It didn’t take me long to decide that I wanted the job that was being offered to me. I didn’t know much about it. Construction was something I had seen, but certainly never participated in. In fact, my father had told me that construction was not a very wise choice for a career and that I should be looking for a job with a public utility, like the Department of Water and Power. Those words of wisdom went right by me…I liked the money!
The next day, I went down the street and knocked on the door of the man who had offered me this job; Marshall Hagerman. We talked some more and I learned some details of the job. First, I was going to have to pass a State Department of Apprenticeship Standards Aptitude test. After passing the test I would be given the tools needed and the cost of those tools would be taken out of my first check, about $35. I would also have to join the United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners; a hit of $100. Although I saw a lot of money going out of my wallet, I decided it still might be worth the investment.
Marshall also told me that he wanted to train me as an estimator. Now that was something I knew more about. My father was an estimator. Marshall’s plan, as he outlined it to me, was that I would learn the drywall trade first and after becoming a Journeyman, I would then become a full time estimator for him. At the time, it took 2 years to become a Journeyman and it was all on the job training and no classroom instruction. I would get a raise every 3 months until I reached full pay.
I made an appointment and went downtown to some State office building to take the aptitude test, which consisted of placing square blocks in square holes and round blocks in the round holes…Whoopee! I passed. And then I went to the office of Local Union 1506 and gave them my $100. In return I was given a nifty little book to record my dues payments and was welcomed into the Brotherhood. Dues? Marshall hadn’t told me about that.
The next day, Marshal called me and told me to come over and pick up my tools. I would be going to work the next day…in Hollywood, at a project called the Leon Apartments.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Dreaming
The days at the warehouse dragged on. I was making good money, so that helped to alleviate the boredom. And with two jobs I was able to buy myself a new car, a Corvair Monza Spyder; turbocharged!
Ah! The American Dream…A new car with that fabulous new car smell and a payment book. I was now in debt and so working became even more of a priority. But I was still complaining about it. And one day my complaints were heard by a friend of my sister, Miriam. Miriam lived just down the street from my parent’s house (where I lived) and she also worked at STL.
What I soon learned was that Miriam had repeated my complaints to her step-father…and he had just organized a new construction company and was looking for an apprentice or two. And so one day he came knocking at our door and asked to talk to me. After introducing himself and explaining his purpose in visiting me, he got down to the basics; he wanted an apprentice carpenter and apprentice estimator combined in one person. Would I be interested? It paid $2.50 an hour to start and the trade I would be involved in was known as “Sheetrocking”, or “drywall”. I had no idea of what those words meant, but I did know that $2.50 an hour was good money. And the promise of even more money over the period of the two years it took to become a Journeyman cinched the deal. $5 an hour was the promise in two years time.
After thanking him for contacting me and telling him that I would let him know my decision very soon…I went to my father and asked, “What’s drywall?”
Ah! The American Dream…A new car with that fabulous new car smell and a payment book. I was now in debt and so working became even more of a priority. But I was still complaining about it. And one day my complaints were heard by a friend of my sister, Miriam. Miriam lived just down the street from my parent’s house (where I lived) and she also worked at STL.
What I soon learned was that Miriam had repeated my complaints to her step-father…and he had just organized a new construction company and was looking for an apprentice or two. And so one day he came knocking at our door and asked to talk to me. After introducing himself and explaining his purpose in visiting me, he got down to the basics; he wanted an apprentice carpenter and apprentice estimator combined in one person. Would I be interested? It paid $2.50 an hour to start and the trade I would be involved in was known as “Sheetrocking”, or “drywall”. I had no idea of what those words meant, but I did know that $2.50 an hour was good money. And the promise of even more money over the period of the two years it took to become a Journeyman cinched the deal. $5 an hour was the promise in two years time.
After thanking him for contacting me and telling him that I would let him know my decision very soon…I went to my father and asked, “What’s drywall?”
Friday, February 24, 2006
A long time...
I don’t remember how long I worked at the warehouse. It seemed to go on forever…but I was making money; a good thing. And in the evenings, I had my job as night manager at the Texaco station. I wanted to make enough money to buy a better car and two jobs would just about pull it off.
