Working For A Living: Your First Teen Job, And Where Are You On Snow Days?

Remember the snowy days of winter? It seems we don't see them much anymore. This has been a fairly mild season with maybe just a coating of snow on your sidewalk or enough to be brushed off your windshield, but nothing significant. 
      But when the snow does come, what happened to all those boys and girls and teens who should be out there making money?  Yo kids, there are a lot of elderly and disabled people out there along with others who would rather have someone else do the shoveling. Don't you want to make some extra cash? If you hustle, you can bring home a good bit on the right days.
     It wasn't always this way, and the youth of today disappoint me. Ask your dad, grandfather, uncle, or older brother. They were probably like the rest of us. We were those who hit the street as soon as there was a significant snowfall and tried to reach as many homes, looking to shovel the sidewalks/pavements (or as some older South Philly folks say, payments) before the other kids. We were always happy with what we made, going out ourselves or with a buddy or two and splitting the take for the day. Today when it snows, there's hardly ever a knock on the door with someone asking if they can shovel my sidewalk. Hey, what gives?
     Where did things go wrong? What's up with young people today? If someone does come by to shovel these days, they're usually in their thirties or older. Or may be someone trying to supplement income or out of work. Now that more adults are working, it should be young people who are picking up the slack. There should also be more opportunities for teens to earn and to learn the responsibilities of having a job. Back in our day, kids had many different ways of making money to add to their allowances. We worked as paperboys, delivering for corner stores, as busboys or doing the towel drying at the car wash.  It was low-man on the totem pole work, but it instilled character. Those jobs aren't out there today. Where did we screw up? We had the chance to earn & learn and the same generation who did those things have denied younger people the same opportunities. The Inquirer should go back to kids with bags on their shoulders or a boosted shopping cart for deliveries, and you grocers out there should make deliveries available again and hire a neighborhood kid to do it.
     But I'm afraid that some from our era have ruined your chances. For every few of us who did our work, there was a jerk who messed it up for everyone else. Sure, technology advances didn't help. Some of our crew didn't either. I saw it when I worked at a neighborhood pizzeria when I worked there from 15 to 17 making stromboli.  Most of us were good workers, but there were those that caused our boss to fire the teens and hire housewives. Why? Because someone had to spray Mikey M. down with a hose and then coat him with flour, or some sat around while others were cleaning up. The final straw came when someone wrapped a stromboli with a handful of oregano inside, and then later a fistful of pennies. Fun stuff, no? No! Those stooges put someone's safety at risk and they were idiots for doing it. We never found out who. We were told by our boss that we would be called again when we were needed instead of the usual "See you next Saturday" and he never called us back. I found out while watching a fire being fought in a doctor's office just a few hundred feet from that old job. One of my former co-workers was in the crowd and gave me the news. He knew one of the housewives that replaced us and she told him what happened. When you have enough incidents like this, someone's fun becomes costly for all.  To those characters, I say thanks, guys. And yes, those thanks are insincere.
    

This Is Such A Nice Neighborhood...

