Chapter Seven : Jobs of Adulthood

In chapter four, I detailed the various jobs I had as a young adult, roughly from 1976 to 1985. This time frame may seem rather long compared to some of my contemporaries, as many of those in my age group had "real" jobs well before the age of 27. 

I, however, moved from job to job, interspersed with my documented bursts of wanderlust, until I decided to return to college to attain a Bachelor's degree. While the credits I transferred to Bloomsburg were accumulated mostly at Montgomery County Community College, with a few from LaSalle College, I still had temporary jobs through those years, temporary defined as employment to pay for parties, or school, or just to make ends meet. 

I lived with various people, mostly friends and acquaintances, sometimes having to return to my parents' home. Again, non-permanence. I had met my future wife before returning to college, and we lived together for a bit, but our relationship, while solid, was tested by my absence. That we were able to survive this time, on, off then finally on again to the point where we married in the summer of 1988 is fairly remarkable. 

While I tend to retreat from the concept that there is only one true soul mate for each person, an idea that seems ludicrous in the face of the randomness of the birth lottery in that we have no control over when and where we are born, not to mention the simple fact that there are now 8 billion people on this planet, I also firmly believe my life, as it exists in this moment, would not be as contented, as happy, had Nora not come into my life that summer day when I found her crying at the foot of her stairs due to a PECO error that turned off her electricity, spoiling all the food in her tiny fridge and creating a God awful smell that permeated her entire apartment.

A quick aside here. In the mid to late 1980's, paying for college, community as well as 4 year institutions, was far easier than today. While I still had student loans when I graduated, the total debt was reasonable, the monthly payment not hard to meet. It is just another example of how we have screwed things up, have dealt our children and grand children a massive mess by our poor decisions, both in the voting booth, and in our hierarchy of priorities.

My last semester of college involved a stint as a student teacher, which meant that I was "home". I am fuzzy in that I know I didn't live with my parents, but don't think Nora and I were fully together then. Regardless, I needed to earn some money. I was fortunate in that a friend of mine recommended me to his employer, where I worked weekends running commercial printers which produced bulk mail. Junk mail, in other words.

During my student teaching semester, I "taught" Monday thru Friday, then worked Friday and Saturday night in the print room where there were two shifts, 12 hours each, 8 AM to 8 PM then 8 PM to 8 AM. I worked the latter, meaning that every Friday I functioned without sleep, going home from school, a quick dinner, then off to work for my 12 hour shift. A semester of no sleep Fridays.

Once I graduated, I continued to work there, especially on the weekends, although I also registered at a number of local school districts to substitute teach. This process, while a good way to get one's foot in the door at a number of school districts, also meant that you got called either the night before, or even in the early AM, for a substitute shift. I was fortunate in that my employer was tolerant of my coming and going in favor of subbing, but it could also be chaotic, not knowing from one week to the next, let alone one day to another, where I would be. 

This continued through the fall of 1987, then in the spring of 1988, I was offered a full time sub position in Bristol Borough School District. I was also tutoring, at first at a brick and mortal establishment where you went to the building and the children came to you. But when the owner started getting requests for in-house tutoring, he allowed me to take those clients, so I often went from my classes in Bristol Borough right to a client's home. In the meantime, I also did some weekend shifts at the bulk mailing company.

Nora and I married in the summer of 1988. I opted to take my "summer" pay from the school district in a lump sum (you could get a weekly check during the summer, or all at once), which was used for the caterer at our wedding reception. 

That fall, I attempted to continue to sub on a day to day basis, the woman for whom I had long term subbed having returned from her maternity leave, but when my boss at the bulk mailing company offered to promote me to department manager, I jettisoned the idea of teaching and accepted the stability of a full time job, and its benefits, and substantial pay increase.

I worked there for the next seven years during which Nora and I moved from our shared apartment in Warrington to a house in Perkasie. While at the apartment, and during those years at the bulk mailing establishment, I continued to ride my bike to work, although not in the winter and not every day. But, considering that the ride from Perkasie to work was about 18 miles each way, I was happy to stay in touch with my non-car youth.

Eventually, I tired of the fact that the product I was helping to create was thrown in the trash at a 95 to 98% rate. Even though we had our first child at this point, a boy named JW, and a second one on the way, I quit before having another job. I know, shades of irresponsibility, echoes of my younger adulthood.

Fortunately, it didn't take me too long to find a new employer, in this case with a turnout gear manufacturer. Turnout gear, if you don't know, is the protective suit worn by firemen. I felt much better about working here, helping to outfit the men and women who ran towards a fire, to save both lives and property. It was especially gratifying that most of our clients were volunteer departments.

With our new daughter, Rachel, having added to the happiness of our home, I settled into learning the business, still occasionally riding my bike to work. As time went by, I expanded my responsibilities to include my original job as customer service manager to monitoring invoices and helping to collect payments, and creating the bids for contracts in attempts to expand our clientele base to include larger, paid, fire companies.

In the meantime, in 1990, I took on a seasonal part time job with the Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board (PLCB). That first holiday season was difficult, both because I was home with my young children less, and because I was back to working 50-55 hours a week. But, it's amazing what you can get used to, those weekly 24-hour Fridays without sleep as an example, and while Nora worked at nights when I was home, she was also able to spend that much more time with our kids, not working outside the home in the daytime. Between the two of us, we were able to provide a good balance, and, if the state of my children, now wonderful adults, is an indicator, we did a great job!

Sadly, I fell our of favor with the owner of the turnout gear company in January of 2000. OK, truth be told, I finished a conversation we were having about an employee of mine who was not always able to get to work on time, a single mother whom I compromised with so that she could get her kids off to school properly, while making up any late time at work by allowing her to work through lunch or stay late. When my boss expressed his displeasure about treating her differently that other of his employees, I mentioned that at least she performed her job when she was at work, while my boss's daughter, who he hired out of the blue one day, was not quite so devoted to her work.

I was fired the next day.

While searching for something new, I expanded my hours with the PLCB, although I must admit, even though it is obvious now that I made a critical error in questioning my ex-boss's daughter's work ethic, at the time, I was shocked that he would actually fire me. I had thought I was too valuable to the organization. While, in my mind at least, I always tried my best for those employers to come, went above and beyond in many ways, I also learned that employers have limited loyalty to their employees. That their words, while flowery and flattering, are just words when push comes to shove. Or when you challenge one of their rationalizations.

It took about three months to find my next employer, an indoor sporting goods importer. We sold all kinds of products, from darts and boards to pool cues and tables to Foosball games to ping pong tables and pretty much everything in between. We were a wholesaler, our customers ranging from small local companies to chains. We even sold a few SKUs to WalMart, although they were a customer that demanded very low margins, while also penalizing their vendors for all manners of exceptions from their shipping guidelines. In fact, that was the main reason for my being hired. They needed someone, in shipping, to come up with a process to reduce all the charge backs they were experiencing from these larger vendors.

Along with my boss Kirk, we soon had a plan in place and began to change the shipping department from a revenue loss to revenue gain.

Kirk, along with my boss at the bulk mailing organization, Bob, were what I would call my two most influential mentors during my work career. Both saw promise in me, both allowed me time to learn and grow within the job requirements, both encouraged me to go beyond the established job duties and to better connect what was required from the department I ran to the other departments of the company, but also to see the big picture and get involved in areas that would normally exceed my responsibilities. For instance, at the sporting goods company, a place with tens of thousands of square feet of warehouse, I used sales numbers to help both the purchasing department to maintain inventory when considering the 6 week transit time from China (the source of much of our product) while also helping receiving in storing the product when received, by providing the list of the 20% of our products that accounted for 80% of the sales which enabled the pickers to spend less time roaming the warehouse.

All the while I still worked for the PLCB, although this became quite difficult during the holiday season, as sales for both companies, skyrocketed at the same time. We sold upwards of 40% or our sporting goods the last two months, just as we sold an inordinate amount of liquor beginning with the Thanksgiving holiday through New Years. I worked a lot of 1/2 days for my primary employer, half days defined as 6 AM to 6 PM, then a night or two during the week plus either Saturday or Sunday for the PLCB. 

A pretty drastic change from the days when I would quit a job for months at a time to travel!

During this time, I created strong relationships with the various trucking companies that we used to ship our product. So much so that in the summer of 2007, I was offered a sales rep job with one of them, a job which increased my pay dramatically, not to mention the subsidized car and free meals when I took clients out. And the Eagles tickets. 

A the time, I thought it a natural evolution, to move from a shipping dock to helping the people who toiled at shipping docks at other companies. The fact that it was also a large corporation certainly dawned on me, but my experience, at least as a customer, was that each terminal had some independence. As a customer, I had always been treated fairly, and with an eye to improving my process, so I expected that I could do the same as a sales rep.

And, I thought I did that. For a small terminal, our numbers were good, slowly increasing. I felt that I got along with my clients well, they realizing I was one of them not that long ago. Perhaps I was too friendly, putting their interests, at times, ahead of the company I worked for, but the numbers were building so I felt good. 

Little did I know that the economic meltdown was right around the corner, so while 2007 was fine, I continued to improve our numbers and my relationships with my clients. 2008, on the other hand, very quickly presented me with stark evidence that the shipping industry was in trouble. With the heat of the summer, I began to see layoffs in the shipping departments of my customers, and beyond.  

Managers were let go, assistant managers promoted but without matching the salaries of the manager they replaced. A shipping staff member might leave and not be replaced, or worse, there would be one or two less from one monthly visit to the next. Even front desk personnel, (usually women) who greeted people with a smile and paged your contact, or let them know you were on the way, were replaced with a phone and list of contact numbers.

I was terminated the first day of the New Year, 2010, almost 10 years to the day from my firing from the turnout gear manufacturer. Not surprisingly, ten years later when the calendar turned to January, 2020, ten years since the last time I was fired which was 10 years from that first firing, I held my breath those first few weeks. As it turned out, I was reprimanded in early 2021, as we emerged from COVID when I failed to follow one of the innumerable rules that had been instituted, rules that did nothing to address the health of the employees but were strictly designed as a (CYO, cover you ass) maneuver for the PLCB, but I survived, although by the fall of that year I had retired. 

