My First Seven Jobs

Remember a couple of months ago when this social media meme started going around where people were listing their first seven jobs? Yeah...me neither. That's not entirely true. I do remember seeing a few of them, but I didn't give it much thought...like those insipid things that pop up that say...If you love your sister, cut and paste this onto your wall. If you don't a hundred people in Kenya will die. Well, this morning, out of nowhere some woman on my Twitter feed yelled at the world..."Stop posting your first seven jobs! It just serves to illustrate your privilege!!"

Ok, this is where the social justice warriors lose me. What in the Sam Hill is she talking about? Is employment a privilege? Is the fact that someone may have actually had seven jobs evidence of their whiteness? Would she rather we were all on the public dole? Well, because it so upsets social justice warriors...I think it's time that I published my first seven jobs.

1. 1973. Age 15. I got my first summer job working for A.A. Walsh, a residential construction company which built single family homes in Hanover County. My job was to pick up trash on the job site and carry armfuls of lumber to the carpenters. I made the minimum wage of 1973...$1.60 an hour. The first paycheck I ever earned in my life was like $58. I felt like Thurston Howell III.

2. 1974. Age 16. With the help of my brother-in-law Bill Schwartz, (family privilege), I got a summer job with the State Fair of Virginia. Amoung other things, my job was to clean out horse stalls. Since the removal of dump truck loads of horse crap by the shovelfull was a more refined skill, my pay jumped to $2.75 an hour. I was well on my way to being part of the oppressor class!

3. 1975. Age 17. I can't for the life of me remember the name of the company, but I worked the summer as a construction laborer building the Southern States store on Broad Street just down from Parham Road. That was the summer where we had like five days in a row of temperatures above 100 degrees. Two of my buddies passed out from the heat while digging a footer. Good times.

4. 1976 Age 18. I got my first post-high school job as a warehouseman at Lowe's hardware on Broad Street, downtown Richmond. I worked every overtime hour they would give me and saved every dime so I could finance a cross country back-packing trip with my best friend, Al Thomason. I can't remember what the pay was...probably $3.00 an hour...$4.50 for overtime.

5. 1977-1981. All of my college years were made possible by the job I got with a material handling company at the Hanover Industrial Airpark called Trefz and Steenburgh. I worked 30 hours a week in the warehouse, mostly building wooden pallets and installing shelving and pallet racks. I started at the minimum wage and by the time I graduated, they were paying me a salary of $18,000 to be a territory salesman for them. Couldn't have made it through University of Richmond without that job. After graduating from college I learned my first lesson in the downside risks inherent in capitalism. T&S declared bankruptcy, leaving me jobless and out $5000 in unpaid commission that I never recovered.

6. 1981- 2000. I went to work for Life of Virginia in life insurance sales. I took a cut in pay to $16,000, and only took the job in desperation after the humiliation of having to collect my first and last unemployment check of $358. I figured I would work for Life of Virginia while I looked for something else. To my astonishment, I found that I actually liked the work, despite the fact that after three years, my $16000 salary went away and I was totally on my own. Don't produce? Don't eat.

7. 2001- present. Got tired of working for someone else. I determined to work for myself and see if I could make it on my own. Most terrifying decision I've ever made...but one of the best, although honestly, my boss can sometimes be a real jerk. How much do I make now? None of your business.

So, it turns out that I've had exactly seven jobs. How about that? Was I privileged to have those seven jobs? You bet I was. Any job is a privilege. Did the fact that I got those jobs as opposed to some equally deserving minority mean that I should feel guilty about my life's work? You're kidding me, right? My job history is certainly nothing to shout from the rooftops...kinda hard to feel superior to anybody while shoveling horse manure in 95 degree heat...but neither is it something to be ashamed of. 

Watch Out!!! My Wife Has a Plan...

It's that time of year again. Vacations are over, it's too hot and sticky outside to do anything fun...so it's time for my wife to turn her attention to home decor. A couple of summers ago it was painting the family room and kitchen. This year she is more ambitious than ever. She has determined that she must paint my library and the dining room, and completely redo our bedroom. Actually, that's the wrong choice of words...since our bedroom has never been done in the first place. The paint on the walls in there came with the house 17 years ago. Nevertheless, I was greeted yesterday afternoon by my wife lugging in armful after armful of decorating stuff from the car. She had hit the mother load at both Khol's and Bed, Bath and Beyond. It was an impressive haul. There were curtains, curtain rods, throw pillow covers for the chairs in the library, and the Holy Grail of bedroom decoration...the coveted comforter set. Today she is off to buy the paint and painting supplies.

