Sunday there was an advertisement in the Plain Dealer inviting a high-school graduate to apply for a personnel trainee job in the Clancy Wheel Works on the East Side. It sounded perfect. At last I would be doing the hiring. I told my father about it. Next morning I got up early and went over to that factory.
The job had been filled on Friday.
I rode the bus to the Public Square and strolled into the Terminal Tower. I called my father on the telephone. I put a handkerchief over the telephone and talked hard out of the corner of my mouth.
“Hello,” he said.
“Paul Christopher?” I said.
“He’s not home. Who is this?”
“J. T. Williams of Clancy Wheel. Who’s this?”
“His father.”
“Speak to Paul?”
“He’s not home.”
“This Paul’s father?”
“Yes.”
“Very good. Well, sir, your son just left here. I can’t use him in personnel, sir, but I want that boy. I’m determined to make a place for him. I want him as an inspector on the wheel line. By heaven, sir, your son belongs on wheels!”
He hung up.
I wandered around the station. A train was hissing in. I hurried over to welcome the travelers. Afterward I bought a pint of red raspberries at the fruit stand and a loaf of raisin bread at Kaase’s Bakery. Nearby was a photography booth and so I took four pictures of myself.
My father was eating eggs when I got home.
“I brought some dessert for you,” I said. “Look here. A pint of red raspberries and a loaf of raisin bread.”
Carefully he wiped the plate with his bread.
“I was too late for that job,” I said. “They were running that ad in the paper since last Thursday. I’ll go back with Sam until I find something better.”
He looked up at me.
“I was thinking,” he said. “I was thinking about your mother. And then I was thinking about our parents. And then I was thinking about their parents.”
“Were you?”
“And their parents and their parents. My head was spinning. It’s unbelievable. Where’s the end of it? Where’s the beginning of it?”
“Who knows?”
“How long ago did it start? Ten thousand years ago? Was it fifty thousand? A million? Think of the comings and goings during that time. Think of the accidental meetings. I was wondering about it. And then guess what happened.”
“I don’t know, Pa. But it’s thrilling.”
“You came through the door. With red raspberries in your hand and a loaf of cinnamon bread under your arm.”
“It’s raisin bread.”
“And the harmonica in your back pocket. A minute later you were telling me you were going out to sell watermelons tomorrow. Now think a little. Does it all come down to you?”
“I see what you mean. Well, it sort of looks that way.”
“Is that the way it looks?”
“But the story’s not over, Pa. Don’t forget that.”
“Keep talking.”
“I don’t know what more to say. Wait then. I guess I did the right thing this morning. I thought it would be a good idea to take some pictures of myself. I was right. Just in case. Here they are, Pa. Four poses. One in profile.”
He gazed at those pictures.
“Maybe you were right,” he said. “Do you remember what you said the other night? Something about two thousand years of history lost? Maybe you were right.”
I went out. I sat in Lincoln Park for a while and then I walked over to the coffee house. I told Theodore about the situation at home. He advised me to see John Zalewski who was councilman of the ward.
“It’s time for a plum to fall,” said Theodore.
“A plum?”
“One of those political jobs. All you do is show your face. Look at the job he got for old Saris. Saris works on that bridge over the Cuyahoga. He’s what they call a bridge tender. He pushes a button to lift the bridge when a boat’s coming through. The rest of the time he reads the newspapers.”
“It sounds good.”
“The trouble is, he’s beginning to worry about everything in the world. And then there’s Florio. Florio works in the liquor warehouse. He works about four hours a day if they watch him close. Lots of good jobs with the city, Paul. Maybe you’ll work with the street department. They send you out in a truck and you drink coffee and straighten a few traffic signs. Maybe you’ll be a park inspector. Or a building inspector. Tell John I sent you over.”
To catch the next plum I hurried over to see the councilman. He lived across the street from Lincoln Park. His wife Lucy led me through the kitchen into the dining room. John Zalewski was talking on the telephone. He motioned me to a chair. He studied me and seemed to decide I was too small to be of much use. His brow was divided into two humps like that of an elephant and he had the flaring nostrils of a horse. Suddenly I was troubled. I wanted to leave there.