After departing the freight company, and its very generous salary and benefits, I again went full time with the PLCB while searching for a new full time job. My core skills were in logistics/shipping but those first few years after the economic meltdown were not pleasant to the shipping industry, or any company that used logistics to move its product. Soon, it became apparent that the market for middle level managers in any type of business that utilized trucks to move their product was stagnant. After a year as a clerk, a position I had held for those twenty years as a part time employee, it became painfully clear that I needed to "move up" in the PLCB.

Note here, I was lucky that in 2010, government subsidies for health insurance were still in place from the 2008 economic downturn. It took me two months to get a full time spot with the PLCB, two months that I had to use COBRA to maintain health care coverage. Fortunately, the 66% subsidy which I qualified for paid $1000 of the $1500 per month COBRA cost. Luckily, the small severance I received when terminated by the freight company paid for those two months premium, then my costs dropped significantly when I became full time and received family medical benefits from the PLCB.

However, my total income had dropped by half! I was making less than half of the salary with the PLCB compared to the trucking company, plus had loss the extra income that the PLCB, as a part time employer, had provided. Then, when I did get a part time job, that pay was far less that what I had been paid with the PLCB, a salary that had steadily increased (thank you collective bargaining contracts) over the 20 years I had worked there.

Since I had to be available from 8 AM to 9 PM, seven days a week for my the PLCB, the opportunities for a new part time job were limited. 

The first one I did was delivering newspapers, a job which required me to arise every morning at 3 AM, drive to a warehouse the pick up my papers, then drive around the area to deliver about 100 daily papers on the weekdays, then about 300 on the weekend. This is where my ability to disassociate myself from my body, a skill I had perfected when riding my bike in reference to my legs and the process of pedaling. My daily newspaper route which lasted from 3 AM to about 6 AM became the activity of some other entity, which was doubly beneficial because this other part of me was earning a decent wage.

I have mentioned in the chapters that described my hitchhiking adventures, that the very process of hitchhiking,which required a dependence on the kindness of strangers (although not in the way that Blanche DuBois "pays" for that kindness), profoundly effected my perception of humanity. 

Delivering newspapers also reinforced that positive perception in that I received hundreds of dollars in tips during the 18 months that I delivered newspapers as my customers were able to add a tip to their monthly bill even though I never met any of them. They were just appreciative that their paper was in their driveway everyday. 

During this time, being out in the world from 3 AM to 6 AM, provided me with a host of experiences that I would never have had, or that I thought even existed.

Moon and sunrises.

Absolutely crystal clear winter mornings.

Early AM radio with far less commercials.

Neighborhoods only minutes from my house that I was unfamiliar with.

Animals, animals, animals. I once saw a herd of deer strolling down the middle of a fairly large road. 

Of course, it could be cold, driving around with your window open in single degree weather to facilitate the tossing of a paper, but oddly, I was not as cold as I expected on those days. Perhaps because I was active in the car, placing folded papers in a plastic bag, grabbing pre-wrapped papers from the back, tossing them into the appropriate driveway. On the weekends when my route went from 100 dailies to 300 weeklies, I prepared perhaps 150 or 200 of them at the warehouse, loading them into the back seat of my Toyota Corolla which created. literally, a pile of papers from the floor to midway to the top of the back of my front seats. The rest of the papers sat in the passenger seat for me to wrap on the go. Driving while wrapping papers was a skill I would have never expected to include on my resume, but one which was developed during the first few months.

Eventually, I left the paper route for an overnight stocking job at my local grocery store. I worked from 10 PM to 4 AM, three nights a week, some days going right from my full time job (if I had a night shift). Again, the occasional nights without sleep, but having already trained myself to exist on 5 hours of consecutive sleep or less, I became reasonably proficient at the art of cat naps.

In the meantime, I transferred from one PLCB store to another for promotions, or just to get closer to home when a promotion took me 20 miles or more from Perkasie. By 2015, I had risen enough within the system to be able to work just one job, having spent the previous 25 years working two. I had spent 20 years, part time with the PLCB, then another 11 full time, which equaled 20 years of service, earning me medical coverage for myself and my wife in retirement. And a pension, which in today's environment is, as they say at MasterCard, priceless.  

At this point, 4 plus years since retiring, I have been working part time for that same grocery store, although at a different location, for some pin money, some exercise, and some social contact. We don't stock overnight anymore, so I work a few days a week, unloading the skids onto the appropriate U-boats, then placing the stock on shelves. Easy work, little to no pressure, and the availability to take off whenever I want, no questions asked.

Oddly, the four years I have worked there is a total departure from my full time career at the PLCB where I worked at 12 stores in 12 years. like a bad penny popping up all over the place. 

I'm not sure how much longer I will work. At this point, I figure that as long as I can do it, I might as well do so. As I mentioned before, I can take off whenever I want, there is very little pressure, I have met some nice people, and it provides a bit of exercise, physical as well as mental. I've been considering the idea of volunteer work somewhere, perhaps at a local elementary school which would bring me full circle, considering that I barely used my elementary education degree.

Regardless of whether I work a few more years or not, I am grateful for all those employers who saw something in me, even those which ended in my termination. I often say that the days of the Renaissance Man, defined as someone who knows a little about a lot of things, has long been replaced by the age of the specialist, where knowing all there is to know about one subject is where the money is. Perhaps it always was, my "career" of moving from one job to another, one industry to another, the reason for my never having earned all that much money, never having become a principal in a company. 

No regrets though. I am far past wondering what if as it applies to jobs, except of course when it comes to writing, which is my biggest WHAT IF. But even then, it wouldn't have been about money.

The good news is that, at least for me, never having mastered a skill or process, did not prevent me from providing a stable home for my family, not withstanding those times when I was not at home due to 55-60 hours work weeks, at least from the standpoint of finances. If I may be so bold as to pat myself on the back, I feel that it was my work ethic that made it happen more than anything, perhaps even despite my natural anti-authority attitude, my tendency to question, nay, run the opposite way, from the normal, the accepted way of doing things, the proper path to take.

I just hope that we might someday maneuver back to such a world, as it seems we are far from that today, because if not, the world will be the worse for it, not being exposed to the range of people and jobs that I was, nor being out in the world, working, when most people were in bed. I wouldn't trade any of it, because, it all adds up to the person I am today. For better or worse, no regrets. 

 

A Trip To Philly's History

Last Friday, Nora, my son JW and his wife Abbye and I went into the city (Philadelphia) for the day. I had received a Walking Tour book for the city a few Christmases ago, so armed with said book, we decided to walk around the Independence Hall area which included the Betsy Ross House, the Ben Franklin museum and the Constitution Building, among others, as well as a few stops from the adjacent "Old City" Tour, Elfreth's Alley and a few very old churches.

We also planned to eat dinner at the Reading Terminal Market, so we found a parking lot about half way between the Market and the walking tour areas, and set out to enjoy the day.

It was a bit hot, so we popped into a few places just to take advantage of the AC, even if we didn't pay the admission price for an actual tour. But we did hear an interesting talk in the Free Quaker Meeting Hall, where we were told that the Quakers who participated in the War for Independence had to (temporarily) split off from the main Quaker sect to fight, Quakers being renowned for non-violence.

We did spend some time in the Ben Franklin Museum, and also took a tour of the building where the Congressional Congress debated, voted on and signed the Declaration of Independence. 

While the line to see the Liberty Bell was very long, which meant we did not get to see it up close, it was very enjoyable walking around the sites. At one point, we encountered a statue for Commodore John Barry, who is a distant relative of my wife. Pretty cool.

After strolling around the Market for a bit, we ate sandwiches at one of the many food establishments, then walked back to the car and headed off to the Mann Music Center in Fairmount Park were we had tickets to see Japanese Breakfast open for Death Cab for Cutie. We sat on the lawn under the fading evening light, while dragon flies dipped and dove among the crowd, then enjoyed two good performances into the evening. 

All in all, a very nice day, shared with three of my most favorite people.

Two quick observations about the various historical items I learned during our walk.

Well, actually, I knew about this first thing, that George Washington was elected as our first president in a unanimous vote. Of course, for those first few presidential "elections", only the representatives in Congress voted. He received all 69 votes from the electoral college in 1788 and all 132 votes in 1792. 

But the point emphasized by the tour guide was that Washington could have been president for life, had he wanted to, but chose to step down voluntarily, in respect for the premise that America didn't want a leader for lifetime, as they had just fought a war to reject the yoke of such a government. 

When placed in juxtaposition with the current resident of the White House who blithely talks about a third term, a prospect specifically forbidden by the 22nd Amendment to the Constitution, and it is crystal clear how far away from the founders ideals a man like Trump has meandered, not to mention how unlike Washington he is, Washington being a man who put his country ahead of himself.

The other interesting thing of note that I learned was that Benjamin Franklin, certainly one of America's greatest innovators, held very few patents when compared to all his inventions. He believed

"that science and knowledge should be shared freely for the benefit of all. He did not seek patents for his inventions because he wanted them to be available to everyone, without restrictions or monopolies. He believed that innovation should be driven by curiosity and the desire to improve the world, rather than by profit or personal gain. His commitment to the public good and his belief in the power of science and education continue to inspire people today." 

That doesn't mean he didn't profit from his inventions, but it does mean that he allowed other people to replicate, even improve on his ideas as he thought that the overall progress or America was more important that individual wealth.

Almost socialistic in its philosophy, but certainly far from our current capitalist mindset where law suits which grapple with the ownership of ideas and inventions are as commonplace as the inventions themselves.

Of course, our devotion to capitalism, which, as I have said before, is the worst form of economic system except for all the other ones, is the real problem as we use it as an excuse to put profit ahead of the health of millions of our fellow citizens, among other travesties.

