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.
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