School Story:
First College Job
Shortly after arriving on campus I was notified that I would be working on the Landscaping crew. There were always well thought out reasons for decisions of a student's employment, and being a “city boy from Chicago” with no known talents, it had been decided that working outdoors and getting dirty was just what the doctor ordered. The decision pleased me after being surreptitiously informed by an “all knowing” Sophomore that I was extremely lucky because Landscaping was far better than getting “stuck” on the Janitorial crew (wink wink – they have to clean toilets! - oh my stars, NO!).
Early Sunday morning I arrived at the Landscaping Department for my introduction / indoctrination and first job assignment. I was introduced to Tom Summer, one of the friendliest, most talented, no nonsense kind of guys I had ever met, and we drove to someplace called “the farm”.
During the 20 minute drive, we introduced ourselves, then pulled up to what looked like a small mountain of dirt, beside which sat a yellow front end loader tractor and some kind of tall, nearly square, green metal contraption on wheels. My assumption that the mountain consisted of dirt, was immediately shattered when upon opening the pickup truck's doors my olfactory senses were assaulted by the most overpowering, disgusting, sickening stench imaginable. Tom hopped on the tractor as if nothing was amiss, while I was fighting the urge to vomit. Covering my nose and fighting the gag reflex, I watched Tom expertly operate the front end loader effortlessly filling the “trailer” with the obnoxiously odoriferous material.
I was thinking that driving the tractor wouldn't be such a bad job. After all, the wind and distance from the trailer should keep the offensive odor tolerable, from whatever the awful substance was. Tom finished loading and backed the tractor up to the trailer. He instructed me to insert the pin attaching the trailer to the tractor, while he stuck a shovel into the stuff in the trailer and told me to stand behind him on the bar between the tractor and trailer, and away we went.
I asked him what that horrendous smelling “sh*t” was and he politely informed me it was chicken manure (as if it was some benign, ubiquitous material) “we” would be using to fertilize the grounds to keep the grass green and beautiful. The trailer was in reality a big manure spreader with an auger at the bottom, which sent the manure to a spinning fan at the rear which broadcast the material nearly ten feet in every direction.
I asked Tom why he needed me and why the “manure” stunk so bad. He patiently explained that “fresh” chicken manure was more pungent than cow, horse or sheep dung and was richer in the beneficial nutrients the grass needed. Fresh also meant it was still moist and not yet dry, meaning it would stick together and to everything. So, my job was to ride IN the spreader, ON the manure and to use the shovel to push the manure down into the auger until the manure was gone and we could load up again!
The revelation was stunning! Terrible thoughts flooded my brain. If I was gagging from a distance how was I going to handle being “at one” with “fresh chicken manure” ALL DAY? For which of my sins was this the punishment? Was there some way out? Did I really deserve this hell? Out of all the new recruits, why had I been hand selected for this job?
Of course, with every trial, God provides a way out. Within an hour, my senses had become inured to the manure's fragrance. Four hours later the issue was long forgotten and Tom was nice enough to drop me off at the dining hall for lunch while he went to park our rig.
Walking in the front doors and hitting the men's room to wash my hands and face before lunch, I wondered why the room emptied so quickly after I entered. Then as I stepped out and walked over to the lunch line, it seemed there was some force pushing people away as I grabbed a tray. I was a bit surprised when I sat at a table to enjoy lunch and some good conversation, but everybody finished and got up and left within moments of my arrival. Some students began leaving the surrounding tables as well. Everyone was too polite to tell me what the problem was, but within minutes, Tom appeared and ushered me out the back doors where the “blue collar crew” was “dining”. However, we continued all the way back to an empty section of the big auditorium where we moved chairs around using some to sit and others as tables. What was happening finally cracked through my thick skull when Tom explained that this was where the “workers” sat and I was even too ripe for them. He went to get his food but then sat in the front area with the “workers” letting me know that when it came to dining I was in a category beyond everyone, labeled TOXIC. But at least I sure was lucky not to be chosen for the Janitorial crew!
Night Irrigation Crew & The Nitwit of the Year Award
The opportunity to work the irrigation crew during the summer presented itself and since I had been taught the intricacies of the job during the school year and enjoyed the work, I jumped in with both feet, never looking back. The requirements seemed simple. Be willing to stay on campus and work basically the entire summer, and be willing to work 6 days per week twelve hours per shift. The two choices were either the 6 am to 6 pm shift or the 6 pm to 6 am shift. Each supposedly had advantages and disadvantages. The advantages of the night shift were sparce and nuanced, but that's where my fortunes fell.
The two crews consisted of only two students on each shift. Consequently we worked six days twelve hours always together, ate together, slept basically at the same time in the same room. The night crew had to make all their own decisions with no supervision and no one to turn to for help. One person would drive the tug while the other would lay out the pipe to set a line, and one person would pick up the pipe while the other drove the tug to move a line. When there were problems or emergencies there was no one on duty to go to for solutions. So working together required teamwork like few other jobs. If you started out friends, you would either become closer friends or want kill each other.
