Anne. Dale. Mike. Steve. When I think of my first job at a daily newspaper, at the old Wheaton Daily Journal on Schmale Road, the actual tasks — opening mail, making calls, reporting stories, editing copy — are completely forgotten.
The people I worked with, however, leap to mind, clear and vital after 40 years. Anne's precise manner of speaking. Steve's useful life advice delivered over whiskey — "Be careful where you put it."
When we talk about employment, we usually focus so much on our jobs — the labor we do — and so little about who we do it with. Which is a shame, really, because those human interactions, the conversations, collaborations, friendships, rivalries, tend to set the tone for our working lives, far more than the specific duties we're fulfilling, tightening a bolt or selling a car or composing a sentence.
On Labor Day 2024, those of us lucky enough to have jobs should remember we work with, and for, human beings.
I've been working continually since I was 9 and began delivering the Berea News Sun. What I remember most, beside how much I hated that electric alarm clock whining to life at 4 a.m. and muscling the big green Schwinn Typhoon with its double newspaper baskets jammed with folded papers through the pre-dawn darkness, were the subscribers.
Some were friendly and paid on time. Some didn't answer the door even though they were clearly at home. Maybe money was tight. Maybe they realized they could dodge a boy holding a hole punch and a ring with well-worn cardboard cards, yellow for those who paid bi-weekly, purple for prepaid subscribers.
Through open doors I'd catch glimpses of other people's lives. My route covered Whitehall, the curving streets of identical newly built ranch homes set along cul de sacs where we lived, and Sprague Road, a busy road lined with older, more run-down houses.
In the seven years I had the route, I learned the blue-collar subscribers on Sprague Road had less but tipped better than the comfortable suburbanites on Whitehall. A life lesson never taught in school.
The people I worked with, however, leap to mind, clear and vital after 40 years. Anne's precise manner of speaking. Steve's useful life advice delivered over whiskey — "Be careful where you put it."
When we talk about employment, we usually focus so much on our jobs — the labor we do — and so little about who we do it with. Which is a shame, really, because those human interactions, the conversations, collaborations, friendships, rivalries, tend to set the tone for our working lives, far more than the specific duties we're fulfilling, tightening a bolt or selling a car or composing a sentence.
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| With Ashlee Rezin at Roseland hospital. |
I've been working continually since I was 9 and began delivering the Berea News Sun. What I remember most, beside how much I hated that electric alarm clock whining to life at 4 a.m. and muscling the big green Schwinn Typhoon with its double newspaper baskets jammed with folded papers through the pre-dawn darkness, were the subscribers.
Some were friendly and paid on time. Some didn't answer the door even though they were clearly at home. Maybe money was tight. Maybe they realized they could dodge a boy holding a hole punch and a ring with well-worn cardboard cards, yellow for those who paid bi-weekly, purple for prepaid subscribers.
Through open doors I'd catch glimpses of other people's lives. My route covered Whitehall, the curving streets of identical newly built ranch homes set along cul de sacs where we lived, and Sprague Road, a busy road lined with older, more run-down houses.
In the seven years I had the route, I learned the blue-collar subscribers on Sprague Road had less but tipped better than the comfortable suburbanites on Whitehall. A life lesson never taught in school.
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Perhaps you'll also miss the people at EGD, clapping you on the back when you're rounding third and heading for home, after knocking still another one out of the park. Seen you a lot of homers here, Mr. S, and hope to see quite a few more, until the day you finally decide to hang up your spikes. If I'm still here, it'll be a bittersweet one.
ReplyDeleteI delivered papers as well. It still gripes me, 60 years later, how many people would pretend they weren't home when I went to collect payment. I had to pay the newspaper for the papers so it was money out of my pocket. I remember being driven to distraction by old people ripping off a 10 year old who was working his rear off. People.
ReplyDeleteYou probably already know that Bob Greene loved Bob Evans restaurants. Maybe you washed his dirty dish.
ReplyDeleteNo, I don't recall much of Bob Greene's tastes. And if you read the piece again, for comprehension this time, you may see that I was a baker, not a dishwasher.
DeleteLike you, my first job was delivering the paper. In my case, it was the Chicago Tribune in the early sixties in Glen Ellyn. We did not have to suffer the indignities of collecting, the news agency billed our customers. I remember the feeling of being part of something much bigger than me when I delivered the paper announcing that Alan Shepard had successfully gone into space. What a day!
ReplyDeleteA former Illinois state senate president was once asked, some time after his retirement, if he missed working. He said, "I don't miss the circus, but I do miss some of the clowns."
ReplyDeleteI just finished reading your article in the print version of the Sun Times. I loved it! I imagine it is difficult to find a new angle to cover for a holiday that's over 140 years old. But you did it, and you did it well. It is so true.... the people make the place.
ReplyDeleteThanks for honoring coworkers and colleagues on Labor Day.
I started working young as you did, delivering papers then spent three years in a drug store (working a face to face with people should be required) in high school, joined the army then drove trucks and tended bar. Then 30 years in the employ of the city of Chicago. I miss the people very much. But not so much the work, I like having time to do things with my wife and children and grandchildren. But remembering the people and the lessons imparted. I was fortunate to have good mentors. T everyone who's still working, enjoy your day off, and thanks for your work.
ReplyDeleteDuring my adult working years I was blessed to be employed at three companies in which coworkers got to know and care about one another and there was a family atmosphere. One company where I worked for almost 30 years was family owned. The president, Mr. Thomas, was one of the owners, known to everyone as Tommy. He devoted about an hour of almost every day to a stroll through the front office or the shop. He stopped to talk with various workers, knew their names, asked about their families. During the 50s, a recession caused a slump in business, but no one was laid off. Everyone with unused vacation was urged to take some time off. With production slowed, shop workers went on a 4-day week and sometimes were set to painting walls and various clean-up chores. I was the token male along with seven women in a customer service department that took phone orders and handled customer problems. When the ladies learned that my wife was expecting our first baby, they pulled off a surprise baby shower for me! I was pleased to develop friendships at two companies that resulted in occasional get-togethers with a few folks for some years after my retirement. Given decent pay and good working conditions, the next best thing about any job is having good fellow workers.
ReplyDeleteWriting is something you can do for a long time as long as you are healthy and senjoy doing. Roger Angel who mainly wrote articles about baseball for the New Yorker wrote his last article when he was 94. Of course he had slowed down by then and was an amazing writer.
ReplyDelete