Gotta watch those isms! They will get you every time! 

Soccer and Testosterone

Before the main point of this post, I wanted to share my (last) thoughts on the World Cup.

First, I was obviously wrong in my prediction that France would make the final and win the day. I also gave our team a 50-50 chance to beat Belgium which turned out to be incorrect as well, as we were never in the game, practically from the start. The US team looked sluggish, hesitant, playing not to lose rather than to win. 

That was also my perception of England in their match against Argentina. When they pushed upfield they looked as good, perhaps even better. But once England took the 1-0 lead, they went into a defensive shell. Very few aggressive runs, very little offensive attacks. Again, playing not to lose. One might even say they played into the hands of Argentina, allowing them to mount wave after wave of attacks which ultimately led to two goals, and a 2-1 win.

As I had looked past Spain in my expectation that France would beat them, it might be foolish for me to do the same, to predict Argentina will successfully defend their 2022 title. But I truly think that the Argentina team just won't accept defeat, that they will find a way to win. If so, it would be a spectacular way for Messi to finish his World Cup career, assuming he won't play in 2030. But Spain is formidable so it won't surprise me if they prove to be triumphant. 

All in all, an enjoyable World Cup despite the antics of our president who couldn't help interjecting himself into the controversy regarding the red card given to our best scorer. While the foul was certainly questionable, his involvement made FIFA's rule committee appear feckless (apparently it was just one member who made the decision to revoke the suspension) and put the team itself in a no win situation as, had they won, Trump would have taken credit for it, while they would have looked to the rest of the soccer world as a team that needs their mommies to intervene for them. Not that Trump cares about other people, but just once I would like him to put aside his overwhelming narcissism and think about someone else for a change.

Which brings me to our Secretary of Defense, Pete Hegseth. Yesterday he announced that all military members would receive a testosterone test, and have available treatment (I assume at taxpayers expense) if their testosterone level is low. 

I commented on Mr Hegseth in a previous post called Jane Goodall and the Warrior Ethos. Rather than summarizing what I wrote, here it is word for word.

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Which brings us to Hegseth and his military meeting.

While there was some speculation that he might announce a bunch of firings, it turned out the purpose was to tell the leaders of the United States military, how to do their job. And specifically, how we need to get back to the macho version of the military that an insecure person like Hegseth, and his boss, Trump, deem necessary to demonstrate our collective manliness.

The phrase, "me thinks he doth protest too much" rings loud, considering the president served nary a day in the military due to a medical exception, while Hegseth, after serving, (and I give him credit for that), spent the last ten years railing about how soft the American military has become, by allowing women in combat, investigating sexual harassment claims by women in the military, and promoting women and people of color to positions of authority over any white male.

But even more importantly, so he says, the military has stopped creating and building the warrior ethos that needs to exist, both to scare our adversaries, and to vanquish them in battle.

Now, if I wanted to be sarcastic, I would say that Hegseth spent too much time reading the history of Sparta, or the conquests of the Roman Legionnaires.  Or that he must have really enjoyed those stories about throwing young boys into a pit to fight, as a way to separate the warriors from the weak.

Considering Trump's obsession with having his face on coins and mountains, perhaps they share that fixation on all that is Roman.

Also, if sarcasm was the goal, I might ask if Hegseth and Trump are planning a ground war anytime soon, as it seems that the nature of war, when both sides are adequately armed as is the case for Ukraine vs Russia, has turned to remote attacks via drones, long range missiles, targeted bombings. So, while it is quaint to think of our armed forces as the biggest, baddest men on the block, don't we also need really smart people, even nerds, if you like, to program the technology that is in use today. I certainly don't see a near future with battles featuring hand to hand combat with bayonets drawn, do you?

But let's get to the real danger of Hegseth's philosophy which, I believe, is bad for America, and especially bad for our armed forces.  

First, for the individual soldiers who are attracted to the idea that a warrior ethos makes them a better man, they might want to ask themselves if such an attitude will make them better fathers, husbands, citizens, when their military career ends. 

While a belief system that inspires our soldiers to think, act and lead like warfighters might lead to victory on the battlefield, it hinders the adjustment that veterans face when taking the next hill or killing one's enemy, is no longer a viable coping mechanism when dealing with the daily demands and tribulations of life.

Just ask any of the family members of the 17 veterans who kill themselves every day, a number that is staggeringly higher as a percentage than for non-military people of the same age. 

Or perhaps we should look to the number of veterans that are homeless in America, a number that has decreased in the last few years, thankfully, but is still indicative of a group of Americans that struggle to cope once outside the military.

Do we really think that making them emotionless warriors who are trained to kill without thinking, will provide them with a better mindset when dealing with noisy children, a daily routine that is less than exciting, various family members who may disagree with them, or any of the innumerable problems that face us everyday where violence is not the solution?

Hegseth wants a strong army, fine, but he seems to think that the soldiers who make up that army are plastic soldiers that can be replaced with a new batch when they become worn, or weak.

Of course, for a man who has a history of treating women like play toys, again, like his boss, perhaps that is consistent. 

Even worse, America is also a victim of such thinking, as this administration seems to think that being the bully of the globe will make everyone else respect us more, and do what we want. Like the tariff chaos that is ongoing, Trump has forgotten the kindergarten lesson that you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

Perhaps I am wrong, but the bullies I encountered in my life, whether as a child or an adult, did not earn my respect. Perhaps fear, but not respect. And certainly not a desire to see them succeed. So it should come as no surprise that this America first selfishness that goes hand in hand with "my way or the highway" is driving our traditional allies away. 

Or perhaps Hegseth and Trump think that "turn the other cheek" and "treat others as you would want to be treated" are too woke for their world view of warrior ethos.

I truly believe that most Americans would prefer that we treat our fellow Americans, as well as the other 8 billion people who share our planet, as Jane Goodall engaged with the primates she lived with and studied. That we should hold out an open hand to help rather than a closed fist to hurt.

Unfortunately, I also believe that many Americans, perhaps more than half, are on board with treating our enemies inhumanely. That all is fair in war, including killing civilians, bombing schools and hospitals, stealing children from their homes, because, well, I guess because that is what they would do to us. 

And, if there is one thing that Trump is superior at, it is telling us who we should hate, who we should consider less than human, who is out to get us. 

Whether it is the people in the boats that he is blowing up in defiance of international law, or the two million Palestinians that he thinks should be killed, or moved, or starved, or the immigrants who come here to seek a better life but are from a country that isn't white enough, or the federal workers who don't kiss his ring, whether they be in the DOJ or FBI, or any department that democrats like, or the countless number of Americans who love America but despise how Trump is remaking our country, Trump has an endless list of those we should hate, and consequently treat as if they were less than human.

So sad that people like Hegseth and Trump talk about America first yet enact policies that place Americans last. Even sadder that people who are on board with such cruelty, claim to be Christians as well.

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In retrospect, not much to add to that. But here goes anyway.

Perhaps I am missing something, but aren't the two superpowers of the world, the two countries that have overwhelming supplies of nuclear weapons, enough to blow up the world many times over, aren't they both having difficulty in their respective wars, as we speak?

Russia has been at it with Ukraine for over four years, and while they have taken some land and have certainly sown fear in the hearts of the people who reside there, they are also suffering immense casualties on the field and are now fearing for their own infrastructure and citizen deaths due to Ukraine's amazing drone capabilities.

Iran, no ones favorite country, a place where the leaders care very little for their own people, especially women, and are willing to sacrifice literally, everything, to declare they are winning, now have, a bit of  leverage in regards to the Strait of Hormuz, something they did not have before the war began. While one could can say that they have not won even one battle, that their military capabilities have been severely damaged, that they have even less friends than before due to their attacks on some of their neighbors, America is not in control of how this will end.

Makes one wonder if all that money spent on the military, especially the  trillions we have spent on nuclear weapons, was a waste if both of the nuclear powers in the world are struggling to beat nations with far less resources.

So, again, Mr Hegseth can promote bad ass men who can beat up anyone they encounter, but unless those testosterone fueled soldiers are going to deployed on Kharg Island, or Tehran itself, to take and hold oil fields and land, his anachronistic perception of warfare is as useless as the silos filled with nuclear weapons that will never be fired.

Even worse, his Neanderthal (and I hate to disparage an entire species without really knowing them personally) perception of what makes a man a man will do far more damage than good for those young men who believe that being able to follow commands that order them to kill our enemies, no hesitation, will confirm their masculinity. Of course, if they intend to leave the military and join ICE so they can kill those people whom this administration deems less than human, at least they will have a job. Perhaps no morals, but at least a job.

In my dissection of why England lost to Argentina in the semi-final match, I point to their lack of aggressiveness, there seeming decision to cede territory (on the pitch) without a fight, to play not to lose. Perhaps it then sounds hypocritical to condemn that same methodology when promoted by Hegseth and Trump.

I guess I consider sports and the strategies that result in winning a game, just that, a game. And assuming good sportsmanship which is the rule rather than the exception, the two sides meet on the battlefield, perhaps shake hands, maybe even exchange shirts. 

While training our young people so they can kill other human beings without remorse, without questioning the morality of it, with efficiency even, is abhorrent. No communion after the fact, no comrades in battle greeting each other with respect. Just death.

But not unexpected from men like Hegseth and Trump. 

And so the decline continues. 

 

 

Happy 4th of July!

In light of the recent decisions handed down by SCOTUS, and to celebrate our 250th birthday, here is my post for this important day.

--- 

Does anyone else wonder how conservatives will react when the next Democrat in the White House uses all the new powers that the Supreme Court just granted the office of the President?

Will they howl when a future president from the Democrat party, or horrors, someone who labels themselves as a Democratic Socialist, fires a slew of federal agency heads, civil servants, bureaucrats from the departments which oversee our health, food safety, air and water quality, etc?

