My first job: I was 10, and “bargained” with Dad to pay me to do some work I was going to have to do anyway. Actually, there was no bargaining about it; Dad was a take-it-or-leave-it kind of guy, especially when it came to money. I didn’t think he would fork over the cash, since 1) we weren’t in good shape financially, and 2) his natural inclination, having grown up in the depression, was to squeeze every gram of the 2.5 allotted to the 90% silver dimes in 1964. What he regarded as “fiscal responsibility” hit me as an excuse to be stingy.
So, I was a little surprised that he agreed to pay me, but not at all surprised that it was a bit shy of what I considered to be the fair market value for manual labor: 25 cents/hour. The job: shovel a load of gravel into our newly-welded iron chute. The chute is the part of a cattle pen that contains a steep ramp with high sides. Cattle move up the ramp and enter a cattle truck which will haul them to market and that great cow pasture in the sky. The sand-gravel mix was about 25 feet from the chute, which meant 50 steps round trip for each shovel full of rock and sand.
It was summer, which is to say it was hot as a tin roof in August, and so humid you could slice the air with your Barlow knife. I hesitated just a beat, which gave Dad the opportunity to remind me that the “boys” (his term for the Mexican migrant workers who lived on our ranch and worked for Dad, their “Patrón”), only got a dollar a day, so if I just worked 5 hours, I would be making more than Pedro or Innocencio made in a whole day, especially considering they would normally put in 10 to 12 hours working in the fields!
Such a deal! To give you a little context and to help you appreciate how generous Dad was being, when you adjust for inflation, I would be earning $2.45/hr. in 2023 coinage! I figured every hour I worked equalled half the cost of a ticket to a John Wayne movie at the Rialto in Three Rivers. Another hour and I had enough for popcorn. The Duke was worth it, so I dug in.
It took me about a week, working two to three hours per day, which was all I was good for. Dad would check on me from time to time – I imagine Mom asked him to – to make sure I was still vertical. He wouldn’t say anything. He just stood and watched for a minute or two, then turned and walked away. When I was exhausted and returned to report that I was done for the day, he looked at his watch, and wrote down my time in a little black ledger he carried with him in his shirt pocket, using a stubby orange pencil without an eraser. An eraser?! Why spend good money on something you never use?
I learned a few important lessons during my indentured servitude: 1) always count the cost before you start a job. If that John Wayne movie + popcorn is really worth it to you, then go for it. Otherwise, you might want to consider negotiating for a better contract; 2) never discount the blessings of a loving employer.
When Dad drove me to see How the West was Won starring the Duke, he walked up to the ticket booth with his hand on my shoulder. I had my money in my hand, but Dad reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty-cent piece. He slid it across the counter to Jonesy Jones (she and her husband, Joe, ran the Rialto). He didn’t say anything, but he gave me a wink. I was floored! That was 2 whole hours worth of work. I hugged him right there in front of the Rialto!
The Duke in How the West Was Won
Then he paid for another ticket and we walked in and watched it together — along with the Looney Tunes cartoon featuring Wiley Coyote and the Roadrunner. Dad laughed so hard! I spent the money I had just saved on a Coke to go with that box of popcorn, which Dad and I shared. Getting to share something I had bought with my own money, and then share it with my Dad! There are no words … except to say, I don’t think I ever enjoyed a movie that much again.
On a sidenote — a few months later, one of my childhood heroes, Cap’n Gus (Charles. F. Snyder), came for a promotional tour to the Rialto. The Cap’n hosted an afternoon cartoon show on KENS channel featuring Popeye, the Sailor Man, and had a live audience full of kids my age.
I couldn’t believe I was actually going to get to meet a superstar like Cap’n Gus in person! Mom drove me into Three Rivers, and when I entered the lobby where all the kids in Live Oak County were jammed, I saw The Cap’n and my jaw dropped! I had only seen him in flickering images on our old black and white TV. But the Cap’n wore a bright red satin shirt and snow white pants. He was a wonder. When I finally made it to the front of the line, I told him that I watched him every day, and I thanked him for coming to Three Rivers.
He smiled through that enormous mustache, and said, “Well thank you, son!” I almost started crying, and I gave him a hug, which may have surprised him a little. “Now,” he said, what’s your name?” I told him, and he signed a card, “To Reg, from Cap’n Gus.” Then, I said, “Cap’n, my daddy watches Popeye all the time, and he really likes it. Do you think I could have a card for him?” “Why sure,” he said. “What’s your daddy’s name? “Max,” I said. “Max Grant.” So he whipped out his pen and wrote, “To Max, my lil’ Matey.”
When I got home, Mom said, “Max, Reg has something for you.” I handed the card to Dad. He read it, and said, in his low way, “Well, how about that?” Then he hugged me. I don’t remember him saying thank you, though he probably did.
I considered myself paid in full.
