The Early Years
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                                                                                                                                                    "Ah, for another go,
                                                                                                                                                     Ah, for a better chance.”
                                                                                                                                                                Thomas Mann                       
                                          

              

There are numerous ways we can define ourselves.  Money, the lack thereof or the accumulation thereof are very popular forms.  Success, failure, family and love: some define themselves by the clothes they wear, the cars they drive, and the partners they choose.  To some degree I have experienced all of the above, however, for the purpose of a life review I choose to trace the jobs, all the jobs, I have been involved in over the past eighty years.  They are numerous and varied and each of them has played an important part in what has been for me a rich, exciting and fulfilling life. 

Of all the jobs I have had the very first job was probably the most important; the arduous and very difficult job of simply being born. My parents already had two girls and a boy by the time my mother discovered she was pregnant with me. She told me later in life that my father was furious with her for “allowing herself to become pregnant." In addition once it was learned that I was to arrive with a twin brother - well, let’s just say we were not a welcome event. Add to that the difficulty of our birth (two months premature) and as far as my father was concerned my twin and I were a big mistake.

I was raised in Buffalo, New York in the 30’s, in the worst depression our country has ever experienced.  Both my parents were immigrants, my father from Liverpool, England and my mother from County Mayo, Ireland.  My father was a skilled tool and die maker but there was no work to be had.  He did odd jobs as best he could. My mother started a curtain cleaning business out of our house.  My twin brother, my older brother and two older sisters and I were expected to help in any way we could.  Whatever money we made we brought home to our mother.  Very early on we all developed a strong, life long work ethic.  My mother’s creed was, “Work: make something of yourself”.

I never heard the word allowance used in our home.  I am sure that at times my mother would give us money for candy or movies but we were expected to earn whatever money we needed for such things.  My sisters were practically professional baby sitters by the time they reached their teens.  Both of them worked in the basement of a candy store and wrapped suckers to earn spending money.  My older brother worked, at an early age, as a delivery boy for a local bakery.  Our mother was not stingy or miserly; there just wasn’t extra money to go around.

I began my first job at about age seven.  We lived across the street from a grocery store that had a fairly large meat department.  One morning one of the butchers asked me to run down the street to a local restaurant and get him a cup of coffee. He probably gave me a nickel for my efforts.  I went back the next day and when I asked if he wanted coffee two or three of the other butchers added their orders.  In a very short time I developed a coffee delivery business for the entire meat department. 

When I told my mother about my new job she suggested that I tell the butchers she would send me over with a pot of coffee each morning.  My mother made great coffee – it was very strong and she added a pinch of salt and eggshells in the grounds – the butchers were delighted.  My mom made a few dollars each week and I earned enough for candy and movies. 

I shoveled snow in the winters and mowed lawns in the summers.  I walked a neighbor’s dog.  At about age 10 I got a job as a delivery boy for Liberty Magazines.   I shoveled horse manure for free horseback rides and delivered booze for the local liquor store – a dime a delivery and a ten cent tip from a lady customer if I agreed to dispose of her empty bottles.  As I grew older I baby-sat, sold popcorn outside the local theater, sold balloons at the Buffalo Zoo, picked strawberries, set pins in a bowling alley, and worked as a soda jerk.

My twin brother Jim and I were altar boys and because we were identical, tow headed twins (we were adorable) we were in great demand for weddings.  I am certain there are still photos in drawers in North Buffalo of the two of us, in our perfectly matched cassocks, on each side of the priest along with the bride and groom: tips were plentiful. By age 12 we each had a paper route – me the morning paper and twin Jim the evening delivery. We once modeled clothes for a department store – we weren’t paid but got to keep the clothes we wore.

When I use the term “jobs” I do not limit it to work for compensation.  Over my life I have had many jobs that did not involve money.  One of the most demanding and difficult of all jobs was one of pure endurance:  that is, surviving eight years of a parochial education in a Roman Catholic grammar school at the hands of the parish priests and nuns in the 1930’s.  
                            
While in high school I worked after school and on weekends at various part time jobs.  Two of my friends, Dutch and Bob and I helped a local businessman start up a furniture store.  For two weeks we worked very hard moving and arranging tables, chairs, dining room sets and beds.  At the end, when it came time to get paid, the owner cheated us out of our agreed pay.  Dutch was so angry he seriously suggested we burn down the store – cooler heads prevailed.

My twin and I worked for about a year as bell hops in a downtown hotel.  Again, because of our identical looks and bellhop uniforms, we had some unique experiences.  Once, when a man, very drunk, checked in I took his bags to the elevator and left.  Moments later, when the doors opened, there was twin Jim ready to take his bags.  It almost sobered him up.  When I left that job I worked for a time as a meter reader for the gas company, delivered mail during the Christmas rush and sold encyclopedias door to door.