“Wait a minute,” he was saying, on the telephone. “Let me get this right. You were exceeding the speed limit. You crashed a red light. You hit a parked car. And you had a drink or two before you started. Now you want me to fix a judge. Is that right? … I see. How about a promotion on your job, Nick? How about a scholarship at Western Reserve for the kid? Jesus Christ Almighty, wake up! Never mind. Why should you wake up after forty years? … All right, all right. I’ll be there when your case comes up. Isn’t your wife expecting? … Bring her with you. And don’t send me cartons of cigarettes, Nick. It doesn’t mean a thing to me.”
He hung up. He watched me and waited. I told him Theodore had sent me over to see about a job.
“Are you a neighborhood kid?” he said.
“Yes, sir. Lincoln Court. My name is Paul Christopher.”
“Christopher? Are you Carl’s boy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you type?”
“No, sir.”
“Can you drive a car? Got a license?”
“No, sir.”
“Can you operate any machines?”
“No, sir.”
“You should run for office.”
He started to write a letter. He wrote slowly as a child and then he studied his work. He read it again and again.
“This letter will introduce you to Sam Curry,” he said. “He’s a personal friend of mine. He’s a supervisor at the Dairy Carton Company. You don’t want a city job.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Don’t I?”
“What do you want with a city job? Private industry is the place for a young man. You want a job with a future. Sam Curry will see to it that you have every chance.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I’m counting on you. This is a personal recommendation. Just watch your step. Keep your mouth shut and keep your eyes and ears open. Sam Curry will be watching you. So will I.”
I felt that everyone in the city would be watching me.
“How’s Carl?” he said. “How’s your father?”
“Well, he’s having trouble with his stomach. And his back.”
“Who isn’t? Do you know I used to be his crane oiler in the steel mill? I think he was the best damn crane operator they ever had. He could lay that bucket down on a handful of ore. I saw him work sixteen-hour turns and he used to sing and shout up there all the time. Did he ever take you up there?”
“No, sir.”
“He worked in this little cabin. The bucket hung on cables from a trolley, you know. The trolley rolled on tracks from the hatches to the pit. Remember the cars with gearshift handles coming up from the floor? I guess you don’t. Wait a minute. I think the sport cars got them now. Well, there were three handles in the operator’s cabin. One of them was to move the crane from hatch to hatch. The others were to open and close the bucket. There were two other handles right on those handles. For moving the trolley. And then there were steam and brake pedals on the floor. I think that’s about right. Well, the operator had to control everything. Why, your father was like a tiger up there. I’ll never forget his gloves. They were black and shiny like metal from the way he gripped those handles.”
“He’s got a pair of those gloves at home.”
“I sort of like your looks, Paul. Aren’t you the one who’s been working on that watermelon wagon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s no job for a young man. This is what you want. A good start somewhere. I’ll be watching your progress. Good luck and give my best to your father.”
I shook hands with him and left. I went over to see Sam Curry at the Dairy Carton Company in Parma. He was chewing a cigar and blowing clouds of smoke. He kept glancing at me while reading the letter from John Zalewski. He finished the letter and gave me a challenging look.
“Well, all right then,” he said. “I’ll get you started as a feeder on the gluing machine. You’ll work nights for a month and then you’ll go on the day shift. You’ll learn every phase of the operation. Plastic packaging is a relatively new field. The company’s as new as the building here. You’re getting in on the ground floor. No one’s been here longer than a year. How’s it strike you?”
“Very good, sir.”
“All right then. I’ll set up an appointment for you with the company doctor. You’ll get a free physical examination and free life and hospitalization insurance. You’ll share in the company profits. You’ll get a production bonus at the end of the year. Come in tomorrow. I’ll have your papers ready. By the way, how’s John?”