     At least that's what we've been saying for eons until recently. It still is a great neighborhood, with longtime neighbors being everything you expect from South Philly residents. I have numerous neighbors who show as much concern for my wife and I as we have concern for them. These are people who will pick up a package on your doorstep for safekeeping until you get home, shovel you're sidewalk in the snow without asking or expecting anything in return, prepare a meal for you when you're down or give you a ride somewhere when you need it. We don't care about each other's minor differences such as nationalities, religions, or whatever; we see each other for what and who we are; great people and great neighbors.
     The people from within our neighborhood are great folks. It seems the people from the outside are a problem. Not all of them, just the cretins who prey on the law-abiding. Never in a million years would I have thought I would be writing something negative about this area. At least not until the current District Attorney took his place in that office. Oh, how the dynamics have changed since. The neighborhood where you could once walk safely at almost any hour has suddenly turned into one where your head needs to be on a 360-degree pivot to watch everything going on around you. It's now a place where you're better off carrying a concealed firearm to protect yourself and have it ready in case someone comes through the door uninvited.
     How in this world did we get here? Were people not paying attention to Krasner's campaign ads that showed him to be a leftist radical? Did the families of convicted criminals and those awaiting trial head to the polls en masse, some for the first time ever, to elect someone who they either believed would give their relative a fair shake or have the attitude that they don't care about the safety of all Philadelphia's citizens, only their own?  Never mind the rest of us. I can see those nefarious types out there lining up to vote to put this man into office. Now Krasner has emboldened those from problem areas to come and feast on whatever or whoever they can. This is a prime example of why convicted felons should never have the opportunity to vote.
     I have sympathy for those who have lived here all their lives who are watching in real-time the demise of this area. My fear is that some will seek to sell their homes and move to South Jersey or the burbs. I'm not going anywhere. I sympathize with the newer neighbors who came from other cities or neighborhoods because the reputation of this area. I feel like I almost feel like I have to apologize to one of our newer neighbors who moved to our block; coming from Brooklyn to first rent in the city then buy a home on this street. Wasn't it only about eighteen months ago that I told her that she picked a great block and neighborhood to move to? Okay, so I was right about the block. The people here are awesome, especially those who have been here for decades but also some newer neighbors. They have real skin in the game when it comes to making South Philly and the block a great place. Although I miss them, I'm glad for friends that moved to Texas because I know they would be appalled by the current state of things and heartbroken at the same time. But now this area is swarming with those that need to be wearing an official prison jumpsuit and being fed three square meals of institutional food a day. They can't be allowed to instill fear on our people, yet the longer the situation goes on, the more fear will grow. We've got to fight this mayhem: Fight them with pressure on local government, and fight them when possible with whatever weapon is at your disposal. Not by taking out anyone that even looks funny, but taking down those who are an actual threat. And don't forget to fight at the polls. Your vote does count and you and I can make the difference to bring a new DA to office soon.
     And to those friends who regularly read this blog, you also have my apologies. These issues were never supposed to have a place here but I'm in vent mode with all that's happened. This is a place for happy memories and not this trash.


AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
   ...Being able to walk freely in the neighborhood, no matter what age you were. I can remember walking down the street with my brother at 4:30 a.m. when we had a few personal issues to talk about. No one bothered us, whether they were up to something nasty or cops who passed by and didn't give us a second thought.
   ...When alleyways didn't have iron gates at the ends of them. Some people would enter their homes through the alley and then back door. Why? I don't know, but they could do it unimpeded. Now when someone can't get into the alley to do work, they change the locks and often don't tell anyone. DON'T DO THIS! Ne neighborly and get a new key made for each neighbor, or at least make a key available for them to copy. Just be sure that the copies go to those with homes on the block and no others.
   ...When a strange face entering the corner store was just a customer. Some stores now operate with security glass and an armed owner.
   ...When the adult neighbor who took an interest in kids did it because he was being kind to kids and no bad intentions. We had one neighbor who used to take a number of us on the block for a ride down behind the airport to watch the planes come in and then for a stop at the Dairy Queen on Penrose Avenue on the way back - with our parents' consent, of course. The man never touched us or said anything even remotely suspicious. That would be unheard of today. That neighbor would have to bring a parent along for the kid's protection as well as his own.

The Coal Delivery's Here...