Will Mr Trump, now a private citizen complain when all his appointees (the best people ever appointed, as he likes to say) are replaced with people "loyal" to the new president's agenda?

And, will the judges on the Supreme Court continue to rule in support of the unitary executive theory which they are using to justify their recent rulings, or will they pull back when the new President uses those very same powers to do things that they do not agree with?

Short term thinking has always been an attractive way of operating one's life, a focus on instant gratification being preferable to long term planning in deference to the future.

One might speculate that the Founders were attempting to think about the future by creating the three, coequal branches of government, as a way to preserve their belief that too much power in the hands of any one part of the government might work in the short run, but not for long. And, of course, because they were very specific in their rejection of the power of the king of England, those disagreements very clearly delineated in the Declaration.

For us liberals, "radical" liberals as the president constantly states, perhaps we will see how this all plays out in a mere two and a half years.

Until then, sadly, we are in for a rough 30 months during which DJT will stomp on even more constitutional rights, will abuse the tax dollars we all pay to continue his vanity projects, will profit in a way unheard of in our history as he sells access to the White House, all because he has been given carte blanche by a Supreme Court that has decided that they prefer to judicate in his favor rather that just abdicating their power as the GOP controlled Congress has done.

On this very special day, our 250th birthday, I am proud to be called an American, proud of our national accomplishments, especially those which promote global health, reduction of disease through programs like PEPFAR. and all the great work done through USAID, not to mention our pivotal role in defeating the powers which attempted to eliminate people not like themselves.

Talk about putting the teachings of Christ to work!!

But less than proud at how we have turned our backs on the most vulnerable of our planet, are actively creating laws that punish children for being born to the wrong parents, and prefer a president who lauds leaders who control their populations with fear and violence (like Putin) while denigrating the democratically elected heads of state at every turn.

America is an amazing place, one might even say an amazing concept in terms of providing the most opportunity for, not only its own citizens, but those who the Creator chose to be born in other countries. And yet, with a history of denying those ideals to some people due to their skin color or even gender.

Despite what many people think, it is possible to have two thoughts in your head at once. To recognize the great achievements of the United States of America, while also acknowledging that we have also fell short of the ideals of our foundational documents.

It is in that balance that we find ourselves at odds with each other. If nothing else, I hope that as we work through our national discussion as to how we will navigate this decision, how we will treat each other, and those who still look to America for the same freedom and opportunity that our ancestors, all (unless you are among the very small percentage of Native Americans who live in our country) of whom were born elsewhere, we will remember that if we choose to turn our backs on the premise that America is as much an ideal as a place, then we will be turning our backs on ourselves, and the pride we have in our wonderful country.

Happy 4th of July!!!


 

World Cup 2026

The 2026 World Cup has been ongoing since mid June. It is being hosted by three countries this year, a first in World Cup history, with games being played in Canada, Mexico and the United States. 

I posted about the 2022 World Cup, after it ended. Here is a link to that effort. 

https://wurdsfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2022/12/world-cup-2022.html

In the 2022 post, I detailed both negative and positive aspects of that World Cup. Negative in terms of its host country, Qatar having little infrastructure when chosen, a poor record on human rights, summer temps that forced the tournament to be held in December, and many examples of workers' rights being violated as they scrambled to build the necessary venues. 

Positive in terms of the unity that sports can build, within nations and between competitors from different countries, and the games themselves, especially the final between France and Argentina which featured two of the world's best players, a 2 goal comeback in the second half by France, a late, tying goal in the 2nd overtime by Argentina, and then a thrilling series of penalty kicks that resulted in Argentina's victory.

Similarly, there are some negatives associated with this years edition, especially in light of the threats by the Trump Administration to dispatch ICE agents to the various American city stadiums, the ugly treatment of the Iranian team epitomized with the current DHS secretary who stated that he "did a little dance" when Iran was eliminated, not to mention the hesitancy of some people born in other countries to come to America to see their team in action. 

On top of that, the cost to attend the events was staggering, from the tickets themselves to the transportation fees to get to the various sites, especially at the MetLife stadium.  

Fortunately, those obstacles did not keep a record number of people from jamming the various arenas to watch. I will resist the desire to comment on our questionable priorities, considering the billions of dollars that will be spent during this tournament.

I must admit, I initially decided to boycott the games, to not watch any of the games. In addition to the negatives I mentioned above, I felt hypocritical in supporting FIFA, especially in light of their obsequious gifting of a "peace" prize to DJT. I know it is all about flattery and bending the knee for the bigger picture, but Infantino, current FIFA president, makes me want to throw up in my mouth when I see him talking on TV.

I say initially, because I finally watched parts of two games this past week, and all of the USA round of 32 match.

As expected, I enjoyed the games I watched, putting aside my displeasure of FIFA and the threats from our own government to have ICE agents on the ground, instead relishing the athletic prowess of the players, and their ability to perform under such intense pressure.

At this point, with half of the round of 32 over, I expect that France will be back in the final on Sunday, July 19th although they will have to get past (probably) Morocco and Spain. 

The other side of the bracket features three very strong South American teams, Brazil and Columbia along with Argentina, and a very interesting match this Saturday between Mexico and England. 

As for the United States team, I think they have a 50-50 chance to beat Belgium, and if someone upsets Brazil, perhaps, having shot their wad so to speak, the USA squad can move onto the semifinals to face France. I don't see them winning that match but hey, you never know, there having been one big upset already, as Germany can attest to.

Alluding to my belief that France has an easier bracket, that perhaps the other really good teams will have beat up one another to the point that France is fresher, healthier, I won't be surprised if France is the ultimate winner, but would never discount the level of competition from the South American teams.

Regardless, I only hope that the rest of the tournament progresses without incident, that we are gracious hosts to the world, and that if our team does not advance past Belgium or Spain or France for that matter, we accept a loss with humility. And celebrate the eventual winner and their fans.

Sports truly has a way of bringing people of disparate circumstances together, if even only for a month, and that in this particular common thread, soccer, we can recognize our similarities while also respecting, even rejoicing in our differences and in the diversity of life on our shared planet.     

Disclosure Day

Earlier this week, Nora and I went to see the new Steven Spielberg movie, Disclosure Day. If you haven't seen it and are planning to, you may not want to read the rest of this post, as I will be discussing the plot and ending.

For those of you who don't plan on seeing it, or at least not for a while, the essential plot of the story is that aliens have indeed visited Earth, and that the evidence of these visits has been purposely kept secret for many decades.

The movie focuses on four people, the man who leads the organization that has maintained the alien secret, a man who works for that organization but has decided that the secret needs to be revealed, and two people who were abducted by the aliens when children. Interestingly, while the movie kind of alludes to the fact that there may be others who were taken by the aliens, it is the two people mentioned above who are the focus of the search by the man who seeks to reveal the truth, because they are special.

Margaret, played by Emily Blunt, is a weather girl who, as we slowly learn, has been searching for something but has not known what it was, only that she would know when she found it. Noah, played by Colin Firth, is the head of the organization keeping the secret. Hugo, played by Colman Domingo, is the man who seeks to make public the alien secret. Daniel, played by Josh O'Connor, is a mathematician who also works for the secret organization (named Wardex). As the movie progresses, we learn that Hugo specifically recruited Daniel to work at Wardex because he suspected his incredible mathematical acumen was imbued (the word they use in the movie) by the aliens precisely so he could translate their math based language into English. 

As we quickly learn, Daniel has stolen the archival videos which prove alien presence on Earth. 

Additionally, Hugo suspects there is another person he needs to find, and when Margaret speaks an alien language during a weather report, Hugo realizes she is that other "special" person.

Anyway, lots of action as Noah's team seeks to kidnap Daniel and Margaret to silence them, while Hugo's team seeks to hide them. Eventually, it all comes down to the final scene where Margaret and Daniel take over her TV station to reveal the secret by playing the archival videos that Wardex has been hiding which prove not only aliens arrival (At Roswell, New Mexico), but also that the government has been reverse engineering their technology to drive many new advances, has tortured the aliens for information, and (as the last scene reveals) has kept one alien alive all these years.

A few interesting aspects of the movie. The main reason behind keeping secret that aliens have visited Earth seems to be the fear that such knowledge, which challenges all sorts of beliefs, religion based especially, would prove to be too disruptive for average people to handle, would cause chaos and societal breakdowns. 

In fact, Daniel's girl friend, a woman we find out was once training to become a nun, makes just that point. Curiously, when she flees to the monastery where she once lived, she has a conversation with the mother superior in which she asks, straight out, if knowledge of aliens, and the corresponding belief that we are not alone in the universe, would challenge her faith that man is the pinnacle of God's creative work since the revelation of the alien's superior intelligence could be said to contradict that tenant. 

When the mother superior answers that in Genesis, man is referred to as the pinnacle of God's creative work on Earth, the young woman is satisfied, and eventually helps Daniel reveal the alien secret. When I googled this assertion, I didn't find that distinction, although, depending on which bible version you read, there is mention of Earth in the genesis story, as well as the universe. 

But, then again, this is a Hollywood production so....

Another interesting point is the emphasis on empathy in this movie. In fact, it appears that, contrary to Elon Musk's assertion that empathy is ruining/will lead to the downfall of Western Civilization, the movie makes it very clear that without empathy, humanity may not only not survive, but that we can't hope to achieve the level of advancements that have been attained by the aliens.

Once Margaret's power is revealed to her and us, the ability to (metaphorically) walk in the shoes of anyone she encounters, she becomes a positive force to all those people, in one case telling one of her associates at the TV station to go to her sister and protect her from her abusive husband. Later, the woman thanks Margaret for the advice, telling her that her sister, and her children, are safe.

Empathy. 