The 72 hour weeks were a godsend since having a big college bill to repay after graduation was certainly undesirable. The day shift allowed for a fairly normal life with the early mornings and long hours being the main downside. The night shift was an animal of another color. Socializing was practically non-existent with the exception of the Sabbath, and switching sleeping habits for that 24 hour period presented it's own challenges. As most students were relaxing or visiting and getting ready for some form of recreation after sunset, we would be grabbing a couple hours of sleep to prepare for the wet night's work ahead.
The job involved setting out and connecting 30' pipes in long rows to keep the grounds all over campus green and lush during the hot dry summer. The open field areas as well as the greens and fairways at the golf course were simple. The trickiest areas were, of course, working around buildings including the dorms, library and field house. Most of the students seemed to think we stayed up nights planning ways to maximize their inconvenience. This was, of course, rarely the case :). Some would begin their morning journey, groggy, half awake, brain just starting to function, and step out of the dorm only to be assaulted by torrents of water requiring quick thinking and adroit maneuvering to stay dry. At those times, the words “irrigation crew” were rarely spoken in a kindly manner, but were rather hostile words spat out as near profanity.
Some of the benefits of the night shift were being able to enjoy the stunning star filled night sky, often viewing the aptly named Milky Way or watching spectacular shooting stars. Others were observing local wildlife including deer, armadillos, foxes, snakes, and opossums. On one occasion a mama opossum had been run over and its offspring were found clinging to her. Tenderhearted Terry Thompson brought them to the booth and we tried unsuccessfully for several days to bottle feed them. On several occasions we were able to catch different creatures in order to inspect them more closely out of curiosity (this was of course pre-internet days). One of the funniest things I experienced, happened while trying to catch an armadillo. The approach is critical. Armadillos have a good sense of hearing and smell but they are practically blind. If you are quiet and stalk them downwind they are easy to sneak up on. We discovered that windy days are best because the sound of the wind blowing, masks the noise of the stalker. The creature is busy, after all, digging for grubs to eat and has the natural defense of its thick armored shell. Once close enough to grab the shell the deed is done, as long as you hang on tight. One of us would hold the flashlight for the other going in for the catch. On this occasion, I was almost close enough to reach down when I took one more step snapping a branch. The armadillo instantly jumped two feet in the air with its feet moving in a running motion while still airborn! When it hit the ground it took off like a rock out of a slingshot. It literally looked like one of the Looney Tunes cartoon characters. We both laughed off and on for hours, reliving the experience.
The downside of nights, was lack of human contact and difficulty getting good solid sleep, due to all the activity in the dorms. To solve that problem, which in turn made the human contact matter worse, we were allowed to live in booth city with practically everyone else living in the dorms during the summer.
Being young and foolish and full of vim and vinegar (whatever that actually means?) we were constantly trying to outdo each other by playing practical jokes at every opportunity. One night my co-worker (aka partner in crime) came up with a “brilliant” “practical” joke. He noticed that on certain mornings there were a couple of female students, from the janitorial crew, cleaning the men's bathhouse. His idea was to stay up, since we finished our shift at 6 am and normally ate dinner - which was breakfast for everyone else - at 6:30, and then went to the booth to sleep around 8 am. He notice the ladies came in at 9 am so he suggested we act groggy like we had just awakened and walk into the bathhouse with towels wrapped around our waists as though we were going to take a shower. We would first put on our swim trunks with the towel hiding our trunks and when the poor student janitors saw us we would rip off our towels scaring them but revealing that we had our trunks on – no harm no foul - and we would all have a good laugh. (On what level we thought this would be funny, after all these years, I don't remember.)
At the given time we sauntered in. The girls saw us, INSTANTLY started SCREAMING, turned and ran out, never looking back, and were GONE, while we were still tugging at our towels to reveal our swim trunks and the “practical joke”. The girls never saw that we had our trunks on or that it was supposed to be a joke. We returned to our booth surprised and disappointed the joke didn't work as planned and promptly went to sleep.
I awoke that afternoon (morning to my brain and body) uncharacteristically alone. Approaching the booth's door, needing to use the bath house, I noticed a note on the door which instructed me to IMMEDIATELY contact Mr. Ramsey, who was the head of the Landscaping Department and my boss. After taking care of pressing needs and getting dressed for work, I looked for the tug which was normally parked by the booth but to my chagrin, was gone. Wondering what was going on, I started the trek to Landscaping at a rapid pace, thoughts cascading in every direction at this very peculiar situation. Upon arrival, I was greeted by students looking away and scattering as soon as they saw me. The look on Mr. Ramsey's face told me this wasn't a routine visit and certainly wasn't going to be an awards ceremony.