I do remember a certain “moment of truth” from a day at the warehouse. The crew; and I was the youngest…were eating our lunch while sitting on the loading dock. One of the old guys, a guy in his 40’s, told us that this was the best job he ever had and that he hoped to stay and retire from it. Charlie was his name and he was from Missouri. And it suddenly struck me that I didn’t want to be like Charlie. I had a sudden vision of myself accepting a gold watch after 40 plus years of driving a forklift and I cringed inwardly.
Maybe this job was what life in Missouri would prime you for…I had no idea. But I knew that I couldn’t do it, I had to find something else to do.
And around this time I was making inquiries into the possibility of getting a job with the Los Angeles County fire department. There were openings for Emergency Medical Technicians (EMT’s) and one requirement was a certificate for LVN. I already had that from my Navy experience. This was a brand new program for the county; paramedics were just becoming popular among fire and rescue agencies.
Then I was told that I wouldn’t qualify because of my vision. County firefighters had to have 20/20 vision. Wait a second! My vision was good enough for the Navy; to serve as a Hospital Corpsman…but they weren’t listening. Regulations were regulations after all.
Back to the warehouse during the day and windshield washing at night…
I do remember a certain “moment of truth” from a day at the warehouse. The crew; and I was the youngest…were eating our lunch while sitting on the loading dock. One of the old guys, a guy in his 40’s, told us that this was the best job he ever had and that he hoped to stay and retire from it. Charlie was his name and he was from Missouri. And it suddenly struck me that I didn’t want to be like Charlie. I had a sudden vision of myself accepting a gold watch after 40 plus years of driving a forklift and I cringed inwardly.
Maybe this job was what life in Missouri would prime you for…I had no idea. But I knew that I couldn’t do it, I had to find something else to do.
And around this time I was making inquiries into the possibility of getting a job with the Los Angeles County fire department. There were openings for Emergency Medical Technicians (EMT’s) and one requirement was a certificate for LVN. I already had that from my Navy experience. This was a brand new program for the county; paramedics were just becoming popular among fire and rescue agencies.
Then I was told that I wouldn’t qualify because of my vision. County firefighters had to have 20/20 vision. Wait a second! My vision was good enough for the Navy; to serve as a Hospital Corpsman…but they weren’t listening. Regulations were regulations after all.
Back to the warehouse during the day and windshield washing at night…
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Life?
Life in the Bonded Warehouse.
The first thing I had to do was to learn how to operate a battery powered forklift. This was warehouse lift and you stood up in it; a small wheel to steer and a “deadman” foot pedal to accelerate and to brake. Plus the usual up/down and extend levers. You could turn the lift on a dime and after awhile I became quite adept at maneuvering my way through the crowded aisles of the warehouse. The real danger came from all the other lift drivers in the warehouse; as we would all race from point to point without slowing at intersections. Warehouse Grand Prix!
As I wrote earlier, the government inspector would show up around 9 and I would then join him in the Bonded area. He always carried a cup of coffee with him and the latest computer printout of the inventory in the warehouse. After some deliberation and perhaps another cup of coffee, he would decide which box he wanted to look at. I would then grab my trusty steed, the electric lift, and find that box somewhere on the racks. Once retrieved, we would open it up so that he could find one specific item and then check it off of his list. Most boxes contained hundreds of small electronic parts and each one had a part number and a government property number on it…somewhere. I soon became a good detective and could find most tags quickly. After finding that one part and checking it off of the list, (Success!) the inspector would always say it was time for a break and another cup of coffee. And so we would sit in our secure area, enjoying? our conversation and coffee. That process would continue all day. Or until about 2, when the inspector would say that he was tired and that he was going back to his office. I would then pack the box and put it back on the rack.
That was it. One box each day. And sometimes we would have to repeat the search in a box we had just opened the day before. And we had hundreds of boxes to go through.