I posted about this topic last September. Here is a link. 

https://wurdsfromtheburbs.blogspot.com/2025/09/empathy-revisited.html  

Oddly, after just reading it, I state as clearly as Disclosure Day, that I believe that without a strong sense of empathy, both individually and nationally, humanity is doomed to remain in a state where the strong brutalize the weak, a prospect I believe interferes with the advancement of our communal spirituality, and hence our humanity. Or to put it more bluntly, imagine all the great achievements that do not occur, simply because the people who might make them happen are dismissed due to their skin color, country of birth, gender identification, or whom they choose to love. Talk about leaving a lot on the table!

It is not surprising that Spielberg would present aliens visiting Earth as a positive event, and that man, specifically men who represent our government, would be cast as the antagonists. Still, he allows for some doubt to be expressed by those on the periphery of revealing the "truth", while presenting solid reasoning for why those who wish to suppress the presence of aliens, are ultimately wrong in their belief that humanity couldn't handle the revelation. He seems to illustrate this realization at the end when Hugo, after spending his entire life keeping secret alien presence on Earth, simply sits by while the last few scenes unfold, perhaps finally realizing he has been wrong all along.

As the final scene plays out, the scene where the alien who had been kept alive all these years, is displayed, live, on TV for all to see, who then stands before the two people who had been imbued with the unique traits that would culminate in this very scene, there our multiple views of random people throughout the world, watching the scene, calmly, almost reverently, as they absorb the meaning of the reality of alien life on Earth, as well as the interplay between the two Earthlings and the alien.  

I am sure that at many points in my past writings, I would have agreed with this premise, would have high fived such a conclusion, that we can handle the truth about not being alone in the universe. In fact, I believe than many people do concur, that the Creator would not have fashioned such a huge existence, literally trillions of light years large, and only placed one planet within it capable of sentient life. Of course, understanding the unfathomable, the big why of life and the motive behind our creation, let alone that of the universe, is by its definition not possible. Only conjecture, somewhat like two fleas discussing the small area in which they exist on the body of a large mammal, or two fish ruminating about their situation while in the bowels of a humpback whale.

Still, perhaps that is part of the point, that we can't really know why, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't use the brains we were given to speculate.

Sadly, as I see the most powerful nation on Earth being led by someone who actively denies the destruction we are causing on our home, who pretends that out of control wild fires, scorching heat domes, melting ice caps, are all fake news, added to the fact that we knew all this about him yet elected him anyway, makes me wonder if knowledge of aliens on Earth would fall into the same news spins that occur with every topic discussed, and that the two divergent view points that always emerge with any discussion, would be repeated again. 

No unity, no understanding that many of our foundational concepts need to be rethought, no coming together to evaluate who we are and why we exist. Just further division, further us vs them, further declarations of who to blame or who to kill. Further proclamations by the man who would be king as to what to think.

The very last scene of the movie, after the alien appears to communicate, non-verbally with Margaret and Daniel, Margaret strolls to a point in front of the cameras, a portal to virtually all those around the world who have been entranced by the meeting of her, Daniel and the alien, opens her mouth and says

"Listen."  

The movie ends, leaving us to reflect on what she might say, what she might impart from what was told to her by the alien.

Again, Spielberg asks us to use a trait that is not necessarily a strong point for our culture. To put aside our own egos, to stop telling others what they need but instead, to listen to what they say. Or, even harder, to acknowledge that all the accumulated knowledge of Earth, may be insufficient for understanding the big why.

Then again, maybe there is nothing after "listen". That the word itself is the key to bridging the gaps, to reducing the partisanship rhetoric, to uniting the 8 plus billion people who reside on this blue ball floating in space within one of billions of solar systems within one of billions of galaxies.

That we are both minuscule within this cosmos and also unique, but that we can succeed, if only we would listen, listen to each other and listen to Mother Earth as she repeatedly warns us about the damage we are doing to our planet.

Listen. 

Chapter Six: Wanderlust Continues

In Chapter Five, I recount the bus trips I took in 1979, using my faulty memory as well as snippets from the journal that I kept at the time, to relate the adventures. 

But they were a mere precursor to the hitchhiking trips I made in 1980 and 1981, the longest one a six week affair which again took me across America, details of which I will split up into a number of future chapters. 

For this chapter, however, I want to touch on the bike trip I took in 1980, a multi stop excursion in October of that year. Interestingly, while I was engaged in this trip, my mother's pregnancy was winding down. I had moved out that year; I guess the trauma of losing their oldest created the urge to replace me. 

Any way, this was also the fall when the Philadelphia Phillies won the World Series. I was living in Willow Grove, at my first home away from home at the time. I actually lived at two other Willow Grove addresses in my young adulthood. 

One was with a good friend of mine, one of my core friends at the time, in an apartment above a realtor on York Road. Since it was upstairs, we often left the door open for our friends so they could come right up, without waiting for someone to descend the steps and open the door. 

The apartment had four rooms, a front room painted gold, then the kitchen which, oddly featured red painted appliances, and two bedrooms, adorned with blue and green paint, respectively. In the first few months we were there, strange men would occasionally come up the steps, then stop when they saw our group assembled in the front room, and finally turn around and hurry back down the steps. As it turned out, the previous tenants called their establishment the Four Seasons, and these gentlemen, unaware of a relocation, were stopping by for some stress release. 

While there were a few comments made to the young ladies of our group about providing happy endings for this already established clientele, we maintained the inherited colors of the rooms, but did not retain the customers.

The other apartment was just up the street, in a small complex of about 10 or 12 units. We had to climb a black iron staircase to get into our apartment which could become a bit slippery when the weather became cold or icy or both. I was riding my bike to work back then, which meant that I had to carry it up and down the three levels of metal steps. I lived there with two young ladies, although at separate times. I can't recall the exact order, but I believe the two girls lived together first, then I with one of them, then I with the other. This pattern of living with women was fairly constant in those years, although for the most part they were only friends. 

Anyway, where was I? Oh, that's right, bike trips.

So, again, I was riding my bike all year round, through the seasons, so I was in fairly good shape. In better shape than my bike as it turned out, but more on that later.

I left Willow Grove just as the regular season for baseball was in its last weeks. The Phillies were battling the Montreal Expos for first place during that time. 

My first stop was Kutztown College where my friend Mike went to college. We had spent many a weekend visiting Mike. That was during the time when grain parties were popular. Gallons of unsweetened kool aid mixed with a pint of 190 proof grain alcohol. The danger, of course, is that you don't taste the alcohol which means you drink more than you should until suddenly you are drunk.  

I believe I only stayed a night or two with Mike, then headed off to Bloomsburg College. 

Just to remind you, in 1980 there were no cell phones with GPS. I had written down the directions on a piece of paper before I left, but to be honest, I was mostly taking the routes I would have driven if going by car. So, from Willow Grove, I headed up 611 to County Line Road, both relatively fast moving two lane roads, then north on 309, an expressway but with a substantial shoulder, then west on route 222. 

Similarly, from Kutztown to Bloomsburg, I went back the way I came to 309, then north. If driving, one would use the PA turnpike, going through mountains in tunnels, but bikes are not allowed on the pike so I went over the mountains. Talk about a workout. Constant pedaling in low gears, back and forth as the road meandered up the mountain, then an almost orgasmic feeling at the top, the relief coursing through your body as you crest the peak, followed by an exhilarating 50 plus MPH descent on two wheels, the wind drying out your eyes, whipping your hair (my hair was rather long then). 

It was overcast most of the day which made for nice riding, not too hot. I remember climbing a very large hill on 309 just outside of Tamaqua, Pa, then stopping for dinner at a McDonalds. I knew I was rather far from Bloomsburg, but needed some fuel. Unfortunately, the weather turned rainy as I continued up 309 after eating, to the point that when I reached Hazletown, I was soaked and uncomfortable,  deciding to stop and seek out a laundromat. After drying my clothes, the weather seemed to be clearing, so off I went.

Big mistake.

At some point, as the sun began to set despite the fact that I was still dozens of miles from Bloom, I made a decision that seemed reasonable at the time, but was clearly a historic mistake, although, strangely, worked out fairly well.

I encountered an entrance ramp to Interstate 80, rode up the ramp and began biking on the shoulder as cars and trucks, big trucks, whooshed past me at 60+ miles per hour. When the rain picked up even more furiously, I knew I was in trouble as I somewhat water planed along the interstate, being pushed around by the wind and the wake of the semis, and struggling to see through my rain drop speckled glasses, in the dark because by then the sun was long gone out of view.

When it became clear (or actually well past when it became clear) that I was not going to reach Bloom that night, I had the brilliant idea to spend the night under an overpass.

Now, I don't know how many overpasses you have seen up close, but there are two types that I know of. The more basic type features an incline, usually made of concrete, that runs from street level right up to the overpass. Like a dead end.

But the other type, more rare, ends in a ledge which juts out from below the overpass, providing a sheltered area to rest. Somewhere past Conyngham, I found such an overpass. I "parked" my bike at the foot of the incline, climbed up into the relative dry and quiet of the ledge, and did my best to shut out the noise of the traffic in search of a little sleep.

In the years after that, I often spotted that overpass as I whizzed by in a car. A few times I pointed it out to whomever was riding with me, usually to a surprised smile or even a smirk of slight disbelief, depending on who was with me on that particular trip.

The next morning dawned clear and sunny. I slid down the embankment, mounted my bike, and rode a few exits to Bloomsburg. Now, it being 6 AM or so, I thought it best not to go right to my friends' off campus apartment, instead stopping at McDonalds for breakfast. Still, when I finally rolled into Bloom and knocked on their door, it couldn't have been later than 7 in the morning. 

After waiting a pregnant moment, Terry answered the door, looked at me, looked at my bike, let out a kind of snort and laugh, gave me a hug, and helped me stash my bike in their apartment. When Laura straggled out of her room a few minutes later, I was greeted in a similar fashion.

I stayed with the girls for the weekend, plus a few days. As that was the last series of the baseball season, we watched the Philllies clinch the division at a watch party. My recollection is that Mike Schmidt hit a game winning homer.

