Third Job of Bob - Gas Station Jockey

4 May 2007

Third Job of Bob - Gas Station Jockey

This entry was posted on 5/4/2007 at 01:30 AM and is filed under Jobs of Bob.

In my senior year of high school it came to my attention that the gas station down from the high school was looking for a gas jockey.   A gas jockey was a guy who pumped the gas into your cars.  This was the days before self service.  Anyway, the lady who sold eggs to the gas station (they had a dairy cooler) knew my mom.  Mom bought our eggs from the egg-lady also.  The egg-lady said the station manager was looking for another guy to help out.  Mom dropped the tip to me and I stopped in the station after school. 

Those were the days before human resources rules.  Expecting to get grilled by the manager, I brought notes to help fill out the application.  Ol' Ray the manager just asked if I was the kid who had worked on the farm since I was 12, took a puff on his cigarette, and asked from a veil of smoke, "can you start tomorrow?"

Ol' Ray was a chain smoker and sent me down to the bank sometimes with a bag of money.  He had me use his own pickup truck.  The ash trays were always spilling over and he had one of those bean bag ash trays on the dash too - also over flowing.  The ash trays in the store were alway bulging too.  Ray was a Korean War era veteran and always took a big drag on one of his lit cigarettes when he would mention he spent the time in France not Korea.  He mentioned things he had a chance to do in France but never did. "What would it matter now," he always would say.
I will never forget the smell of old ash and window cleaner.  You see we pumped the gas and cleaned the car windows.  Ray insisted we have all our money bills facing the same way with face up, and small bills to the inside of the roll with the roll stuffed in our work shirt pocket.  The people paid us at the pumps.  Every so often we would come in the store and ring up some of the cash.  To this day I always carry my extra bills that way.  

The drinking age was 18 and after work me and the assistant manager Dave who was about 23 hit the college bars.  Dave had been in the Army during Vietnam.  Some of his stories inspired me to make rather reasonable decisions about my own military time. Dave was also picking away at college - he seemed to know everyone in town and the college.  Just before I shipped out that fall, Ray asked me if I could work the day before I would be leaving. Of course I said yes.  Mom said if he did not count on me he would never have asked.  That logic still seems Wisconsinish.  

The one regret I have is that after I came home after three years, now myself a Vietnam era veteran, I can't remember checking in on Ray.  I spent my time in Germany, not Vietnam just like Ray had spent his time in France and not Korea.  I know Ray died a while after I got home.  I remember Mom bringing it up.  I remember going into the station after I got back but I never caught up with Ray.  I have since learned you can't re-do things like that.  Now in retrospect I sure would have liked to chat with Ray a bit when I got back.  Dave too, but he had left town I heard.  

The lasting image of Ray I have is of him on every Friday night pulling into the station to fuel up his truck.  His pretty wife always smiled and chatted with the employees politely.  Side note: Ray had a beautiful daughter also who was only a year or so behind me in school.  When I got out of the Army she asked me once why I had never asked her out.  I did not admit it but I just assumed she was too pretty for an old farm kid like me - lost chances - but I digress.  Any way Ray always pulled in the station with a crisp, clean gas station uniform on.  The name  Ray was proudly displayed over his shirt pocket.  He worked there seven days a week - he always opened about 4:30 a.m. and left after the evening shift had settled in about 6:00 p.m.  It was also the beginning of the days when places like that were open seven days a week for long hours.  The one pleasure he allowed himself was to take his wife out every Friday night to a tavern for the traditional Wisconsin fish fry. 

I hope they have fish fry where every you are Ray.

This week's soldier to remember is Specialist Paul J. Sturino, 21 of Rice Lake who died on September 22, 2003 from a non-hostile gunshot wound.  He was assigned to the 101st Airborne Division and was in an area south of Mosul in northern Iraq.  He was in Battery B, 2nd Battalion, 320 Field Artillery Regiment, 101st Airborne Division.  Sturino was the fourth Wisconsinite killed during military operations in Iraq.  Originally with a tank detail based in Lawton, Oklahoma, Paul transferred to the 101st Airborne in Fort Campbell, Kentucky to be a paratrooper.  He went to Iraq in March 2003.  Sturino had re-enlisted for another year as a member of the 101st but his tour of duty was subsequently extended because of the war.

3,361 Americans have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.

25,090 U.S. troops have been wounded in action in Iraq since Spring 2003.

72 Wisconsin soldiers have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.

Soldier of the week and military casualty information sources: cnn.com; and, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.

Second Job of Bob - Rock Band

My second job was during my junior year in high school.  In 1973 I hooked up with some classmates to join their rock band as their saxophonist.  They were all excited.  Bands had had the sax in the rock music since the 1950s.  The 1970s were no different.  There were five of us.  Like any band the members changed from time to time.  Sometimes they had six members.  I worked with them throughout the school year.  We made 25 dollars each per gig.  That was a big deal in 1973.

 It taught me about being where you are suppose to be when the time is agreed.  Event coordinators have no sense of humor for late entertainers.  Nor do the guests.  I remember being pulled over after a gig one night because my Fairlane had a burned out head light.  I was 17 and there was a curfew in that Wisconsin town and it was after midnight.  My quick response surprised even me when I pointed to the sax case in the back seat and said, "I just got off work - wedding dance."  The cop did not even bat an eye and just gave me an equipment warning. 