After awhile I found that I really enjoyed the 2 hours in the morning, where I was busy doing many things…and I dreaded the rest of the day, spent looking into the depths of one cardboard carton, holding an YF-33Z Wave Guide in my hand while I searched for the elusive tags.
The first thing I had to do was to learn how to operate a battery powered forklift. This was warehouse lift and you stood up in it; a small wheel to steer and a “deadman” foot pedal to accelerate and to brake. Plus the usual up/down and extend levers. You could turn the lift on a dime and after awhile I became quite adept at maneuvering my way through the crowded aisles of the warehouse. The real danger came from all the other lift drivers in the warehouse; as we would all race from point to point without slowing at intersections. Warehouse Grand Prix!
As I wrote earlier, the government inspector would show up around 9 and I would then join him in the Bonded area. He always carried a cup of coffee with him and the latest computer printout of the inventory in the warehouse. After some deliberation and perhaps another cup of coffee, he would decide which box he wanted to look at. I would then grab my trusty steed, the electric lift, and find that box somewhere on the racks. Once retrieved, we would open it up so that he could find one specific item and then check it off of his list. Most boxes contained hundreds of small electronic parts and each one had a part number and a government property number on it…somewhere. I soon became a good detective and could find most tags quickly. After finding that one part and checking it off of the list, (Success!) the inspector would always say it was time for a break and another cup of coffee. And so we would sit in our secure area, enjoying? our conversation and coffee. That process would continue all day. Or until about 2, when the inspector would say that he was tired and that he was going back to his office. I would then pack the box and put it back on the rack.
That was it. One box each day. And sometimes we would have to repeat the search in a box we had just opened the day before. And we had hundreds of boxes to go through.
After awhile I found that I really enjoyed the 2 hours in the morning, where I was busy doing many things…and I dreaded the rest of the day, spent looking into the depths of one cardboard carton, holding an YF-33Z Wave Guide in my hand while I searched for the elusive tags.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
At work
After thinking about the possibilities of a career in the aerospace industry (and the possibility of higher wages) I decided to go in for an interview. It didn’t take long and I was hired (provisionally). I had to be approved by the FBI for a “Secret” clearance, but I could still begin working as a Bonded Warehouse Clerk while the FBI did their investigating. It sounded interesting…a Secret clearance? What was I going to be doing? Of course, it turned out that due to contract provisions with the government, everyone who worked at STL had to have a Secret clearance, even the guys mowing the lawns.
It turned out that I wasn’t going to be working in that new office complex at all. My place of employment was (Surprise!) a warehouse in Lawndale.
My job began with a tour of this huge warehouse. There were thousands of desks and chairs, all in cartons and stacked twenty feet high. Thousands of brand new IBM Selectrics were stacked high as well. Paper goods were stacked everywhere. File and folders for the hundreds of 2-drawer, 3-drawer, 5 drawer and more filing cabinets that lined the wide aisles of the warehouse.
I was told that I would report for work each day at 7 and spend the first few hours working on the general warehouse staff. Around 9, the government inspector would arrive and I would then work for him; until he left for the day…which might be 2 hours later or 6 hours. It varied. That work was done in the caged “Bonded Area” of the warehouse. It was a chain link sided room that was about 50’x50’ and had warehousing racks that were about twenty feet high. Those racks were filled with large cardboard boxes with cryptic lettering on their sides. And I would soon know what all of those letters meant.
The first full day at work began with my learning how to assemble desks and chairs…and to put little government property tags on them. I soon learned that when STL was successful in obtaining a contract with the government, the purchasing would begin. And the government paid for it all. Did the new contract require additional labor and did that labor need desks, chairs and typewriters? Of course they did! And so the government bought those items for STL. All we had to do was put the government property tag on it to make it all legal and ethical. And when the contract was finished, the government inspector would determine the “value” of the desk, the chair, and the typewriter…and write them off as “excess property…not salvageable”.
What fun!
It turned out that I wasn’t going to be working in that new office complex at all. My place of employment was (Surprise!) a warehouse in Lawndale.