Five years later, when I finally returned to college, I lived at that very same off campus apartment for my Junior and first half of my senior year. The Maroon and Gold Apartments.

I had begun experiencing some issues with my bike on this leg, spokes popping. Still, I was determined to start out for my next destination, so I bid farewell to my friends, confirmed my route and off I went to Scranton University where one of my very best of friends went to college.

I had visited Jim at Scranton many times during his 4 years there. In fact, I often traveled there with a car load of friends as the parties were awesome. Taylor Street, I believe. Anyway, in this case I pretty much rode straight up route 11, and while the bike was riding less smoothly than it should have, I made it without incident. 

At this point, the division series against the Houston Astros was starting, as back then, there were only two divisions in baseball. It was a remarkable series, one of the best in history according to some baseball historians. After winning the first game (it was best 3 out of 5), the Phils lost game two in extra innings, lost game three in extra innings, won game four in extra innings, then trailed 5 to 2 in game 5 against ostensibly, the greatest pitcher in baseball history, Nolan Ryan. The Phils however, scratched together a couple of soft singles, then Ryan walked in a run. The Astros changed pitchers, but the rally was on. The Phils scored 5 runs total to take a 7 to 5 lead, but their ace reliever, Tug McGraw blew the save and off they went to extra innings again, fourth time in 5 games. The Phils put two doubles together to take the lead in the 10th then held on to win the game and earn the right to play in the World Series. 

Not that we needed an excuse to party, but sharing those games with Jim, his roommates, and all the people who wandered in and out of the house over the course of that series was epic.

Kansas City had upset the Yankees (I believe) so they would be our opponent for the series, and we all felt very positive about our chances.

I had been doing a lot of riding while I was there, and soon discovered that the bike was done. Enough spokes had broken off that the rear wheel would not turn anymore. Since I had just purchased that bike that year (from a Pep Boys store, don't ask me why they sold bikes), I thought it must be some type of defect. As it turned out, the rear axle was slightly bent, so the constant rotations of the wheel had exacerbated the issue, causing undue stress to radiate into the spokes, or at least that was how it was explained to me.

Not to be deterred, I decided to visit my cousin in New York City. I don't think I had planned to ride my bike there, but then again, using common sense to make choices as to how I traveled was not one of my strong points. However, since my bike was out of commission, I chose to hitchhike to the Big Apple.  

The most direct route was straight across Interstate 80 to I-95 then across the George Washington Bridge. I don't recall how many rides it took, or even any of the nice people who stopped for me. But I do know that once I was dropped on Manhattan Island, upper Manhattan Island, I decided to walk to my cousin's apartment in Greenwich Village. As I reflect on this choice, to walk, perhaps 100 blocks, it seems rather silly considering all the strangers I had ridden with in cars during the past summer, but walk I did. 

When I arrived at Denise's apartment, she was a bit taken aback, as being the days of no cell phones, I did not forewarn her that I was coming to visit. But she was happy to see me and I, her.

I stayed a few nights, the first few games of the Series. Back then, the World Series featured a 2-3-2 format, in this case, two home games in Philadelphia, 3 games in Kansas City, then the final two in Philly. The Phils won both games at home, then lost the next two on the road. I am not sure when I returned to the road, but Denise would not let me hitchhike back to Scranton, instead buying a bus ticket for me and then making sure I got on the bus, waving as we pulled out of the terminal.

Once back in Scranton, we watched the final few games, the Phils winning the third game in KC, then game 6 at home. Again, the games were riveting, especially game 5 in which the Phils scored two runs in the ninth against a very strong KC closer to turn a 3-2 deficit into a 4-3 victory.

The party that night was incredible, moving to a number of locations and lasting well into the early hours of the morning. Remember, this was the first World Series for the Philadelphia Phillies in its storied history, storied, in part, because of their penchant for not winning. It was also part of a spectacular run for Philly sports teams, the Flyers winning two cups 5-6 years previous, the Sixers winning the NBA title in 1983, and all 4 of the sports teams having multiple playoff seasons, the ultimate year being 1980 when all four went to their respective sports finals, although only the Phils won a championship. 

At this point, it was late October, my bike was not road worthy, and I obviously did not have a vehicle to return home. Despite the invite to stay, I decided to hitchhike home, with my rear wheel, leaving the rest of my bike in Scranton. The wheel turned out to be a useful prop, breaking the ice, so to speak, and helping me get rides. Once the wheel was replaced, I returned to Scranton, with a borrowed car, and drove my bike home in the trunk, eventually visiting my parents to see their new baby, my new brother who was born the day before the Phillies won the World Series.  

Chapter Five : Wanderlust Begins

In chapter four I detailed the many different jobs I had during my youth, time coordinates, 1974 through 1985. I listed my first employer (other than the time I spent working with my dad) as Bonanza, which I know began in 1974 because I distinctly remember being at work, loading the commercial dishwasher when news of Nixon's resignation broke.

Since I was still in high school then, I lived with my parents during that employment, as well as while at the next few jobs, until the spring of 1980. 

It was during this time, that last year at home, and those first few years on my own, approximately 1979 to 1982, that wanderlust kicked in, very strongly. 

It began with travel by bus. Back then, it was possible to buy a bus pass for a length of time, no restrictions on where you could go. My first tour featured a very specific destination, the Grand Canyon. I spent one week ($100 for the bus pass) traveling from home to the big hole in the ground, 2 days each way, 2 days there, 2 days back, and on the 7th day, I rested. 

My overwhelming memory is that when I reached Flagstaff, Arizona, which on the map was centimeters from the canyon, I realized that my expectation that I could walk from there was dashed by the nice man at the bus station counter who told me that the only way to get there was by bus, and that the next one left the next morning. 

I took his advice and bought a ticket, thereby enabling me to "wait" in the terminal until the next morning, the ticket being my permission to sleep on a bench. However, in the middle of the night I was awakened by two young men who blasted into the waiting area, ostensibly looking for a friend who was supposed to have arrived sometime in the night. After some pleasantries, they invited me to go to the canyon, where they worked, even offering their couch for me to sleep on. 

So, off I went with two young strangers. Naive? I guess, but a precursor for the hitchhiking I would do in the coming years. As I said, I stayed two days, exploring the canyon, once with a tab of Cid which was provided to me by my new found friends.

Starting in 1977, I began a serious effort at journaling. While I did not keep all of these journals, I did find the one in which I described, in minute detail, this first bus trip.

I actually began this post before reading my entries for that time, and, while my memory was reasonably accurate, there was a plethora of details that I had forgotten. 

First, I described and discussed (and partied with) the people I met during this series of bus rides in a remarkably precise way. For instance

"Not counting the bus driver, there are 12 people on board. Spaced between the 10 pairs (the "A" seats) on one side and 11 pairs on my side (B side) they sit. I'm in 7B. Theres, a black youth (about 18) in 9A, a black man (20's) in 10B, a newly arrived white girl in 10A (about 22), and older gentleman (67, white) in 6A, a black lady in 4B (about 28), a white man in 3B (40's), another white man in 4A (late 20's), an older lady in 3A (50's), a couple (white) in 2A, a white man in 1A (late 20's, early 30's). The driver is at least 50 and has probably been driving these huge autos for 20 years or more."

Now, I assume I didn't ask all these people for their ages, although in later paragraphs I do have conversations with some of them, so perhaps those with exact ages were communicated directly by the person, but as I read this paragraph I was startled at how specific I was in describing them, at the bold way I guessed their ages.

Later, I wrote the following

"The older man in 6A just went to the bathroom. He's about 5'6", 130 pounds with a red fishing cap on his head, probably visiting his son or daughter out west." 

Then, even later

"The old man moved back to 6A. His cap is a brown corduroy, not red, although he does have an orange jacket."  

While mistaking red for burgundy is not uncommon, I now wonder why I include the statement about the orange jacket, as if that was part of the error?

There were many other examples of this type of people watching, and it dawns on me as I write this that perhaps the motivation originated from Mr Topper's English class in high school when we analyzed Paul Simon's song "America", a song covered by Yes a number of years later. In that song which recounts a bus trip across America, there are numerous lines referring to the people sharing the bus ride with the narrator and his girl friend.

I also was struck by the simple lines I occasionally found in the journal, sometimes related to what I was seeing out the window as I traversed America, but also, some just random thoughts.

"The world can be divided into two types of people, those who divide the world into 2 types of people and those who are divided into the types." 

Is that supposed to be profound? Or just a reflection on the fact that while I am studying and describing my bus mates, most of them are just riding along, like sticks along a river. I certainly can understand, even respect, those who take life as it comes, assuming they don't get too high or low when they hit a waterfall or dam, but I wonder if too often we forget to stop and look around.

"8 cows lazily lapping from a pond."

"Balls of hay on the side of the road."

"A horse grazing serenely on a hill, it's outline framed in the glorious orange of the sun, setting in the distance."

Almost poetic, certainly spontaneous. I could never have thought I would write those words the days before leaving for that trip, or even the moments before they came to my mind.

I did a lot of reading on the bus, and I list the books I am reading, although don't really go into any details about them, whether I liked them or not, what I enjoyed about them, etc. Sometimes I wonder if I read back then, and I read a lot, I did it as much out of a desire to check off a box corresponding to that book, as if certain books MUST be read in one's lifetime. Homer, Freud, Dune, the Bible, things like that. Of course, that also connotes the idea that none of them are necessarily more important that any other, a thought that devotees of Dune or the Bible might dispute. 

Another important aspect of that first bus trip was that I found many a tune would wander into my head, remaining there for a while. I had brought along a small transistor radio for the trip, not thinking that raising a station I liked could be a chore. Eventually I got into the habit of relaxing my mind until a song would wander in, then singing it in my head for a while. I mention a few of them in the journal, but don't even try to figure out why that song, although I imagine that any that could be even remotely connected to traveling, i.e, like "Running on Empty" by Jackson Browne, can easily be chalked up to the ongoing experience.

