JARED WAS up before dawn the next morning and left the Salvation Army building before breakfast. He drove directly to the street comer where the man at the service station had told him the line-up was held each day. Several pickup trucks and old buses were already parked beneath a street light, and a large group of men and women were milling around silently, waiting for the ritual to begin.
Jared noticed that some of the people were white and some black; some were Cubans and some Mexicans, although he could not tell one from another; and others were long-haired, bearded hippies accompanied by young girls with strings of wooden beads around their necks and sweatbands tied around their foreheads. All of them had expressionless faces and moved about as if in a trance. Each of them — both men and women — somehow resembled the other.
It was but a few minutes when a man stood up in the back of a truck and shouted, “I need twenty-five hands for okra!” People pushed by Jared frantically and formed a line. As soon as the twenty-five were hired and given passes to board a bus, the others in the line moved to another truck.
Jared watched with interest as two more crews were hired. The whole process seemed to him like he had always imagined an ancient slave market to be. He finally realized that unless he fought his way into a line, he would still be standing on the curb when the last bus was filled.
When another man shouted an order for tomato pickers, Jared pushed his way into the crowd and worked his way forward. When he reached the head of the line, the man glanced at him briefly and said, “You got experience picking tomatoes?”
Jared said, “Well, I owned my own farm back in West Virginny, and I growed a few tomatoes. I always picked what I growed.”
“Step aside,” the man said briskly. “I don’t want nothing but experienced pickers. We got a sixty-acre field to clear this morning, and we ain’t got time to fool with no friggin’ hillbilly.”
“But I can do it,” Jared insisted. “I owned my own . . .”
“Goddamit, fellow, are you deaf?” the man said impatiently. “Move aside! I ain’t got all day to get this bus rolling.”
Jared moved out of the line and walked dejectedly back to the curb. He made no other attempt to get into a line as he watched the last bus being loaded. Several dozen other people had also been turned away or had failed to make it to the head of the lines, and they slowly drifted away into the shadows. Jared was alone beneath the street light as dawn streaked through the eastern sky.
For a half-hour Jared sat on the curb, gazing absently at the buses and trucks that am bled by, trying to determine what he must do now. Finally he decided to try the packing houses. He got into the van and drove along the main street into Homestead.
It did not bother him that he had left Cloma and the children behind while he looked for work, for he knew that watching the TV would be a real treat to them. He had also left the money with Cloma to pay for the meals while he was gone.
When he reached the last packing house on the western outskirts of the city, he stopped and went inside. As soon as he inquired about work, he was told that only experienced graders were needed, and that all other jobs were filled. From one plant he went to another, working his way back toward Florida City; and at each plant the story was the same.
It was mid-morning when he was rejected by the last packing house, and he felt more despondent and hopeless than ever. He then drove the van back into Homestead, parked in a city lot, and started walking the streets. At first the tourists in their shorts and brightly colored shirts and blouses interested him, but then his thoughts went back only to finding a job.
Soon he came to a farm supply store and went inside to inquire about work on the loading platform or driving a truck, but again there was none. He then left the main area of town and walked along a narrow side street lined with dingy pawn shops and bargain stores. Already there were faceless men sitting along the sidewalk, drinking from bottles inside brown paper bags. Jared finally paused when he passed the front of a place called Blue Moon Cafe and noticed a sign in the window that read: “Help Wanted.”
Jared went inside reluctantly, almost certain that he would not be suitable for work in a cafe. The small room was dimly lit and smelled strongly of boiled cabbage and stale bacon grease. There was a counter at the back of the room, and tables occupied the center and sides. Except for two men drinking coffee at the counter, the place was empty.
For several moments Jared stood by the counter and shuffled his feet nervously, thinking that perhaps it was a mistake even to come inside. Then a short fat man wearing a dirty apron and a white cap came from the kitchen area and said to him, “What’ll it be, fellow?”
“Well,” Jared said hesitantly, “I noticed the sign in the window. I’m lookin’ fer work, and I just thought I’d come in and ask about it.”
The man eyed Jared closely and said, “My dishwasher took sick yesterday and will be out for a couple of days. The pay is a buck an hour, and you can put in seven hours today and thirteen tomorrow. You want it?”
Jared replied quickly, “Yes. I’ll do it. When you want me to start?”
“Right now,” the man replied. “All them breakfast dishes is piled up back there, and I can’t tend to it and cook and wait the tables. Come on back and I’ll show you what to do.”