I quit the band because the sporadic event times drove me nuts.  I suppose if I had applied myself, I could have been a better sax player and perhaps expanded on the fledgling career.  Girls, cars, the farm, football, and then finally the Army got in the way of ever taking the sax beyond high school.  I look at it once in a while.  It still sits in its case in my make-shift library down in the basement.  So many things have been lost, stolen, forgotten, but it still got moved around the country for a life time.  My parents had bought it used on top of that.  Here's to a path never taken.  Maybe in the next life. 
This week's Wisconsin soldier to remember is Sgt. 1st Class Dan H. Gabrielson, 40, of Frederic.  He spent 22 years in the Army Reserve.  Gabrielson was a specialist in repairing construction equipment for the Army Reserve's 652nd Engineer Company based out of Ellsworth.  He  worked as a mechanic and machinist in the unit's motor pool and was in charge of keeping the bridge building equipment working under very difficult conditions.  Sgt. Gabrielson was the third Wisconsin serviceman to die in Iraq and the first reservist from the state killed there.  Gabrielson had taken over the role of platoon sergeant for his unit and was studying to become a warrant officer.  He was promoted from staff sergeant to Sergeant 1st class after his bridge building unit was sent to Iraq.  Sergent Gabrielson was killed on July 9, 2003, in a rocket-propelled grenade attack on a convoy near Baqouba, 45 miles northeast of Baghdad.

   3,334 Americans have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.

   71 Wisconsin Soldiers have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003. 
Soldier of the week and military casualty information sources: cnn.com; and, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.

First Job of Bob - Dairy Farm - Part I - Things learned

From time to time I will revisit the jobs I have done in my life.  It will take quit a few postings.

My first job was of course, working on the family farm in Wisconsin.  Life on the family farm has been glamorized by popular media and culture - usually by those who never lived on one.  My parents always told me we were well off - years later I realized we were actually rather poor.  The days were long, and if you raised animals you were basically a prisoner to them.  Yet, there was the freedom of owning one's own business. 

From about 12 to 18 years old I worked on the farm.  I got to work with my dad and his brother.  This is something few kids get to do these days. So, I got to know my father quite well.  I know things about him my mom probably never knew. You learn things about a person and all their nuances when you work with them, things you would never learn over a cup of coffee relationship.

Human resources people claim I should not use my farm work history on my resume.  You might as well tell me you are taking away my American citizenship.  The human resources culture can be deconstructed on another posting.  Anyway, I will not let people take my farm history away from me.

A smart employer would realize that this humble farm work background instilled in me a knowledge of the four seasons.  It taught me that there is a window to exploit the crops.  Miss it and you have to wait until next season.  It taught me to respect animals and how vital they were to the business.  The cows were the milk and the milk was the pay check.  They were not pets these huge beasts.  Even the cats patrolled for mice among the grain bins.  

It taught me the importance of making a payroll.  And if you don't pay your bills in a small town you are as good as finished.  It taught me that there is more reward in work than money.  And it taught me that your finished product is a portrait of you in a way.  Crocked corn rows and uneven shingles on a new shed roof mean you are probably an inattentive-to-detail person.  And, everyone else then knows that too. 

Working on the farm taught me to fix machines with no tools, parts, or resources.  To this day I can keep machines running that should have been retired to a junk heap years ago.  It taught me not to move someone's stuff.  Tools and equipment often stayed in place season to season.  Move them arbitrarily out of place and the work process is delayed.   It taught me to get along with the neighbors.  Someday they may have to save your property from god knows what while you just happened to be away for the afternoon. 

It taught me that in a job many things happen at once and over time to make the process complete.  On any given day dozens of things happen in the process of getting through the day.   The cows are feed, the cows are milked, the cows are feed again, the barn is cleaned, some hay may be bailed, and some crop my be planted. The cows are milked again.  Some equipment may be prepped for the next day.  Some machine may be fixed.  Fuel has to be ordered,  a door may need to be repaired, a tire may need to be fixed.  The cows are feed again.  If you are lucky you can sneak an hour or two once a week to go to the high school football game.

Working on the farm taught me to respect the power of nature.  One day the sky is beautiful, the next your buildings have been leveled by wind, your crops ruined by drought, and your animals at threat by disease.  The farm taught me that things must be done by a team - usually the family in those days - and that was before the word "team" was in every business manifesto in America.

   Dad insisted I not follow in his footsteps.  He saw that farming was evolving into mega farms.  The small guy's operation would be crushed, his body crushed to.  He was prophetic.  I moved on and he was glad I tried other things in life.  That made him happy I know.  He had said he always felt like a prisoner to the farm.  But, he can take with him this.  And that is for me at least, I take a piece of that farm work experience to work every day with every job I have ever had.

No human resources people,  I am not going to apologize for spending my first job working on the farm for six years.  It is part of who I am.  If you try to take that from me you might as well ask me to pretend to be from another country.

This week's Wisconsin soldier to remember is Mathew Schram, a major in the Army's 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment. He was killed on May 26, 2003 about 100 miles northwest of Baghdad in Haditha, Iraq.  His resupply mission convoy came under attack from gunmen who opened fire with rocket-propelled grenades and machine guns.  The Brookfield native was 36.  He was in ROTC while at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater before joining the Army in 1989 and participating in the first Gulf War 12 years prior.

3,316 Americans have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.

71 Wisconsin Soldiers have been killed in Iraq since Spring 2003.