When I look back on my youth I have a lot of good memories about high school, football games, dances and girls.  But nothing compares with the job I was lucky enough to get in my sophomore year.  My pal Dutch called one afternoon and said there was an opening for a copy boy at the Buffalo Courier Express where he was employed.  I hopped on a streetcar and within hours I was working at the most exciting job I’d ever had.  It had all the trappings of an epic movie. 

We worked in the advertising department from 4 to 8 on weekdays and all day on Saturdays.  There were four of us and our primary duties were to go to the department stores, theaters, and ad agencies to pick up ad copy for the paper. We were given tokens for the streetcars and buses and our errands took us all over the city. It was mid 40’s, the height of the war.  We got to rub elbows with the editorial staff, the reporters and the men in the composing room, along with the advertising people in the field.  Any one who has ever worked for a major paper will tell you there is a unique kind of excitement and kinetic energy found in few other places.

The most favored and envied run was the theaters that always included The Palace Burlesque, one of the most legendary burlesque houses in the country. Famous names like Gypsy Rose Lee, Rose Le Rose and many other “exotic dancers” played there on a regular basis. If we were lucky we would pick up their copy when one of the strippers was performing.  The music, the cigarette smoke and, of course, the “performing artist” all combined for an unforgettable thrill for a 16 year old Irish Catholic copy boy.  Years later, married with a family and well into my career, I read, in The Seattle Times, of Rose Le Rose’s death – I like to think she would have been pleased to know that tears of sadness and gratitude came to my eyes.

Next to the newspaper office was a bar; Flynn’s.  Many of the employees of the paper frequented the place on a daily basis.  Even though we were under age, because it was wartime; we had no problem being served.  Again, it was a special opportunity to mix with the “seconded oldest profession’s” movers and shakers.  I have one vivid memory of an evening in August of ’45 when one of the paper’s oldest and most respected columnists sat at a table and literally sobbed.  I thought he was drunk but, later learned, that his grief was caused by the front page headline of the day: "Atom bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki."

When the war ended the veterans took back their old positions at the paper.  Many changes were made and there was no longer the need for our jobs.  At that time I had dropped out of my senior year in high school and took a full time job as a file clerk in a small auto insurance agency.  This was long before the advent of the computer and every piece of correspondence, claim forms, auto records and legal documents had to be dated and kept in files.  It was tedious work but I did get to see what it was like to work at the bottom of the corporate ladder.
 
The women in the agency far outnumbered the men and it was the men who had the administrative positions.  If the women of today could see the rampant sexual harassment that was common in those days they would be infuriated and appalled.

I recall one incident that involved one of the young ladies that worked in my department.  She was called to the manager’s office one afternoon.  The door was closed and she was in there for an inordinate amount of time.  When she came out she was visibly shaken and in tears.  A co-worker later informed me that what ever went on in that office that day was a fairly common occurrence.

Most of the men in the agency were quite formal, even officious.  There was one glaring exception.  Every Monday morning a man came in, sat at one of the desks and made phone calls.  He was charming, articulate, gregarious, and had a great sense of humor.  He would leave in mid-morning and was not seen again until Friday afternoon.  He fascinated me and when I asked what he did I was told he was an insurance agent, a salesman.  I thought to myself, “that’s the kind of job I’d like to have.”  At the time I never imagined how prophetic that thought was.

The filing load became heavier and eventually another clerk was hired.  He was from South Buffalo and we became instant friends.  He was clever and funny and he made the job easier and less tedious.  At the time I was having frustration about my life.  I was still living with my parents and my home life was more and more difficult.  All my friends were off to college and I was concerned about being stuck in Buffalo in a mediocre job with no future. None of my brothers or sisters ever got the chance to go further then high school.  After high school we were expected to “work, make something of your self”.

It was at this time my file clerk buddy suggested we take a physical exam to see if we could get into the Navy.  The idea appealed to me.  The government was still providing the GI Bill and I thought the Navy might give me a ticket out of Buffalo and the chance for a college education.  We took the physical and, as fate would have it, my pal flunked because of ear problems. I was told I had a clean bill of health and they would be pleased to swear me in any time I was ready. 

On a cold and snowy Saturday morning in November of 1948 I got up, took my tooth brush, a change of underwear and, without a word to any one, went to the main post office in downtown Buffalo and joined the US Navy.  My first order was to report to the train station that evening at “20 hundred hours”.  I spent the afternoon taking in my last show at the Palace Burlesque (I like to think Rose Le Rose was the headliner), and, like any doomed soul, bought myself a gourmet dinner.

The train I boarded that night had originated in New York City.  It snaked its way up through New York and Pennsylvania as it picked up young men along the way.  By the time it reached Buffalo it was filled with a load of drunken recruits.  After a terrible night on that freezing train, rank with the smell of stale cigarette smoke and spilled gin, we landed in Chicago, en route to Great Lakes Naval Training Station to report for boot camp.

​ I called my mother from the train terminal and told her I had joined the Navy. She said, “Oh Jack, you’ve ruined your life”.  

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