“He said he’s having trouble with his stomach.”
“Who isn’t these days? All right then.”
That night I called Sam Ross and told him about the job. He wished me good luck and then reminded me that my job on the wagon would always be waiting. I felt uneasy. It seemed he was putting a spell on me.
Early next morning I went back to see the doctor in his basement office across the street from the plant. He pronounced me in excellent condition. I went to the company office and filled out applications. They took my picture and said they would have a badge ready for me when I started work that night. I went home and told my father that I was trying a new job. I told no one else and yet by noon on the following day everyone in the alley knew about it.
Just before eleven that night I arrived for work. I was carrying my lunch in a brown paper bag. A foreman called Schultz was waiting for me in front of the narrow black time clock. He shook my hand. He gave me the badge and I pinned it over my heart. I punched my new time card in on the clock. A hard little bell rang. I put the card in the black rack and followed Schultz to a kind of conveyor belt.
“This is where you work,” he said. “You’ll feed plastic milk cartons in this machine. The cartons will be glued up and then carried on this belt to the other end of the floor. They’ll be stacked over there and made ready for shipment to the dairies. Take a handful of these cartons and lay them down in here like this. The machine will do the rest of the work. It’ll take them in one at a time and pass them down to those two girls over there. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Put your lunch down. Watch me a minute.”
Without moving his feet he turned to grab a stack of the red milk cartons from the dolly beside him. He turned back and slapped them down into a cagelike iron mouth. Those cartons were drawn in fast with hard snapping noises. By the time Schultz turned back with the second stack the first one was nearly gone. He slapped in the second stack. One by one the cartons were drawn in from the bottom.
“It’s easy to adjust yourself to this machine,” he said. “It isn’t too fast and it isn’t too slowly. I mean slow. It never speeds up and never slows down. Listen to it. What do you hear?”
“A buzzing sound.”
“The gluing machine is hungry,” said Schultz. “Nothing’s happening in there. Now listen when I put these cartons in.”
It sounded again like repeated bulldog bites on bone. Schultz watched the whizzing cartons with bright blue eyes. His head jerked slightly when the last carton disappeared from the floor of the mouth. He turned and slapped in another stack of cartons. He was leaning over to watch. His mouth opened a little and his blue eyes went round as marbles. His head jerked again with the last carton.
“This machine really takes them in.” he said. “Do you know I started on this gluing machine? That’s right. It was my first job in this place. Now it’s your job.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did Mr. Curry tell you about the bonus here?”
“He mentioned it.”
“The bonus depends on profit. Profit depends on production. Production depends on us and we depend on each other here. It’s like a family arrangement in this place. Everyone is trying to do more than their share. Now we’ll be counting on you to come through for us.”
He shook my hand and went away.
The gluing machine was buzzing. I started to feed it. With both hands I gathered a stack of cartons from the dolly and slapped it down into the cagelike mouth. I turned for another stack. I turned back to find the mouth gaping empty at me. The machine was buzzing in an angry way. I slapped in the second stack of cartons. I started to move faster. Finally I unloaded that dolly and turned back in triumph. A man was pushing another loaded dolly into place for me. For a moment I stopped to look at it. Buzzing started in the machine. Surely everyone on the floor could hear it.
There was no time for me to watch what was happening. I turned to gather a stack of cartons. My glance went from the dolly to the black time clock on the wall. In the middle of my turn to the machine I saw a naked blazing bulb of light down in the distant corner of the plant. Above me were rows and rows of shining new light fixtures and so I began to wonder what lay under that lone bulb in the corner. I slapped the cartons into the mouth and glanced down at the beautiful red hair of the girl standing at the opposite end of the gluing machine. I slapped and turned. My eyes jumped from the clock to the bulb to the flaming hair of that girl.
All at once there were hard thudding noises in the middle of the belt. Milk cartons went flying in the air. I stood there in horror.
Schultz came rushing over to turn the machine off.
“Come with me,” he said.
I thought he would fire me on the spot.