We have a lot to be thankful for when comparing some things today with those of the past. Things we don't even think about today until it’s time to pay the bill or a system goes down. One of those things is heating. No one thinks about that except to set the thermostat. We never see the guys who are responsible for piping natural gas through the underground mains of this city (nor do we care to), and the only time we pay attention to fuel delivery is when someone’s pumping heating oil into your neighbors' basement tanks. That’s because you're sitting in traffic behind the oil truck, steaming because you thought he'd be done a lot faster.  So were the drivers of the three cars that are waiting behind you, blocking you from backing up and retreating down a side street. Some oil customers have systems that notify the oil vendor that you're getting low, so there's no getting caught with a dry tank on weekends or on holidays. That still doesn't save you from sitting behind the delivery tanker. Thankfully, we don’t have to deal with propane deliveries in the city.
     It wasn't so easy not all that long ago. Fifty years seems long until those years are behind you. From talking with older folks who had experience with it, coal heating may have kept you warm, but it was in no way convenient. Often it kept you too hot because there were no thermostats at the time. You had to sympathize with ladies who had hot flashes. My only experience with coal heating came while watching trucks dump a load of it into someone's basement in our neighborhood. Being a kid in Philadelphia in the late-1960s, there was a lot going on to keep your curiosity flowing. Simple things often caught your attention. One of those things is something that isn't around anymore: the coal delivery man. Because no one heats their whole home with coal any more, and why would they? As a young observer, coal heating seemed dirty and laborious, and those older neighbors confirmed it. You had to shovel the black nuggets from a coal bin in your basement into the furnace, and you had to make sure to keep the fire going. One of our neighbors was one of the last to give in and get rid of his coal furnace and go with gas. Until he did, his sons were given the responsibilities of stoking the fire and they didn't dare let that fire go out. I've since heard that it took too much coal to restart the fire should that happen, making the furnace far less efficient. You had to clean it out just about daily, having to put buckets of ash on your sidewalk to be picked up like the trash. I wonder how elderly widows handled it if they had no adult children. It had to have been quite a task 
     Having an odd interest with things like this, I saw a newspaper story a few years ago where some people heat rooms with coal stoves and go to the dealer to buy coal pellets. That's much different than a load of dirty coal chunks. As kids, we saw that the only way to heat your home with coal was to have them bring it to you. We would sit on the steps of neighbors' homes as we watched the coal man lower the chute from his truck through a basement window into the coal bin, then dump his load of mined fuel. I guess if you were a coal customer, you bought by the truckload or the ton or whatever volume you needed.  That had to be tiresome. I could see rejoicing when springtime came because all this was over with. That was until the next year. Thankfully, our society has become much more advanced, so all we need to do now is turn on the heat and dial up the temperature that will keep us comfortable.  No more shovels to hurl the coal into the furnace or to clean it out. No more straining your back to get the ash out or getting soot all over. Our grandparents and maybe parents were probably used to it. Thank God for advances that make tings like this history.

AND YOU MAY REMEMBER...
... Coal dealers spread throughout the city.  You can still find reminders of those relics in some parts of Philadelphia that are zoned as industrial or commercial areas.  I remember not too long ago yards on South 25th Street that had signs that read "Coal and Ice".  There were a few dealers there under the old railroad trestle years back. They had things covered year-round. If they had relied only on coal customers, they would have had a seasonal business. The ice kept the old iceboxes of the day cold and customers happy, especially in the summertime.
https://www.phillyhistory.org/PhotoArchive/Detail.aspx?assetId=7884

...Thinking of home heating oil. there have been a few incidents in Philly and other cities where oil was delivered to a home that no longer used it. The filler spout in the outside wall remained, and a driver had the wrong address, - that address - and wound up pumping the oil onto the basement floor. It had to be a mess: both the cleanup and dealing with the oil dealer and insurance companies. It's suggested that when converting from oil to gas, to remove the spout or fill it with concrete to prevent a rare (but not too rare) occurrence like this from happening.
https://www.fox5dc.com/news/company-pumps-100-gallons-of-oil-into-wrong-prince-georges-county-home-flooding-basement

https://www.abc27.com/news/heating-oil-misdelivery-forces-family-out-of-home-for-months/

