subject: Who Am I? What has been my career? [print this page] Who Am I? What has been my career? Who Am I? What has been my career?
Who Am I?
At age 81, I still seek answers about life!
What could have I done differently? Well, if I had more money, I could have helped people in different ways. And, if I had a support system, I would have had an better life.
There is a hole in my heart, because of my family background. I love the South, but have never spent much time there..
My Mom and Dad grew up in Tennessee mountains, North of Chattanooga. Dad had lived in Pikesville, Tennessee and Mom was raised in the Sequachee mountains. Not sure about spelling..
Oddly enough, my parents had never discussed Tennessee nor their backgrounds. Later, I discovered my Mother had finished the Second grade and Dad the Third grade.
It is impossible to write a complete history. But, I can imagine some things about their lives. They moved to Cincinnati in the 1920s. There was little money, transportation and jobs. But, Dad had worked for a trucking company most of his life
He worked hard as a truck driver, drank beer and chased women.
In the 1990s, I visited the mountains, and discovered his Mother's grave. The site is like the one you see on television.
Have you seen commercials where a new car sits on top of a mountain. And, all that is visible -- are other mountains and valleys.
Think how cruel life must have been! No stores, few houses, and a long way down that road to the valley. And, of course, there was not much in town
Mom and Dad had "hard times" - adversities. I had a brother, Eugene, fifteen years older, and he wanted to quit school. Mom had said, "No!"
Dad did not listen and one day, at work, my older brother had sat on the back of a truck, dangled his legs, and the driver had backed into the cement wall. Gene died quickly.
My Mom never forgave my Dad.
The 1937 flood was another hard time. Their rented house, in Dayton Kentucky had floated down the river. I recall leaving the school and slushed through water on the streets.
We moved to Cincinnati near the riverfront. During the next few years, we moved on a monthly basis. The $18 a month rent was ex[ensive..
On the weekends,Mom and Dad would be in a bar, while kids would sit outside in the car.
Constant fighting.
It became worse, when Dad's first wife left the mountains with her children. Dad had fathered six children with this woman. She moved down the street with us, with four children still living at home. And, my Mom had six children. (Almost all my brothers and sisters (including step siblings) died tragic deaths).
Mom was extremely jealous and she should have been. Dad was a womanizer. That is an understatement.
My parents divorced and I lived with mom. I had a brother and sister who went with Dad, who later moved to California. He asked, "do you want to go with us?"
I said, "No." because I knew that my Dad would let them do whatever they wanted.
After they had moved to California, my life had become "lonely." My Mom scrubbed floors for a living. I did not want to worry her with poor behavior.
But, as a result -- I became extremely shy. I was so shy - that if a person walked on same side of street, I would cross over to the other side. After school, I would stay in the apartment by myself. This shyness remains with me today.
Why am I telling you this? Because I want you to understand how i survived this crazy, mean world without moral and a family support. And without money! My parents were good people, but had little help.
I was a poor student. Quit in the eleventh grade and signed up with Navy.
I can't tell the whole story about my life, so I will tell you that I married at age 21.
Oddly enough, it happened quickly. I was "lost" and one night I went out with a downtown couple (my Mom live outside the city and I stayed there a short time).and partied. Yes, I drank too much.
"Why don't you and Margaret get married?"
"Why not?" we both said.
And, the next day we went to Lawrenceburg, Indiana and got married. I was 21, and Margaret was eighteen.
I had a promising job as a copy boy at Cincinnati Post. I had written to a columnist, while in service, and asked for a job.
Just got married. Had not worked too long as a copy boy. Suddenly, my heart cried out, "You must see your Dad."
A printer, who had worked at the Cincinnati Post for over twenty years said, "I was divorced and took care of my son. If you father loved you, he would be here. Do not go!' He repeated that admonition for days.
Did I listen to him?No. I quit my job and told my wife, "I am going to see my father."
I arrived in California, May 1951. Got a job on the railroad and my Dad was killed in an automobile accident, July 4, 1951. Drunk driving.
A week or so before that, he had taken me into one of his favorite bars, He introduced me to his friends. "This is my son, Charles."
I became angry and shouted, "Where have you been all my life when I needed you?"
I thought I hated my father. But, when I saw his body lowered into the ground, I cried and I cried! Tears would not stop.
I asked his friends, "What should I do now? They advised me to return home.
My wife had signed up for the Army and was stationed in Kentucky. So, I moved to Louisville, Kentucky and got a job as an apprentice printer.
I didn't like marriage for about a year or so. Then, we got along. We were married for over fifty years. And, I believe it was because we worked together and could make decisions. Unfortunately, her family life was like mine ---and all we had was each other.
