It was the fall of 1966, the trees were turning yellow in the Pacific Northwest. Coolness had set in and I was thankful for the change of weather. It had been very uncomfortable at my job during the hot weather. Working outside is not pleasant even on a good day, but I was young, 19 at the time.
I applied for the mail carrier job because I liked the outdoors after carrying the newspaper for my brother in the summers for 4 years and before that I helped him carry on Sundays from the time I was 8 years old. Also, my aunt worked at the Post Office in San Francisco and it was a good job for her.
I had to wait for 3 months and was accepted after passing the Civil Service test. This was my first real job with benefits. I requested to work in Seattle, as I knew I could get on quicker there than in Tacoma where I was born and raised. Also, I wanted to get away from my family restrictions as all young people do. I wanted to be independent, because I knew everything!
The Post Office I worked at was in the University of Washington area. It was really something to see how the students lived in the old houses around the campus. It was the beginning of the Hippie movement and they had no furniture, but sat in circles on the floor. I knew I didn’t want that. I got caught one time in a Sorority hazing walk. The girls were talking and pointing at me in my uniform. I knew I didn’t want that either. I was glad I was living at the YWCA in downtown Seattle, across the street from the swankiest hotel in the city, The Fairmont.
* * *
The YWCA was for women only and they rented out rooms, either with a roommate, or very rarely, a single room. The Young Women’s Christian Association was a temporary living place for women who couldn’t afford an apartment when they moved to the big city. No men were allowed past the front desk. There was a restaurant adjacent to the Y, as it was called for short. The Y had an Olympic size pool that was open to everyone, who paid for a membership each month or yearly to the YWCA or YMCA (Young Men’s Christian Association). There was a separate entrance for men going to the swimming pool.
The Y had a day care, although no children were allowed in the rooms with the women. We were mainly young single women. They still have 116 rooms for women with a 24 hour front desk and secured elevator entry for all floors. Only now, they have a shared bathroom between two rooms and only one woman in each room. Each room has a small refrigerator in it.
Back then, there were communal bathrooms and most rooms were double occupancy.
We had kitchen privileges. The refrigerator had metal wire lock boxes in it. We could only put our food to be refrigerated in the cages as it would be stolen otherwise. Much stealing went on and even with a lock on the cage, if someone could grab something out of the cage, it would be gone. I saw this happen, but the girl, trying to get some bacon out, told me it was her cage; that she lost the key to the padlock. I found out later that the cage belonged to someone else.
I roomed with someone at first, but later when I got a raise, I moved to the biggest single room they had in the old building.
One man accosted me on the street trying to sell me insurance one day, because he had seen my picture in the newspaper for being the first woman carrier in the city of Seattle. I had to enter the YWCA to get rid of him.
* * *
I was young and knew I needed a car. My Dad took me to buy a blue and white Ford. I don’t know what model or make, but my father worked for a Ford Motor Company, so he was loyal to Ford. The first day I drove it to work, it was towed away because I parked in a 2 hour parking zone. I walked to my brother, Robert’s trailer, as he was attending the University of Washington, and he took me home. A man from work told me how to find the car, as I was young and ignorant about towing zones. I bailed the car out and then the next morning it wouldn’t start. It was the battery, but I was tired of it already and didn’t have the money for a battery at that time. What a headache!! The reality of upkeep had hit me. A car was expensive to park downtown and expensive to take care of.
Dad financed it until it broke down. He took it back home to Tacoma, painted it and made some money selling it. He was a “Body and Fender Man” by trade and worked painting cars on the side.
I rode the bus after that during the day and in the morning I took a cab to work as it was too dangerous on the bus in that area of town. When I wasn’t working, I walked everywhere.
I walked to the markets on the Sound, where someone was making bread in the form of turtles, alligators and other animals. It was great fun to see everything there.
At the very beginning of my mail carrying days I dated a boy about my age, named Tracy. We went on a double date with his brother to a Beatles concert at the Seattle Center, where The World’s Fair had been. We were so far away from the stage, that the Beatles looked like little stick men. Some people next to us let us use their binoculars several times. It was exciting! I had never been to a concert before.
We were both subs and if I was late, he would come out and help me. We got to ride the bus free if we had a Postal bag over our shoulder. Tracy took me down to the most expensive store in town, Frederick & Nelson, where his mother worked. She wrapped up the articles people bought and it was really crowded there with a Security Guard on duty. I looked at a few prices and almost fainted. I was afraid I might break something with my purse and I would not be able to pay for it, so I held my purse really close. I did meet his mother. I had started working in August, then, he was drafted in September. I didn’t know if I would ever see or hear from him again. In the spring, out of the blue, I received a letter from him. I told him I was going to marry someone else.
Then a 45 year old carrier, Gene, asked if I would like to meet his son, who was close to my age. He invited me to go square dancing with his family and I would have to stay overnight because they got finished so late. His wife was very nice to me and I ate supper with them 3 or 4 times and went square dancing with them. His wife got out an old dress of hers and modified it so I could wear it. He was an unassigned carrier and was always trying to get me to go somewhere with him during work. I went one time and he tried to kiss me and I knew something was really wrong with this situation. I should have cut off contact with him and his family right then because the next time at breakfast his wife started accusing me of having an affair with him. She told me he was 45, had kids, and she would take everything they had. I didn’t know what to say. I was scared to death. I was only 19 and just wanted to run. She kept on by saying that she had seen him get up really early and come in and stare at me for 15 minutes before he woke me up in the morning and he seemed to be in love with me. I turned redder and redder and started to cry.
We left and when I got to work I told him not to talk to me again. Then, Gene stalked me and showed up on my route, at the very end, and asked to drive me back to the station. I told him, “NO!” I finally noticed, the next day, that he was parked on the top of the hill, in the graveyard above the last street of my route. I went in and told my supervisor and he spoke to Gene, because that stopped. Then he showed up when I went for a walk, out of the YWCA. I told him to get lost and he kept walking and talking and I had to run back into the Y to get rid of him. I had to go to the supervisor again and then he stopped.
I was so upset over these events, I had to go to the doctor and get a tranquilizer. The tranquilizer worked.
Then I got my first CREDIT CARDS; something unheard of before this time in my family. Credit Cards were just coming in as a way to shop at your favorite store. My parents signed for a credit card for me at JC Penney’s and I was very inept at figuring the bills from the Credit Card, because we received the bill with the holes in the cards, and no one had calculators then. We had to add each purchase separately, but I always had enough money to pay the bill.
Bank statements were also Greek to me and I had no one to help me figure it out. At that time, it cost 10 cents to write a check, so you had to add that cost in every time you wrote one. I dealt in cash most of the time because of bank fees for checks and accounts. But I was able to cash my check at the bank for nothing.
All these experiences in learning about living on your own helped me with Palm as he didn’t know much about banking, either. He dealt in cash only, but credit cards were to play an important part in Palmer’s life in the future.