“Look at this,” he said. “See the carton caught down here at the bottom? See where the edge is bent up? This one carton started all the trouble. You’ve got to be sure these cartons are straight at the edges when you slap them in. One bent edge will jam everything up in there. See how it happens? Now this machine doesn’t make any mistakes.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Never. It’s one thing you should understand. It’s your mistake because the gluing machine’s perfect. Think a minute. This machine is so perfect it stopped a carton that wasn’t perfect.”
“I understand.”
“Now I don’t mean it’s your mistake. Sometimes these boys bend the cartons when they load them on the dolly. I’m only saying that we’re to blame when this happens. It’s not the machine.”
Schultz pulled out the smashed cartons. He flipped the switch and the buzzing started. He slapped a stack of cartons into the mouth. His blue eyes went round and his head jerked when the last carton slipped away. He nodded to me and left.
The gluing machine jammed again just before lunch at three in the morning. Schultz came over to pull out the smashed cartons. The lunch whistle sounded and he sent me to the locker room where I ate a bologna sandwich and a cherry pepper. I was very sleepy. I washed my face with cold water and went back to the machine at three-thirty.
For a while I was turning and slapping in a perfect rhythm with that machine. My glance jumped from the clock to the bulb to the hair of that girl. That hair was changing like fire. It was wild and free with dancing lights. I was falling in love. I was longing to touch that hair and kiss it. Suddenly I had this feeling that the gluing machine was biting a little faster. I stayed with it. I turned for a stack of cartons and slapped it into the mouth. I turned for another stack and slapped it. I turned and slapped. I slapped and turned. I turned and turned and turned. Tension was growing in me. I went over to drown it with a long drink of water.
Toward the end of the shift the gluing machine kept jamming up. It was startling to hear the solid thud of cartons and then to see them flying up crazy like flushed birds. I would turn the machine off as Schultz hurried over. He was becoming upset.
“You must be handling these cartons wrong,” he said.
“I can’t figure it out,” I said.
“I figured it out for you a while ago.”
“Yes, sir, I know.”
“Now what? Are you going to climb on my shoulders? Stand back. How the hell can I see what I’m doing?”
Once he came over and there was such a mess that he had to pull out smashed cartons with pliers. He was cursing softly. He glanced at my badge and then took a good look. I was smiling in that picture. It seemed I was laughing at him and he could hear that laughter. He flipped the switch on the machine. He lifted a stack of cartons and looked down to see if the edges were straight. He looked sharply at me and then flung the stack down into the mouth. He leaned over to watch. At the same time he was watching me out of the corner of his eye. I was leaning and watching him. Our heads jerked together as the last carton disappeared. Satisfied, he went away.
It happened an hour before quitting time.
I was turning and turning. I was slapping and slapping. Nothing was left but the hair of that girl. The machine seemed to be biting faster and faster and faster. Now I was spinning to keep up with it. That hair was red and then alive with softer lights and then turning into a liquid crown of gold. Something was going wrong inside me. A cry wild as a bird was beating around my heart. Suddenly it came hot and hard against my throat. I was going to scream. Quick I leaned over to bend one corner of a carton in the middle of that whizzing stack. A moment later the gluing machine jammed and those cartons were flying in the air. I was breathing a sigh of relief when I heard Schultz cry out above the thudding of those cartons.
“Sonofabitch!” he said.
I turned.
“I saw that!” he cried, pointing at me.
“Saw what?” I said.
“Get out! You’re fired! Don’t say one word! Don’t say one word or I’ll smash your face!”
There was dead silence on the floor. Everyone had stopped work to look at me. I walked across the floor of that long building and started to go out. I was right under that lone white bulb when I heard quick heavy footsteps. Schultz was coming down on me. I stood frozen. Cursing, he ripped off my badge and tore my shirt. He dropped the badge on the floor and ground his shoe into it. He lifted his foot. There was a trace of a smile in that ruined picture. He kicked the badge away.
“Now get out,” he said.