Jared followed the man into the kitchen area. On one side there was a stove filled with simmering pots of squash and cabbage and black-eyed peas, and a huge frying pan. Against the opposite wall there were two large sinks, one filled with a combination of greasy water and tired soap suds, and the other plain water.
The man said to Jared, “You wash ’em in here and rinse in there. After you dry ’em, stack ’em on the shelf over yonder. It’s also your job to clear the tables and the counter and keep the floor swept. At quitting time, you put out all the slop and garbage. We start serving breakfast at five, so be here a little before that in the morning. And let’s get something straight right now, fellow. The pay don’t include no meals. What you eat you pay for. And everything you break comes out of your wages. You understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” Jared said. He had a sickening feeling as he stared at the huge mound of dirty dishes and utensils stacked on a table beside the sink.
The man turned to leave, and then he looked back at Jared and said, “You better go sommers tonight and take a bath and wash them overalls. The way you look, you’ll have the health department down on me.”
Jared glanced down briefly at his dirty clothes, and then he grimaced as he picked up a dish and tried to wash the dried egg yolk from it in the greasy water.
It was nearly dark when Jared returned to the Salvation Army building. Cloma, Kristy and Bennie were sitting on a bench beneath the huge oak tree. Jared parked the van, walked over to them and settled himself wearily on the bench.
Cloma said, “We was gettin’ real worried about you, Jay. You’ve been gone so long.”
“I tried a little bit of everything,” Jared said. “They wouldn’t hire me at the line-up because I didn’t have no experience, and then I tried all the packin’ houses and a few stores. Don’t seem to be nothin’ around here fer a man to do, so’s we might have to move on sommers else. Maybe it would be better up in the cattle country.”
Cloma noticed the tiredness in his voice. She said encouragingly, “Maybe it will be better tomorrow. We only been here two days now. Maybe tomorrow you’ll find what you want.”
“I got work fer tomorrow. And I worked seven hours today. It didn’t pay but a dollar an hour, but I guess that’s better than nothin’.”
Cloma was surprised by this. She asked curiously, “Where’d you work?”
“In a cafe.”
“A cafe?” Cloma questioned. “You don’t know anything about that kind of work. What’d you do?”
“I worked,” Jared said guardedly, wishing that he had not even told them about it.
“Doin’ what?” Cloma insisted.
Jared remained silent for a moment, and then he cast his eyes downward and said, “Washin’ dishes.”
Cloma put her hand on his arm and said, “Jared . . . Jared . . . you didn’t have to do that. We’re not that hard up yet, are we?”
“It was honest work,” he insisted defensively.
Kristy jumped up and said, “Papa, you ought not be washin’ dishes in a cafe. I’ll wash the dishes tomorrow, and you can look for other work. That’s not the kind of thing for you to do.”
Jared considered the idea briefly, and then he said, “Would you really do that, Kristy? It would mean thirteen dollars, and I could go on lookin’ fer somethin’ else. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try all the service stations. I sure know how to pump gas and fix flat tires, and somebody is bound to need help.”
“I’ll do it, Papa!” Kristy said enthusiastically.
For the first time that day, Jared became aware of how hungry he was. He had not eaten since the night before, and now his stomach was rumbling. He said, “Well, it’s settled then. I’ll look around for another day before we decide what else to do. But right now I sure need to go inside and have some vittles. I’m powerful hongry, and even them franks and beans would go good.”
When he got up, Cloma stood by him and took his hand in hers. She said, “Jared, I ain’t ashamed of what you did today. I know you did it for all of us. You’re a good man, Jared Teeter, and I love you for it. You got no need to be ashamed.’
He put his arm around her, and they walked together to the two-story white frame building.
Cloma and Bennie rode with Jared when he took Kristy to the Blue Moon Cafe the next morning. Although it was not yet five, the place was already filled with solemn men dressed as field hands, and the owner was impatient as he told Jared that it was all right for Kristy to substitute for him at the sinks so long as she could keep up with the work. Kristy insisted that she could. Jared paid the man the price of a breakfast and lunch for Kristy, and then he went back to the van and started driving the streets.
Only one service station in Homestead was open at that hour, and the manager had nothing to offer in the way of work. He returned to the Salvation Army, had breakfast with Cloma and Bennie, and then left them behind as he started on his rounds again.
By late morning he had visited every station between Homestead and Florida City, and there werenojobsavailable. He had given up hope and was ready to quit when he pulled into one last station on the west side of Florida City. He parked behind the building, and walked to the front.