My Friend The Professor and My First Job

There are friends who you remember throughout your lifetime: ones who you don't or can't forget. They're always there to talk to lift your spirits, give advice, or are on your mind when thinking back on old times. My friend Kenny - aka The Professor - is one of those friends and was quite a character. We came up together from grade school onward, remaining friends through our adulthood with a bit of a pause. He moved away somewhere in New Jersey and I hadn't heard from him since shortly after I was married in the 1980s. That's until we reconnected a few years ago and now we keep up occasionally.  Some friends thought Kenny got his nickname "The Professor" because people thought he looked like a university educator. The truth is it was because he wore a lab coat while taking Optical Lab at Bok where we took shared-time classes between there and Bishop Neumann High. I had taken the Electric Shop, so we went in different directions when entering school. That's if we made it to Bok, sometimes cutting classes and taking the afternoon off. There were a couple of times where we stopped at his house between classes and had a few beers before heading into class. That wasn't a wise thing. Electricity, alcohol, and irresponsibility were a recipe for mayhem. Thankfully we both became responsible adults. We were good friends both in both our youth and as we age. We both shared an interest in the same type of music and a few other things, although there were some things that could have kept us from a good friendship neither of us let them get in the way.     Professor was famous for his parties. He had gotten me a job at the factory where he worked with other neighborhood friends among others. He and I and a former classmate named Steve worked there together for a couple of years before moving on to much better jobs. There were days that Professor didn't come to work because of those parties, he was having too much of a good time to let the job get in the way. Not that the job was anything spectacular. To get into those parties, you had to be an active participant in the event being held. For instance, during the "Beat the Skunk" party, he had a large stuffed-toy skunk that you had to take a few swings at if you were going to be admitted. No swing, you were out the door. Same with the "Burn the Pope's Picture" party. This happened around the time that Pope John Paul II came to Philly, and before Sinead O'Connor ripped up his photo on Saturday Night Live. If you didn't bring the full-color photo that the Inquire inserted in the Sunday paper, you couldn't come in. No reasonable facsimiles allowed.
     Professor's father was a quiet, retired man who was home every day. The unusual thing was that he would turn over the house to Kenny and his parties instead of kicking everyone out. If twenty or so young guys and girls showed up at my door with pictures of the pope and no good intentions on their mind, my dad would have thrown everyone out, myself included.
     Being the straight man, I often missed these events. I never wanted to miss work, and on one of the days I tried to skip, I got caught. I remember a day when SEPTA was on strike and a few of us devised a plan to call in and tell the boss we couldn't come to work because we had no ride. The problem was, we did it from a payphone down the block from the job, and two of the ladies walked by as we were calling in. The boss said we should all meet at my house, and he was on the way to pick us up. I tried to do a quick recovery: "Uh, hang on a second...What?...Oh yeah?... Hey, my dad's going to drive us up, we'll be there shortly." Busted! I wasn't even thinking that traffic noise near the public phone may be giving my intentions away. O, being young and stupid!
     I believe Steve may have attended some of those parties. We all worked at a factory that made bedroom slippers for the ladies. It was a good place to start your working life, but you definitely didn't want to stay there; one of those places that was as much a playground as a place to work. One day I was looking down the freight elevator shaft, waiting for the lift to come up for me at the top floor, the fifth. Some guy John was getting on the elevator as it stopped on three. And lo, there was Steve on four, hoisting over the top of the gate a bucket of white glue and water. He dumped it right down on his victim, and on the boss who walked on just as he started to pour. Both men yelled, and Steve took off down the fire escape, and no one but he and I were the wiser to what happened. I buckled over from laughing so hard that I don't know how I recovered before they made their way up to me. The next time I saw Steve downstairs, he said, "Don't say a word..." and of course, I wasn't. We had a great laugh and the other two had to clean up: the boss had a change of clothing, but John had to head home because his clothes were soaked in glue and water.
     Sure, I worked some crummy jobs before getting training and into a career rather than just a job. But at least I had some fun, even in the worst of them. One thing I noticed, that as I went to a new job I got more responsibility and money, but had less fun. Oh well, it was a good trade-off. All young guys should have a dirty, lousy job before they launch a career. It will help them to appreciate the good jobs when they come, and the fun they had while waiting for the good work to come.
    Professor and I took different career paths, as you can't expect to do the same thing as all your friends. But wherever we landed, we both have some fine memories as well as humorous ones to look back on. That's always a great thing.