My job began with a tour of this huge warehouse. There were thousands of desks and chairs, all in cartons and stacked twenty feet high. Thousands of brand new IBM Selectrics were stacked high as well. Paper goods were stacked everywhere. File and folders for the hundreds of 2-drawer, 3-drawer, 5 drawer and more filing cabinets that lined the wide aisles of the warehouse.
I was told that I would report for work each day at 7 and spend the first few hours working on the general warehouse staff. Around 9, the government inspector would arrive and I would then work for him; until he left for the day…which might be 2 hours later or 6 hours. It varied. That work was done in the caged “Bonded Area” of the warehouse. It was a chain link sided room that was about 50’x50’ and had warehousing racks that were about twenty feet high. Those racks were filled with large cardboard boxes with cryptic lettering on their sides. And I would soon know what all of those letters meant.
The first full day at work began with my learning how to assemble desks and chairs…and to put little government property tags on them. I soon learned that when STL was successful in obtaining a contract with the government, the purchasing would begin. And the government paid for it all. Did the new contract require additional labor and did that labor need desks, chairs and typewriters? Of course they did! And so the government bought those items for STL. All we had to do was put the government property tag on it to make it all legal and ethical. And when the contract was finished, the government inspector would determine the “value” of the desk, the chair, and the typewriter…and write them off as “excess property…not salvageable”.
What fun!
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Vacation Over
Active duty service in the Navy was over and so I flew home to Southern California. I still had vague thoughts about continuing my Navy career but they soon faded as I realized that I needed a job…now. So I went back to the places I knew and got a job with Bill’s Texaco as the night manager. That gave me a whopping $1.75 an hour. But I had the daytime free for the beach or anything else I wanted to do.
I had sold my car (1954 Austin Healey) before going to North Carolina and the first thing I needed was something to replace it. And with my wages, I wasn’t going to get much of a car. I ended up with a 1951 Chevy 2 door sedan…a thing of beauty…not!
All mixed in at this time in my life was a half hearted desire to gain a college degree and get on with my life. Somehow I took a leave of absence from the Texaco station and headed north to San Louis Obispo, Morro Bay and Cal-Poly University where I began a course in Mechanical Engineering. I soon found parties more to my liking than studies and within a semester I was out…and back to washing windshields.
To my credit, I continued to look for a career. A day job. And one day I spotted a Help Wanted ad for “Warehouse Clerk, Bonded Warehouse…must be able to obtain security clearance. Call xxx-xxxx at STL.” I knew of STL (Space Technology Laboratories); they had recently moved into Manhattan Beach and built a huge office complex on the eastern border of the city. I knew they were a leading player in the all new aerospace industry that was just forming. Perhaps that would be a place to start a career?
I had sold my car (1954 Austin Healey) before going to North Carolina and the first thing I needed was something to replace it. And with my wages, I wasn’t going to get much of a car. I ended up with a 1951 Chevy 2 door sedan…a thing of beauty…not!
All mixed in at this time in my life was a half hearted desire to gain a college degree and get on with my life. Somehow I took a leave of absence from the Texaco station and headed north to San Louis Obispo, Morro Bay and Cal-Poly University where I began a course in Mechanical Engineering. I soon found parties more to my liking than studies and within a semester I was out…and back to washing windshields.
To my credit, I continued to look for a career. A day job. And one day I spotted a Help Wanted ad for “Warehouse Clerk, Bonded Warehouse…must be able to obtain security clearance. Call xxx-xxxx at STL.” I knew of STL (Space Technology Laboratories); they had recently moved into Manhattan Beach and built a huge office complex on the eastern border of the city. I knew they were a leading player in the all new aerospace industry that was just forming. Perhaps that would be a place to start a career?
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Get a job!
Near the end of my active duty service in 1961, I was still working on the psychiatric ward and becoming bored with it. This was also the time for the re-enlistment officer to come calling. I met with him and we discussed all of the possibilities. I was quite happy in the Navy, but not really challenged, so I floated the idea of going to Aviation Medicine School in Pensacola, Florida. This would require a 6 year re-enlistment and they would even give me a $2,000 bonus. I liked it! Then I asked the simple questions; would I be guaranteed the school? And would I be able to leave Camp Lejeune? At this time, Camp Lejeune was a mandatory 4 year duty station for most and I wanted out. I had joined the Navy to see the world…and had been stationed in the Greater Angola Swamp instead. (Honest. That is where the hospital was located.)