And, of course, I wrote a lot. But I planned to do that, even bringing a candle with me to provide some extra light when I was writing on the bus. In fact, somewhere in the midwest I start telling people that I was a writer when asked what I am scribbling. The early hints of what was not to be, although perhaps, only, what would be, but farther down the road than expected in those days.  

Finally, perhaps because of it, I was amazed at not remembering how often I did drugs during that trip. On the bus. At various times I took turns with my temporary friends to go into the bathroom for a hit on a joint, or just got high right there in our seats. When in Pittsburgh, I scored some hash while walking around town, sharing it with mates. And, apparently, there was some kind of alcohol called locker room that you did shots of, which two guys from Texas turned me on to on the way to St Louis. 

And, of course, there was the "trip" into the Grand Canyon.

Amazingly, there was only one mention of the bus driver rebuking us for our fun, and that was driven by a woman who complained to him. We ceased our criminal activities when the driver announced "anyone smoking marijuana, please stop", then something about emptying the bus and bringing in the police and how someone would get into trouble. Then "thank you", which suddenly reminds me of all those rants emanating from our president in which he ends with "thank you for your attention to this matter."

My next comment is "pretty funny". 

Clearly, we didn't take him seriously, whether because of our state of mind or just the exuberance of youth.

At the end of that first bus trip, on that last leg from St Louis thru Pittsburgh to Philadelphia, I record that the bus was mostly empty and that I and my newest bus mates had a blast, pretending that we were being chauffeured, having a private party, as the miles rolled by, getting high, laughing, commenting on the scenes out our windows.

I end this part of the journal with

"I had 27 cents when I got home, all in pennies."  

Later that same year, I purchased a two week pass ($150) and traversed America again, but his time going all the way to the West Coast. My recollection is that I made stops in Pittsburgh, Chicago, St Louis, Denver, Salt Lake City, Portland, San Francisco, and Los Angeles.

I quickly established a pattern of spending the day walking the city I had traveled to overnight, placing all my things in a locker, or sending my main pack to the next destination, then cruising with a smaller backpack containing just what I would need for the day.

Sadly, as of now, I can't find the journal that I know I kept, only the very beginning which was far less descriptive of my bus mates. But I did find the details of the day I spent in Chicago. Apparently I went to a museum which included a planetarium show, and to an aquarium. After seeing the universe, as well as the highlights of man's history, along with all sorts of marine life, I was initially unimpressed with Chicago, until I hung out on the shores of Lake Michigan for a while. Although my current memory of that day has faded almost completely, I spent a full day there, arriving in the very early AM hours, lockering most of my belongings, then walking to the various places I note above, finally eating dinner then heading back to catch a late night bus to my next destination. 

I met a plethora of people traveling this way, and while they tended to be young, like myself, they were from all over the country with a huge variety of backgrounds. Somewhere during the trip I perfected the art of smoking pot from an apple, a skill I shared with a number of my companions. The other interesting aspect of traveling by bus is that the routes are well established, in that when you go through certain areas you will stop at the same places, going west as well as going east. I can remember that we had a meal in Santa Rosa, New Mexico going in each direction, at the same exact roadside restaurant. 

Sadly, my memory of the rest of that two week sojourn has mostly faded. I know I visited the cities out west which I mentioned above, but can't remember any specific experiences. Perhaps I will locate the journal from that time some day, but those trips remain in my mind as intense times meant to learn more about the people of America, and about myself.

Chapter Four: Jobs of My Youth

I recently broached the topic of past jobs with a few of my friends. The point of the conversations was my opinion that when I was a young adult there were a multitude of places to be hired without any previous experience. And not just in retail or fast food, but with small manufacturing businesses, especially wholesale companies where the customers were sellers of the product.

The other motivation for me to think about my past jobs, is the ever in process "based on a true story" novel that I started in the past year and a half, hence the "Chapter Four" in the title of this post.

As of now, I have remembered a number of places of employment, although I am not certain they are listed in the exact chronological order.

Of course, my first job was with my father delivering knives to the restaurants, delis, grocery stores (yes, we called them grocery stores then), and various other places where knives were required as part of the daily activity, as detailed in the chapter, Working With Dad. From there, I worked at the following jobs.

My first experience for work in which my boss was not a relative was at a restaurant called Bonanza. I started out washing dishes, the standard point of entry for this particular place. Over time, I moved out of the backroom to the front line, preparing the sides, fries and bake potatoes specifically, then eventually to head cook, where the steaks and burgers were grilled.

We had a very tight crew back then, especially that first year. All of us from a few different high schools, but similar in age and background. We often stayed after closing, as a group, to roll silverware into napkins and eat any leftover food from the night's work. My recollection is that we were very busy, long lines on Friday and Saturday nights, and it was rumored that our store was one of the biggest revenue stores in the chain. 

Our boss was an older guy (in his late 20's!) who actively encouraged a sense of team work, although sometimes those events included him buying the beer for those after work get togethers. Sadly, Norm put his hand in a fryer one night and was replaced with a corporate trained manager. Not a bad guy, but someone who did not believe in our after hours sessions. His enforcement of the rules broke down our sense of camaraderie to the degree that when the seniors left that first year, some of the team work went with them.

It would be my first experience with the corporate mentality and  subsequent encounters did not change my perspective.

My next job was at McDonalds. It was here that I met the lifelong friends that I have mentioned in previous posts. My Big Chill group. While McDonalds is clearly a corporation, at the time, Ray Croc was still growing his company, seeking out (mostly) young entrepreneurs to own and operate the stores with a mixture of McDonaldness and their own individuality. In our case, the owner had a string of stores in the area, and he too, like Norm encouraged us to work as a team. 

We had a softball league which he paid for so we could also interact with the young people from other neighborhood stores. He also threw yearly picnics where we ate Big Macs and Quarter Pounders at a local park. And he promoted within; many line workers became assistant and general managers. So, even though our wages were low, there was more to going to work than the pay. It is an attitude that I did experience at times, in future places of employment, but not all of them. Perhaps it was just the exuberance of youth, but we worked hard and played hard, and I genuinely enjoyed my time there, even though I worked the 6 AM to 2 PM shift for most of my six month "career". 

I am a bit fuzzy on the order of the next few jobs, although I know they occurred in the late 70's, early 80's. I still lived at home for some, so money was used exclusively for having a good time. 

One that I only recalled recently, after creating my initial list of youth jobs, was at a department store called Korvettes. It was initially a holiday season opportunity, although it did last past Christmas into the new year. My strongest memory is that soon after being hired, they began to play Christmas music for all the shoppers to hear. It was Elvis Presley's Christmas Album. Now, I was not a big Elvis fan to start with, but after hearing that 45 minute album, six, seven times a day for two months, I was destined to never reconsider my non-fan status. 

Another of those early jobs was working at a place that manufactured gang mowers. If you are not familiar with a gang mower, the idea was to provide a single tractor with a series of reels that could be attached to the rear of the tractor thereby enabling a large swath of grass to be cut at once. My one clear memory of this job is that once a week we needed to create the individual reels by bending steel bars. This entailed heating the steel bars in a large oven, removing them with a tong and gloves, then placing them in a machine that bent the pliable steel into its reel shape. A dip in a vat of water cooled the steel so that it could be moved to the assembly step. 

I often volunteered for this duty, partly because it was better then my usual boring task, but also because it paid $1 an hour extra and all the salt pills you could eat. It was a small niche company providing a very specific product to a small customer base, but a number of people worked there, young people like myself with no responsibilities, but also a few who supported their families. It was a common theme of employers back then, small businesses run by adults who made a decent living while also providing work experience and opportunity for the young people of the neighborhood. 

Again, to return to my original point, a dynamic that I think is lacking in America today, to the detriment of young people seeking entry level employment but also to our society as a whole.

I also worked for a company that made jewelry. It was in a nondescript building without even a sign advertising the name of the place to the outside world. I remember that I initially struggled to figure out where it was located, for that lack of a sign. It was only the address in big, bold numbers on the building facade that convinced me to enter, in answer to their help wanted advertisement.

Back then, jobs were often found in the help wanted ads in the newspapers. While it may have helped to know someone already working there, as I will discuss in reference to another of my youth jobs, it wasn't disqualifying if you walked in off the street, as I did for both restaurant jobs, and the gang mower place.

At the jewelry place, I mostly worked with people that were older than I, quite unlike the restaurant experiences. Young mothers enhancing their household income, married people making a career out of this job, serious people who worked for more than just the money to enable the next party. Still, we were part of a softball league, although perhaps league is too strong a word as I don't recall any real structure to it other than we played against teams from other local small businesses. 

We were not very good, not having many young men working there, so I was one of the better players, batted fourth, played shortstop. But we had a blast and actually won a game or two. At the time I didn't realize it but I learned how to play on a sports team with people who just weren't very good but were looking for some outdoor fun. Oddly, one of the teams we did manage to beat was a group from a local wicker factory, mostly young guys, who did not think much of us or our abilities but were quite shocked when we were victorious. A great example of the team with the best talent losing to the team that played best together. 

Speaking of wicker, I eventually worked for that very employer. A few of the guys recognized me from the softball games, but by then that "league" was no longer. The factory was at the end of a long driveway with a huge grass field in front, and we spent many a lunch break playing touch football in that field. 

In reality, using the word factory to describe this company is a bit of an exaggeration as we mostly imported the wicker furniture, only manufacturing the glass tops for the tables.

I was in the shipping department, my first, but not last job in this capacity. This was before the days of computer inventories, so when an order was received, we roamed the aisles to pick the product. The manager of the department was Walt, a Vietnam Vet who had some lingering issues from his experience there. For the most part, he knew where everything was stored, and was most willing to impart his knowledge. 

Being me, of course, I was flabbergasted as to why there was no formal inventory system, and began a paper version, at first noting the SKUs and aisle placements of the fast moving furniture, then crawling into the upper bays and dust laden areas where we hardly ventured. As it turned out, there was inventory there unknown to the front office, and over time we were able to either sell it at a discount, or just toss it to open up the space for more salable items.  

