This is a photo of a brick street in Athens, Ohio, swiped from the Internet.Ours was a family of workers, definitely the "downstairs" folks in the Upstairs, Downstairs series. Work was not only a necessity in our house but a virtue. One of the things our dad was most proud of was that he "...was never out of work more than eight hours," and that included the years of the Great Depression.
By the time I came along, everyone around me was working at one thing or the other, and I couldn't wait to be grown-up enough to earn my own money. It was a sign of responsibility, a rite of passage. Lois and I used to gather up returnable bottles and cash them in so that we could pay 75 cents to go roller-skating on a Saturday night. It took most of the day, but we earned our $1.50 the hard way and probably enjoyed the night out even more.
Not only did our mom labor incessantly to make our home what it was, but she joined the workforce when I started school, and she was still at it by the time I married and moved away.
I couldn't possibly count all of the jobs that Dad had, but I know they include miner, steam engineer, selling Christmas trees on a windy and frigid street corner in Detroit, delivering butter and eggs, running the Superior Electric Company, selling cars, both for dealers and on his own, selling travel trailers, managing a grocery store, owning and running the "Red Dot," a drive-in on W. Union St., and operating his locally famous and fabulously fattening Peck's Potato Chips. I'm sure most of you will have other business ventures to add to this list.
One of the best compliments you could get from Dad was to be called "a worker." Having his education cut short did not deter him. He was always thinking of a better business, not only for himself but for each of us. Even when he was at First Community Village, Mom told me that he was trying to figure out what kind of business he could set up there! I think that Dad knew that work gives life a sense of purpose and gives individuals a satisfying feeling of contributing to the pot, of doing their share. And when Daddy couldn't find any more jobs to do, I think he was ready to put on his hat and go. And so he did.
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I have been thinking about how Dad was the product of mid-twentieth century when Hubbard's essay, "Message to Garcia" became HUGELY popular, perhaps the only piece of literature written on how to be a good employee rather than how to be a good manager. And Dad was certainly every bit the Rowan who could get the message to Garcia in the mountains of Cuba, no questions asked!
We all know his story of applying for work at the wholesale grocery when, let's face it, he was just a KID (16?), and when asked by the owner, "What can you do?" Dad replied,"Whatever you have that needs done." And it was totally TRUE!
As he grew older, he then wanted so badly to be the owner, possibly after so many years of working for people who couldn't get a message to Garcia if the peace of the world depended on it, huh?
P.S. Who wants to write about the Red Dot? :)
Daddy could pretty much put his mind to it and figure out how to do it, that's for sure. He may have lacked formal education, but he was one smart cookie. I'm not sure he ever felt that we gave him enough credit for it, but he was the man! The Red Dot is a whole separate blog. Your turn, Loie, because Rita wasn't there to carhop or cook or eat up the pizzaburgers!
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