You guys should see her when she gets on one of these decorating binges. Honestly, it's adorable. There is a gleam in her eye, a bounce in her step. She's transformed into the Energizer bunny! Then she starts peppering me with the questions...

Pam: I was thinking that we could hang these panels in here. The shiny grey color really brings out the design of the pillow covers, and once I paint, the rooms will flow together much better, don't you think?

Me: Yes.

Pam: But, now that I look at it in this light I'm not sure it's the right shade of blue. Of course, we just have to get rid of the wing back chairs in the dining room, or we could always have them recovered. I wonder how much Cathy paid to have those chairs at your office redone? Could you ask her tomorrow?

Me: Yes.

Pam: Our bedroom is going to be a monster to paint. But, I just love the new comforter! The colors are perfect, although I worry that they might be too bright in the daylight. What do you think?

Me: Yes.

Pam: I think if I can buy the paint tomorrow, I might be able to paint the library and the dining room this weekend and be finished by Sunday evening. Of course, the bedroom and bathroom upstairs will take forever to finish. Oh, and we will need to buy new light fixtures for our bedroom. I will be so glad to be rid of that hideous ceiling fan, and won't it be awesome to have more light in that room?

Me: Yes. Awesome.

Pam: Oh, did I show you the rugs and towels I found at Bed, Bath, and Beyond for the bathroom? They match the comforter perfectly! But I hate the way they make you use a different coupon for each item you buy! So frustrating!! 

Me: The nerve of those people...

Pam: I do worry about what Lucy's paws are going to do to this new comforter. You know, I've half a mind to use my 30% off coupon and just buy a second comforter as a back up in case her paws eventually wear this one out. What do you think?

Me. Yes. Just in case...

You will notice a pattern in our discourse on the topic of home decor. My job is to say as little as possible. I don't want to do anything that might sow seeds of doubt into her mind. Once she makes a decision about this sort of stuff she is a dynamo of determined and focused energy, the enemy of which is self doubt. This system works perfectly because I truly have no opinion on matters of style around my house...except for my library, which I was allowed to pick out. The truth is, if she came home with lime green paisley-print throw pillows I would probably go along with it....

Pam: I've decided that what our foyer needs is a velvet Elvis portrait where that hideous Thomas Kinkaid is hanging. What do you think?

Me: Yes.

See, if it was up to me, our family room would probably feature a sofa-sized painting of Dogs Playing Poker, so having Pam in charge of all things aesthetic is the right move. 

Black Lives Matter vs. Elvis

AP-Memphis, Tenn.

As Elvis Week draws to a close, this city lets loose a giant sigh of relief that no violence broke out despite the promises from the Black Lives Matter organization to, "shut down Graceland." Several news media outlets had hyped the possible confrontation between the fledgling civil rights organization and the tens of thousands of Elvis Presley fans who gather here each year to commemorate the singer's death. Instead, a few hundred protesters gathered outside the entrance to Graceland and peacefully spoke to this reporter about how Elvis is the perfect symbol of what is wrong with white America.

Kareem Lewis, local BLM spokesman, explained that although he owned a couple of Elvis records himself and actually "kinda liked his sound," Elvis still was nothing more than an "appropriating rich white cracker."

Reporter: But why Graceland? Why come to Memphis?

Lewis: Well, one, for the money...two, for the show.

Reporter: Money? I don't understand.

Lewis: Read the paper, son! Didn't you hear that we just scored 100 million in cash from guilty white liberals up north? For that kind of money, we gotta put on a show! You know..a little less conversation, a little more action, dog.

Reporter: I have noticed that this demonstration has been remarkably peaceful...

Lewis: That was our theme for the week...don't be cruel.

While the Black Lives Matters protesters were on their best behavior, part of the peace was insured by a massive police presence in the area surrounding the Graceland compound. This reporter has never seen so many policemen in one place in all of my time in Memphis. Police seemed to outnumber the protesters by at least two to one. I asked Captain Goudol Beau about the overwhelming police presence...

Reporter: Captain Beau, for such a small demonstration, this sure seems like a lot of cops...

Captain Beau: This ain't all of them neither, we've got another 100 officers positioned in case there's trouble.