Mr. Ramsey was normally jovial and personable rarely exhibiting anger. I was wondering what in the world had happened to cause his demeanor. My brain was replaying the previous night's work to figure what could have gone wrong while I was sleeping. Then he asked me a question that in all my ignorant naivete I never saw coming. In as stern a voice as I had ever heard from Mr. Ramsey, he asked “What did you do in the bath house this morning?”
“What? This morning? I just got dressed and came straight here as soon as I saw the note telling me I needed to see you? What are you talking about?”
“Mr. Hammer tells me a complaint has been registered by Mr. Dove about a stunt you and (blank – aka partner in crime, crew mate) pulled this morning in the bath house. I'm hearing there are some extremely traumatized girls due to your actions and Mr. Dove wants you two dismissed from college.”
I felt like I had been hit by a hammer. Kicked out of college? For a practical joke (aka stupid, juvenile stunt)? Where was my partner anyway? I REALLY needed some support and help here to explain exactly how innocent this whole thing was. I mean it probably lasted a total of 7 seconds from the time we walked in until the girls took off running and screaming. Sweat was dripping down my face and I felt light headed, feverish and SICK! My body was beginning to shake and I couldn't control it. Life as I knew it was apparently over. In one minute I was not only losing my job but also being thrown out of college. How would I face my friends, and what about my family?
I began to vomit out the play by play to Mr. Ramsey, explaining what had happened from the conception of the idea, to the planning stage, to the implementation, to our total disappointment at the reaction and what we had expected the reaction and the end result to be. It was harmless. We NEVER thought anyone would be hurt. It seemed like we should be sitting here with all the participants present, laughing. I finished my impassioned plea, then sat, spent, enervated, nauseated, waiting for my inevitable demise.
Mr. Ramsey informed me I had an appointment with Mr. Hammer, in his office in the morning and I was dismissed.
Dismissed? I was supposed to be working irrigation? What would I do between now and the appointed time? I was sure I wouldn't be able to sleep, or eat. The next eighteen hours would be torture. How could I turn off my mind to stop the pain?
I found a place where I could be completely alone in the Piney Woods and laid down on a bed of pine needles, and watched the resplendent tapestry playing out above. I prayed, and thought. By morning, I was at peace, realizing my life wasn't over and whatever the consequences of my actions would be, I would accept them, learn whatever lessons I could and move on to whatever God had in store for me next.
Shortly after sunrise I returned to my, apparently abandoned booth, wondering where my partner had disappeared to and when I would see him again. I began to prepare for the day ahead with the imminent unpleasant events about to unfold, avoiding people, skipping breakfast, not wanting to look at or speak with anyone due to the shame I felt.
I entered Mr. Hammer's outer office area and told his secretary that I was here for my appointment. She thankfully avoided eye contact, apparently aware of the reason for my visit. After a few minutes she sent me back to his office. I was surprised when Mr. Hammer greeted me warmly and asked me to sit, then engaged in some pleasant small talk, enquired as to how I was, and how my parents were. It dawned on me that my parents and Mr. Hammer were friends since we had attended the Feast of Tabernacles in Big Sandy for years, traveling all the way from Chicago. His question gave me hope that at least my parents hadn't been informed of their son's crime just yet.
I also realized, the reason my partner in crime probably wasn't present, was a simple interrogation technique. Separate the perpetrators, ask the same questions and see who if anyone is lying. So this was the night irrigation interrogation due to the traumatization situation.
To his credit, and my surprise, Mr. Hammer listened with patience and respect, as I recounted the events of the previous morning. I believe he understood where I was coming from and saw that the intent of my actions was innocent. But, he then tried to help me become a better person by persistently but gently trying to open my nineteen year old mind to understand how I as a parent of a young daughter might feel if this had happened to my daughter. It was not a simple, easy or expeditious process. It was also not a highly successful endeavor at that moment. However, at times over the following years, on several occasions his words rang in my head and eventually I fully grasped his meaning.
So, in humility, I want to take this opportunity to apologize to the two girls, now ladies, for the trauma I inflicted on them and only hope they will forgive an impetuous, thoughtless, ignorant juvenile and hope my actions didn't cause them too much harm.
Post Script: I wasn't kicked out of college (I actually graduated), nor was I fired from the irrigation crew or the Landscaping Department, although I was given a couple days off so I could think about the consequences of my actions on others. When I returned to work, I was assigned a new crew member. It isn't expedient to reveal who the other party was or what happened to him, although I don't know what his specific punishment was or how it played out. He was one of the best partners I could have ever hoped to work with and I immensely enjoyed our time spent together. I can't remember anything negative during all the time we spent together (with the exception of the incident previously described). He was one of the most intelligent people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing and undoubtedly the the funniest, wittiest person I have ever known. I treasure the day we meet again.
