When I retired and left Hollywood I started writing magazine stories about “regular” people, and leaned they were every bit as interesting as television stars.

Here’s the story I wrote about an old charmer I met in Northern California:

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Every morning at 4:30 her car moves through Marysville’s business district — long before other business-people are awake.

The car, which carried the license plate CANDYBX, stops in front of a small shop, and Irene McIntosh slowly steps out, favoring the hip she broke a few years ago.

She unlocks the door, flips on the lights, says “Good morning” to the man in the photograph hanging on the wall, and heads to the kitchen where she starts the fires and begins measuring sugar, chocolate, pecans and all the other things that makes her one of the favorite business women in town.

The Candy Lady is ready for work.

Irene, who follows that same routine every morning, amazes everyone by working 16 hours a day.

The road that led to the Candy Box began in 1934 in another candy store, in Mitchell, South Dakota.

“I went in there to have some ice cream,” recalls Irene. “There was a gentleman who looked at me, smiled, and asked if he could buy me a soft drink. Of course I refused — but that was the day I met my husband.”

After Floyd and Irene were married,  right in the midst of the Great Depression, they headed for California. For the next three years she worked as a court reporter while Floyd did carpentry.

When they sat on the porch at the end of the day he would tell her about his dream of one day having his own candy shop, where, he insisted, he’d make the best candy in the whole world.

One day Irene noticed an ad in the paper — a candy store was for sale.

“That night we sat up late figuring and re-figuring our finances. Just before dawn he said, ‘We can do this, but it will be hard at first. We’ll have to make sure that our candy is so blessed good that it will earn us a living. We must make nothing but good stuff — and that’s how we’ll survive.’”

The words “Good Stuff” became their motto.

“Floyd studied candy like some people study wine. He tested recipes and attended candy conferences all over the state,” she says. “He cooked, tasted, adjusted and added a little more of this and less of that until we were making candy so good people were standing in line at the door when we opened each morning.

“We learned that chocolate is America’s favorite candy. We learned that Christmas, Easter and Valentine’s Day are the busiest times of all. We learned how much candy to make, and how to keep it fresh.”

They learned how to make peanut brittle, divinity, creams, chews, nutty candy, chewy candy, lollipops, and pecan rolls

“I still use his exact same recipes. You shouldn’t mess with perfection,” says 93-year-old Irene.

They never took a day off, and only one brief vacation during the following years.

Irene was in her late 70s when Floyd died. They had been married for 48 years. Everyone assumed that Irene would retire.

“That’s insane,” she laughs. “When you’re having a good time doing what you love, why on earth would you retire?” asks the 5-foot lady with short-copped reddish-grey hair.

She still buys her chocolate, sugar and nuts from the same people Floyd did a half century ago.”He said their products made the best “Good Stuff” so they should stick with them.

“I could get cheaper pecans right here, but Floyd said you can’t beat the pecans from Georgia, so that’s where I buy them,” she says.

When asked how much chocolate she uses, she shrugs. “I have no idea. I once started to figure out how to save pennies with cheaper chocolate, and he said,  ‘Let’s not do that. Let’s just get the very best stuff we can find.’”

Irene, who now has five employees to help her, never keeps track of supplies. “I just tell the girls that when they see something running low, order some more.”

Her employees work 8-hour days, but Irene has maintained the same rigid schedule. She’s always the first one in, and the last one out.

“I never had a single chair in the store. There was never time enough to sit down,” says the tiny lady who spends 72 hours a week on her feet at work.

“I have never exercised a minute in my whole life, and I eat anything I want,” smiles the 95-pound dynamo. “When you live this long you learn that all diet rules keep changing. One year they tell you that you must never eat too much of such-and-such, and then, the next year, they tell you you’ll probably drop dead if you don’t eat two pounds of it every day

“I ignore all their advice.”

Irene, who rests just as hard as she works, has no trouble getting enough sleep.

“When I go to bed, I reach up and turn off the light switch — and I’m asleep before the room  gets dark.”

While visiting with customers, she often refers to Floyd, pointing to his photograph on the wall. She never says “That was my husband. ” She always says “That is my husband.”

At the end of those long days Irene boxes some chocolates,  shuts down the kitchen, checks on the next days duties, sweeps the floors, and heads for home.

Just before turning out the lights, she smiles and says “Good Night” to the gentleman on the wall.

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