It was at the wicker place that I had my first encounter with a "roach" coach. For those too young to know this term, a roach coach was a truck which stopped by at morning break and lunch to sell us stale bakery items, coffee and suspicious looking sandwiches. I generally did not partake but many of my fellow wickermen depended on it for a morning snack, and even for lunch.

Sad that the food trucks of the 80's, and the owner/operators, were ahead of their time. I assume they made enough to keep the truck in gas and tires, but nothing like what today's food truck operators can earn. As they say, timing is everything.

Back then, every Friday there was an exodus to the local banks to cash our weekly checks. Direct deposit didn't exist, at least not for small businesses to use. I was riding my bicycle (will be referred to as bike from here on out) to work at that time, having decided to eschew a car due to the increase in yearly insurance after a few minor traffic accidents, so sometimes Walt would drive me to the bank after we tossed my bike in the back of his truck. 

Banks generally maintained standard 9 to 5 hours on weekdays, but on Friday they stayed open until 8:00 due to the influx of everyone cashing their checks. Believe it or not, they had to use those line guides you sometimes see at amusement parks or in movie theaters, which created lines that went back and forth, snakelike. Sometimes you might wait 30, 40 minutes before getting to a teller, usually young women behind horizontal bars that required you to slide your check and deposit slip under them.

I generally had very little money in my bank account, living paycheck to paycheck, yet I also had very few expenses. At some point during my jobs of youth years, when I finally moved from my parents' house, I lived with a young divorcee who was renting two of the bedrooms in her 3 bedroom home. I clearly recall that my monthly rent was $180, which meant that when I cashed my weekly check, I took $45 from each, stashed it in my room, then paid Mary Ellen rent at the end of the month from the weekly saved money. 

I mentioned not driving, by choice, a bit ago, but that was not entirely true. When my car insurance rose to the point that it was more, per year, than the value of my car, by double, even triple, I decided to try to exist without it, turning to my bike for my only form of transportation, winter as well as summer.

Biking all year is something I can't imagine doing today, mature man that I am, but back then I was in shape. I could ride for hours, to the point where I was able to disassociate myself from my legs and tour the town as if riding a horse, or looking out a limo. (One particular night, while under the influence of a drug I will nickname Cid, I imagined that I was riding a horse, the clip clop clip of its hooves emanating from my wheels as they spun, a part of the experience.) 

I particularly enjoyed riding in the snow. First, because I invariably made better time than all the motorists stuck in their cars, having to obey the rules of the road, but also because it was just so darn fun. If the snow was deep enough, you could even come to a complete stop without removing your feet from the pedals. I surprised more than one driver with that move, waiting at a traffic light as if I had training wheels on my bike.

Ice, however, was no fun to navigate. Attempting to make a turn on an inch wide wheel on an ice covered roadway was challenging, to say the least. I feel many times, and unlike falling from your bike in he snow, hurts! Also, riding in the cold temps of winter was hell for my fingers, toes and nose. I recall one day when the temp was single digits, that I rode home on a flat tire, flat because it was so cold, and because I couldn't fathom taking off my gloves to attempt to pump air into it.  

By the way, another advantage we had when I was a young person, in addition to affordable rent, minimal phone bill, free TV, and a plethora of entry level job opportunities, among other things, was the availability of cheap cars. Cars that you bought from a relative or friend, cars that were made of steel, cars that you could buy used parts for from a junk yard, cars that you could "work" on even if you had basic mechanical skills, cars that cost less than $500. 

Cars that you named, Betsy being my favorite car of this time. She took me many a places, even when I was not in the best of shape to be driving. Sadly, I overcompensated on an icy road one day and crashed her into a guardrail. Nothing horrible, but enough damage to cause her next stop to be a junk yard.

Both before losing Betsy to that interaction with the guardrail, to after the three years I did without a motorized vehicle, I owned a number of cars, without monthly payments. I imagine it isn't even possible to find a reliable used car under $2000 let alone $500. Just another reason why I feel for today's young adults, so quickly do they become slaves to our consumer society and the large prices for all the big ticket items. 

I also worked at a candle shop. This was one of the jobs I procured through someone I knew, in this case the mother of one of those lifelong friends from McDonalds. In the beginning she was picking me up at my house, but eventually they created a 2nd shift and I worked from 4 to 12, or 3 to 11, or some such shift so I was back to riding my bike to work. Most people shudder at the thought of biking at night, but I thoroughly enjoyed cruising the streets from work to home after 11:00 at night. It was quiet, I could ride anywhere on the road, and if a full moon was in place, or even just a clear, cool, evening, the rides were spectacular. 

Candle making, at least taper candle making as I did, is a volume job. Hot wax is poured into a machine designed for this function, a steel box kind of thing with dozens of holes, each with a wick that runs from the spool at the bottom, through the machine, into a carriage then up to the top. The carriage is dropped to just above the level of area where the wax is poured, the wax hardens as it cools. Once cool enough, the excess wax is scraped from the tray, the carriage is cranked up revealing the tapers, the tapers are "caught" in the carriage (I can't recall the exact mechanical process of this), the wicks are cut and the tapers removed from the carriage. 

What is really cool, is that the waste is just plopped back into the vats of hot wax, red being the catchall for all colors if there aren't any more runs of that color that night.

As a result of this job, our group always had candles for our parties. Often I would be picked up at the end of shift by my friends and we would spend the AM hours in youthful exuberance, often greeting the new day with candles burnt to a nub, bleary eyes, and faint smiles.

Sadly, I just went to the funeral of my friend's mom, the woman who got me that job and was gracious enough to pick me up and take me to work. I never really liked footwear back then, in fact I still drive barefooted, and Mrs W was one of the moms who often commented on my bare feet, looking with disdain when we first met and I entered her home with naked feet. I considered going to her celebration of life sans shoes, and I truly think she would have laughed, but I didn't.    

I also did phone surveys when I was younger. My employers were two sisters although I imagine it was their dad who owned the company. It was very small time, a room with no more than a dozen booths from which we called people to ask about peanut butter and newspapers and all sorts of mostly mundane subjects and/or products. It was mostly high school kids, so I was the oldest, closer in age to my employers. I rode my bike throughout that job and I think they took pity on me, as there were times when I was the only on the phones, when business was slow. 

The surveys could sometimes be very intricate in that you might have multiple versions of the same survey but could only continue with the process if the correct opinion was given for the first question, even if that opinion could be applied to one of the other versions. I didn't always follow the rules so it was rare that I didn't make my quota, perhaps another reason the girls liked me.  

I also worked one summer for UPS. Apparently, young men like me were "hired" for the summer to fill in when the full timers were on vacation. At first I was assigned to unloading the 53' trucks. You were supposed to empty one in 90 minutes which really didn't allow for you to pay attention to any package marked fragile. 

The next step in the process was the slide. The packages tossed from the trucks moved along a conveyor belt to the top of a 20 foot slide. At the bottom of the slide stood a bunch of workers who removed the packages one at a time, then placed each in a series of cages which rotated behind the slide. Each cage was color coded and corresponded to a set of zip codes so we had to memorize which zip codes went into which colored cages. For some reason I remember that package for Croydon went into the white cage.

On one particular night I was on fire, removing packages at record speed. I have a distinct memory of the song Baker Street by Gerry Rafferty playing in the background; I envision that slide every time I hear the song. Anyway, it was the only time I was complimented on my work although I didn't have the heart to tell my supervisor that when he called me (I was often called into work sometime between midnight and 2AM, had no set schedule) I had been partying with my friends and Cid. When he commented that he hoped I would perform as well on my future shifts, I just smiled. 

The last job of my youth was one in which I "manufactured" dock lights. 

A dock light is attached to an arm, or swivel, that you can swing away from the loading dock to shine into the truck, thereby providing light to load or unload the goods. 

I worked for a very small company, two people to be precise. I was the labor, my boss was the office manager and sales person. He procured the orders, I assembled and shipped the lights. Being so small, we didn't have a factory space of our own, instead we rented a corner spot in someone else's work area. 

In retrospect, I must have made for an odd sight, coming to work each day, moving from work station to station, punch pressing here, assembling there, packing the completed lights into boxes for UPS to pick-up. I do recall asking for help at times, to borrow a tool or advice when I encountered a difficulty that perplexed me, but mostly I worked alone.

This would be the last job I had before going off to college, finally realizing at the age of 25 that these jobs of my youth needed to be put into the rear view mirror. 

In speaking to other people of my age, my employment experience is on the unique side, although many of my contemporaries could remember having multiple jobs as a youth. What I think most distinguishes my experience is the range of jobs, retail, manufacturing, shipping, even interpersonal, if one might count phone surveys as such. 

But again, the main point is that the opportunity for such a wide range of jobs, no experience required, existed in full bloom. It didn't matter that the pay was low, my expenses were even lower, especially during my no car years. More importantly, my expectations were low, in terms of needing expensive possessions (any possessions, really), other than where and when the next good time would be. 

Is it too much to suggest that during these years, I was merely allowed to be young? To be irresponsible, to be carefree, to be selfish, even. There was a time that I believed that we should travel, acquire more memories than things, spend time with friends while making new ones, then, once we reach the age of 40, work until we die. Obviously, I have altered my perception a bit since my 40's are a couple of decades in the past, but I sometimes wonder if the idea is still valid, if the idea of working until we are 65 then hoping we have enough resources and reasonable health to enjoy our remaining time is the wrong approach. I have encountered far too many people who banked on the latter, only to struggle financially as they age, or to suffer medical issues that keep them house bound, or worse, far worse, to have everything in place financially only to pass away within a few years of retiring.

The jobs of my youth did not provide for a retirement fund, or a decades long career, but they did grant me the chance to see America as I will detail in my next chapter, Wanderlust Begins.