwin's high spirits.Â
"You wake up happy and you go to bed happy," she told him.Â
She said her husband is known for sharing any abundance they might have with the rest of the small town.Â
If they collect an abundance of mushrooms or have extra garden produce, they share it with the older folks who live in the area. And when the town is periodically plagued by high water, Nichols always lends a hand to his neighbors.
"Even when he had to go to work, he would leave his boat for others to use," Vivian said.Â
Nichols has been in the grocery business since the age of 12. After working for a couple of independent grocers, he moved to Schnucks in 1979.Â
"They were union," he said. "A union meat cutter makes more than a non-union meat cutter. And I had a family to think about."Â
He worked in Columbia for years before moving to the Jefferson City store when it opened in 2001.
He said the meat business has changed during his tenure; when he first started, the cutters manhandled half a side of beef. Today beef comes in boxes to be divided even smaller. Schnucks doesn't sell pre-packaged meat; what you see in the cases has been sliced and ground by workers laboring in 37 degrees.
"It's not as hard as it used to be," he said. "We still have a lot to do."Â
 Nichols has stabbed himself twice and caught his hand in the saw twice during his career. He also has a bad shoulder - a torn bicep - from the years of vigorous work. And he's endured carpal tunnel surgeries on both hands.Â
"The meat cutter trade is a dying art," he said.
He doesn't believe red meat is more expensive than it once was, but he thinks people eat less of it for health reasons.Â
He still enjoys leading the team at Schnucks. His guiding philosophy is: "Don't ask anything of them that you don't do yourself."
"If you treat people right, it's not hard to manage people," he said.Â
His penchant for fun probably helps. Dressed in a bikini, he once jumped out of a cake to celebrate the retirements of two peers. They like to play practical jokes on him, too.Â
Early one morning on Thanksgiving Day, a man-sized cutout of Frankenstein, partly seen through a doorway, spooked Nichols.Â
"You could hear him screaming all through the store," his boss, John Marquart, remembered.
He might be 60, but Nichols is not prepared to retire yet.Â
"I dunno," he said. "I don't know if I'm ready to leave work. I'm pretty squirrely."