Reporter: Where?

Captain Beau: ...in the ghetto.

Reporter: What would you say to people who might call this a provocative overreaction?

Captain Beau: I would say that they have...suspicious minds. You know, the people of Memphis are an easy going bunch. We can put up with a lot. You can burn our house, steal our car. Hell, you can even drink our liquor from an old fruit jar! I mean, you can do anything you want to do to us...just don't mess with Elvis.

Reporter: Well Captain Beau, I must congratulate you and your men for the tremendous restraint you have shown today.

Captain Beau: A very wise man once said...only fools rush in.

I thought that Kareem Lewis might have a different perspective on police behavior so I asked him whether his people had been treated well.

Lewis: You know, I've got to admit that these Memphis pigs have been alright. I mean, we were expecting them to knock us down, stomp on our face...slander our name all over the place. We all figured by now we would be all shook up. But it's like we've got a good luck charm or something.

So, after a very long, hot and violent summer, the nation finally experiences a peaceful civil rights demonstration in the Deep South. In Memphis there were no burning grocery stores, just burning love.

Perhaps there's hope that race relations will thaw. Perhaps there won't be a blue Christmas after all. 

My Heat-Wave To-Do List

Things to do today, August 17, 2016

1. Make "shave" decision

2. Iron thinnest shirt in closet...curse the fact that nobody makes business shorts.

3. Liberally apply baby powder all over despite the fact that I hate baby powder.

4. To guard against dehydration, drink copious amounts of water.

5. Try to break yesterday's record of 16 trips to the bathroom.

6. Encourage ladies in the office to bring blankets if they don't like the thermostat set at 69.

7. Spend an hour staring at my weather widget showing the 75 and sunny forecast for Camden.

8. Shame myself for my weakness by looking at pictures of Teddy Roosevelt wearing a wool suit, signing a treaty in an unairconditioned train car in Panama....in freaking August!!!

9. Suffer raging bouts of guilt when Lucy comes up to me, frisbee in her mouth, begging me to go outside.

Why Go To Church?

Every now and then as a writer, something pops into your head that you want to write about even though it's not at all exciting. This is one of those times. It's the answer to the question, Why do you go to church, and it hit me this past Sunday.

Now, I know what the Sunday School answer to the question is, I know what I'm supposed to say. It's some combination of, "I go to worship God" or "I go to fellowship with other Christians." But after attending church for a lifetime, what keeps me going back besides habit and tradition? For me I have recently discovered the answer...I go to church to be confronted by and comforted by...the truth.

I can sit through the most insipid, juvenile music. I can tolerate poor acoustics, boring announcements and ugly buildings. I can put up with modern translations of the Bible which strip it of its lyrical beauty. But if I hear the truth, communicated by an honest, authentic voice, I'll always come back. I'm not interested in book reviews, politics, social commentary, or bad poetry. But if a man...or women...of God stands up and delivers the unsanitized truth to me, then I've been to church. I don't want to be told how great I am. I'm not interested in learning all about how much God wants me to be insanely rich. I want to be confronted with the reality of my condition as a flawed man and the incredible miracle that is grace and forgiveness. I want someone to challenge me to be better, to live better. I want someone to expose my selfishness, to challenge me to care for the least of these. I want to hear about the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son because even after 50 years as a Christian, I'm still bad at the former and too often feel like the latter. I don't want some phony poseur telling me about how persecuted I am for my beliefs. I'm not interested in some self promoter whose only goals are building monuments to his own vanity. I want a preacher who isn't afraid to look me in the eye and tell me the truth, even if he knows it might make me angry or uncomfortable. 

So, I'll sit through 7/11 lyrics, somber, minor key ballads which drone on and on about nothing. I'll tolerate all the corny church stuff for the chance to hear an authentic presentation of God's Word. If church doesn't offer that...I'd rather sleep late and go for a drive in the country.

Look on the bright side!

Ok. At this point in the Presidential campaign it has become clear that Donald Trump isn't going to become President, and that outcome seems like a huge relief to...Donald Trump. Never in my lifetime have I seen a major party candidate so expertly self-sabotage his own campaign. Never. So, I feel like it's my patriotic duty to try to buck up all of you out there who truly despise Hillary Clinton. I include myself in this group. But, I have always preferred to look at the glass as half full rather than half empty. So, let's all look on the bright side, shall we?