No customers were there, and the manager was standing outside by a pump island. When Jared came to him he said, “Something I can do for you?”
Jared anticipated what the answer would be as he asked, “I’m lookin’ fer work, and I thought maybe you needed some help. I can pump gas or fix flats or do ’most anything you want me to do.”
The man studied Jared, and then he asked, “Where you from, fellow?”
“West Virginny. We just got down here a couple of days ago.”
“How much family you got?”
“I got a girl sixteen and a boy fourteen.”
“They good and healthy?”
“Yes,” Jared replied, beginning to wonder at the questions that had nothing to do with his request for a job.
“How about your old lady?” the man then asked.
“Well, she’s strong, but she’s about seven months along with a new baby.”
The man looked at Jared closely again and said, “I ain’t got no work here just now, but have you thought about doing any picking?”
“They wouldn’t hire me in that line-up yesterday mornin’,” Jared said, disappointed at being turned down again. “But I would sure do it or anythin’ if I could just find work.”
“Well, that line-up don’t mean nothing. It’s just a one-day shot for drifters and bums. I’m talking about steady work. I can probably help you if you want me to.”
“That would be mighty fine of you,” Jared said quickly, surprised by the unexpected offer. “I’d sure appreciate anything you can do.”
Jared waited outside as the man went into the station office, picked up the phone and dialed. In a moment he said, “This Creedy? . . . yeah . . . this is Hankins at the service station . . . you need some people? . . . no, they’re not black, they’re white . . . hillbilly types from West Virginia . . . four of them . . . not the kind to give you trouble I don’t think . . . man’s around forty . . . says he has a strong boy and a girl . . . the woman’s knocked up, though . . . a white Dodge van, about a ’60 or ’61 . . . o.k., I’ll send them to the regular place . . . you’ll meet them first thing in the morning then . . . three of them can work, so at twenty bucks a head, you owe me sixty dollars, and I want the money tonight . . . bring it to the station around eight.”
The man then hung up the phone and came back out to Jared. “Well, I’ve got you folks fixed up with some jobs,” he said.
“You really mean it?” Jared exclaimed, breaking into a broad grin. “I don’t know how to thank you. I was about ready to give up.”
“Glad to help out. You don’t need to thank me. The man who’s going to see you is named Creedy. Silas Creedy. You can camp tonight in a hammock about four miles down 27. It’s on the left of the road just behind a sign advertising the Everglades National Park. You can’t miss it. He’ll meet you there first thing in the morning. You do a good job, this’ll probably be steady work for a long time to come.”
“I’ll do a good job,” Jared said eagerly, “and I sure don’t know how to thank you enough.” He extended his hand and said, “My name’s Teeter. Jared Teeter. Folks call me Jay.”
The man shook his hand briefly. “Glad to meet you, Jay.” he said.
Jared then handed the man a ten-dollar bill and said, “This is just a little somethin’ to say thanks. I really appreciate it.”
The man took the bill and put it into his pocket. He said, “Well, o.k., but I didn’t expect any money. I was just helping you out, that’s all. Folks has to help each other these days.”
“That’s what I always believed. Folks has to help each other. And I sure thank you plenty.”
Jared then got into the van and drove quickly back to the Salvation Army place. He rushed up the steps and found Cloma and Bennie inside the sitting room. He did a brisk jig on the worn wooden floor and said to them, “I told you! I told you comin’ down here, didn’t I? We’re goin’ to be o.k. I’ve got steady work already!”
“Are you foolin’ me, Jared?” Cloma asked anxiously.
“No, it’s the God’s truth! A man at a filling station made a phone call, and somebody named Creedy is goin’ to come in the mornin’ and give us work. We’re to stay tonight in a hammock down south of here. I’ve got the directions.”
“We’ll need food,” Cloma said with excitement, trying to control the flood of relief this news was bringing to her.
“And ice,” Jared said, “a big bag of ice so’s we can have cold drinks. We’ll pick up Kristy first, then we’ll go to a market and get all the things we need fer tonight and in the mornin’. We’ll get some candy bars fer the kids, and some sweet buns and fresh fruit, and some meat scraps fer Skip, and. . . .”
“Oh, Jay, I’m so glad,” Cloma interrupted. “I was so afraid for us.”
“We’re goin’t to be just fine,” Jared said, reaching over and pressing her hand. “You needin’ worry one bit. We’ll have our own place afore time fer the baby to come. And we can send fer the bed, too.”