No one ever encouraged me to write. But, I had re-enlisted in the Navy. And, in the late 1950s was onboard a destroyer when it caught fire.
Now, I asked myself questions. "There had been a major fire. We had photographs in the files. I told myself, If you can not write about this accident, then you are not a writer."
Poor magazine editor. He published the story, but must have gone crazy editing.
When I left the Navy, I had several jobs. Small newspaper (writer, photographer, ad salesman). Part time job at a radio station.
Then, I must tell you a secret, that many people do not know.
At this small paper, I had earned about $65 a week (1963), and maybe $40 a week at the radio station. Did not have a car that would take me to Cincinnati, but i got there.
I had heard about a Writer's job for the Kentucky Post and I applied for it.
Years later I learned that the Editor was a Pulitzer Prize winnter. He looked at my material and his glance told me he thought it was "trash."
Another writer had lost his job at the Cincinnati Times Star (went out of business), and i knew that this man was more experienced that I was.
We were paid for that day, as writers. But II did not get the job,
And as I walked over the bridge to Cincinnati, I became depressed. As I looked at the water, I thought--"it would be easy to jump in." There was a wife and children at home, without food.
When I got to Cincy, I did not have any money. There was a check at the radio station, but I had no way of getting there.
There was a Salvation Army downtown. I went inside and asked for $3 for busfare.
The lady looked at me and said, "Don't you have a family to help you?" I could have cried. My Mom lived fifteen miles away.
A Salvation Army officer came over and said quietly, "If you dust off those tables, I will give you $3." I still could have cried.
Now, I will fast forward my life.
As I worked at the radio station one night, I spotted a classified ad. "Proofreader wanted, Dayton, Ohio."
There was a newspaperman at the radio station. I asked, "What does a proofreader do?"
"Well," said the man, "there are proofreader marks in front of the dictionary and those marks are used to correct papers."
"Well, " I exclaimed, "I could do that!"
So, I wrote a letter to the box number. I received a reply and was told that I had to apply at the Employment office on Main Street in Daton.
I hitched a ride to Dayton. (About 1965, and did not know the directions).
In the employment office, a man had introduced himself and said, "I have a doctorate, and will administer the employment test."
I realized that I could pass the English part. But, nervousness entered my body when he gave me a dexterity test. I knew that I did not have manual skills and lacked dexterity.
He said, "I can not recommend you because you failed the dexterity part!"
No job, no money. I was frantic, so I begged him to recommend me. But it did not do any good. Finally (almost got on my knees to beg) - I said, "Look, give the employer the results and let him make a decision."
He listened to me and I was hired as a proofreader.
No one had told me that this was a "union shop" and that I would be hidden. They hid me across the street in a large two story - empty building. Each day, they would bring me a stack of newly printed ads, covered by a flimsy onion skin paper.
I scratched the proofreader marks. Every hour or so, the foreman crossed the street with another stack.
After two months of this, the foreman came to me and said, " We can no longer hide you. You must join the union."
I could do that because i had newspaper experience.
So, he advised me to apply at union headquarters. The Union President said, "Why you are from Cincinnati, you must apply in that town. And, in Cincinnati, the Union President said, "You work in Dayton and must apply there."
The foreman said, "Look, we are starting a book department and you can come across the street. It will be less money, but you must learn "estimating."
I worked with a man, who was in his late twenties. The owner came around often, and asked, "Are you learnng estimating?"
The other man looked at me and said, "I am not going to teach you anything."
The owner gave me six weeks to find a job.I did find a job, which paid little money at old McCalls publishing company.
But, on my last day at the proofreading company (no one ever knew I was hidden!)an older man approached me, and said, "Why don't you join the union?"
I yelled, "You must be crazy. I was turned down."
He looked at me and said, "Come with me. I used to be Union President. Wewalked into Union Headquarters and he demanded, "You take this man's application NOW! I did not have the $125, but I got it someplace, and received a union card.
After that, I got Union Jobs.
I can not cover my life completely.
But, I must talk about my wife, of over 50 years. She was religious, but did not talk about religion. Prayed every night.
We worked together. Made decisions, rightly or wrongly. She was not my love that I found at eighteen and had lost. But, the love was built over those 50 years, and that was a loving relationship, with many adversities.
In my next blog, I will tell you how volunteer work in jails and prisons changed my way of thinking. I learned the "Crazy World of Attitudes!"
I had discovered how attitudes could help my lifestyle. And, I will tell you how the poor attitudes of fellow workers, drove me to positive thinking
.And, I relate -- that volunteer work in jails and prisons contrasted the attitudes of fellow workers and my attitudes changed..