1. At least our new President won't spend half her time on the golf course.

2. Having chosen Tim Kaine as her running mate, the nation will be spared the humiliation of watching Hillary throw out the first pitch at the World Series.

3. All of us who disagree with the President's policies will no longer be called "racists." Sexist has a less sinister ring to it.

4. Feminists will no longer be able to harangue us with the charge that we live in a country led by a fascist, patriarchal government.

5. Hillary isn't cool enough to be asked to appear on late night talk shows, saving all of us that perpetual annoyance.

6. Can you imagine how perfectly horrifying the inside of the White House would have looked at Christmas under the Trump Administration? The giant, black lighted velvet manger scene alone might have permanently scarred us.

7. Once Hillary becomes President, money will finally become available for other private charities and foundations once The Clinton Foundation is taken off the market.

Not a Good Night For Angels

Pam and I took our first ever Uber ride earlier today. By doing so, we gained valuable street cred from our two Millennial kids who are constantly extolling the virtues of this new transportation system. Pam downloaded the app, and before we knew it, there was our driver picking us up in front of the Sheraton Grand Hotel in Chicago. He drove a shiny Toyota Camry with the cleanest interior you ever saw. He introduced himself...Thomas.

I will now try to faithfully recreate the conversation which took place between us during the thirty minute drive to O'Hare airport. I want to do this now while it's still fresh in my mind. I never want to forget it and think it's fascinating enough to share with you for reasons that should become clear enough.

When we entered Thomas' car, Jamaican music was playing softly in the background. He spoke English with a beautiful African accent delivered in a lyrical cadence that was calming. We soon discovered that Thomas was an immigrant from Ghana who had landed in Chicago six years ago. His "real job" was with a competitor hotel across town which he assured us was far superior to the Sheraton Grand! He had been an Uber driver just on the weekends for the past year. After the basics, I asked him to tell me his honest impressions of America.

Thomas: I have only ever been in two countries, Ghana and America, so I don't know about other places, but my feeling is...and the feeling of many people I know is...that there is no place like America.

Pam: Yes, America isn't perfect by any means...

Thomas:(interrupting)...certainly not, but compared to so much of the rest of the world...no place like America.

Me: How and why did you choose Chicago?

Thomas: It is beautiful and so clean.

Me: This is my third visit here and I can tell you that compared to most other big cities, you are right, it is beautiful and clean. 

Then he asked us what we had done and seen during our stay. He politely approved of our choices. Then I took a chance. I wanted to find out what a Chicagoan thought of the horrific amount of violence that has plagued this city for the past decade. Just in the four short days of our stay, 22 people were murdered, 16 of which were African-American. So far in 2016 according to the Chicago police department's numbers, 428 homicides have been committed in Chicago, the vast majority of the victims, African-American.

Me: Thomas, what's the deal with all of the murders here? In what part of the city is this happening? What is the reason for it all?

Thomas: Not in the beautiful parts, but all over really, much of it on the south side. It is so horrible. I ask myself and I ask other people, "Why are they doing this to each other? It is crazy. Much of it is turf wars over drugs. One gang sees that one neighborhood buys many drugs, so they move in to that neighborhood because they want the business, so a war breaks about between the gangs. So they continue to kill each other!! It's crazy! Then we hear about black lives matter, black lives matter...what is that?? It means nothing in Chicago because black lives don't even matter to them!! The worse is the little children, six so far this year. The other day a man pulls over to the side of the road to rest. Another man comes out of the trees and shoots him in the head for no reason, just gun play macho...it is crazy.

The more he talked the more animated he became, desperate to make us understand how crazy and meaningless it all seemed to him. 

Thomas: I come from Ghana to this place where the economy is so much better, more opportunity, and this is the way people behave?

When our ride was over I wanted to hug the guy and thank him for coming to America, for working two jobs. Instead, I shook his hand and thanked him for the ride. Thomas and his shiny Camry disappeared . I will never see him again. I wondered if he lives on the south side. I wondered if he too might become one of the nameless victims of the war raging just four miles from my luxury hotel on the magnificent mile. It occurs to me that Chicago has suffered more casualties so far this year than the United States has lost in Afghanistan in the last four years combined. 

On the night that Pam and I gathered with 40,000 joyous Cubs fans at Wrigley Field to watch the Cubs beat the Angels, less than ten miles away, no less than seven African-American males were gunned down in the streets. 

It was not a good night for angels.