The officer tried to tell me that “in all likelihood” I would get the school. But he added, “I can’t guarantee it.” I tried a couple more times to get a guarantee out of him before giving up and telling him I was no longer interested.
In October of that year I was released from active duty and flew home to Manhattan Beach. Now I had to find a job!
The officer tried to tell me that “in all likelihood” I would get the school. But he added, “I can’t guarantee it.” I tried a couple more times to get a guarantee out of him before giving up and telling him I was no longer interested.
In October of that year I was released from active duty and flew home to Manhattan Beach. Now I had to find a job!
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Picture This
I wish I had more photos of my job in the Navy…I do have a lot of old Polaroid’s of places I traveled to while I was in the Navy. But those are mostly images of Washington, DC, the closest “big city” to Camp Lejeune; and the place we went on any long weekend. And you have already seen more images of the Lincoln Memorial than you can count…you don’t need to see mine.
OK, back to the story...After a few weeks on the locked ward, it was all routine. Once a week we would gather up all of the patients and take them out to the exercise yard while we tore the ward apart, looking for contraband. It was amazing, but the patients were really good at concealing forbidden items. At every meal, we counted the silverware entering and counted it again as it left on the food service carts. Yet, we would always find one or two pieces hidden in the frame of a bed. It was the same with razors. We handed out lockable razors every morning and took them back, checking them off a list as we did so. And we found razors hidden. And lots of pills. At medication time, we tried to ensure that the patient actually swallowed his Thorazine or Sparine. And the bed frames always gave up a stash or two of the drugs.
And embarrassing…once we lost two patients. They waited around the food service cart until they had a chance to slip into the cart itself. Another patient closed the door on the cart and concealed them. The cart was wheeled off of the ward and into the mess hall galley for cleaning. That was where the two stepped out and caused a panic among the civilian workers. The two patients didn’t try to go any further; they explained that they had done it just to see if they could…
OK, back to the story...After a few weeks on the locked ward, it was all routine. Once a week we would gather up all of the patients and take them out to the exercise yard while we tore the ward apart, looking for contraband. It was amazing, but the patients were really good at concealing forbidden items. At every meal, we counted the silverware entering and counted it again as it left on the food service carts. Yet, we would always find one or two pieces hidden in the frame of a bed. It was the same with razors. We handed out lockable razors every morning and took them back, checking them off a list as we did so. And we found razors hidden. And lots of pills. At medication time, we tried to ensure that the patient actually swallowed his Thorazine or Sparine. And the bed frames always gave up a stash or two of the drugs.
And embarrassing…once we lost two patients. They waited around the food service cart until they had a chance to slip into the cart itself. Another patient closed the door on the cart and concealed them. The cart was wheeled off of the ward and into the mess hall galley for cleaning. That was where the two stepped out and caused a panic among the civilian workers. The two patients didn’t try to go any further; they explained that they had done it just to see if they could…
Friday, February 17, 2006
So it began
After my initial worries faded, I relaxed a little as we toured the ward. Most of the patients, about a dozen, were sitting on chairs or benches and watching the television. Few even looked up as we entered and locked the door behind us. Except for a few oddities, the ward looked like all of the others in the hospital. But those differences were telling. The windows had bronze screens on them, on the inside, and designed to absorb a blow to them without breaking. The beds didn’t have the usual wheels on them and the frame legs sat directly on the floor. Wheels could be weapons. The tour didn’t take long and then I was asked if I wanted to move over to work this ward permanently? Sure. Why not?
And so began my final year in the Navy; working on a maximum security psychiatric ward. And it was easy…far too easy. Since our ward was locked, most of the hospital staff stayed away from us. This led to some pretty relaxed duty.
A few of my fellow corpsmen would take naps whenever they felt like it, disappearing into a “quiet room” for a snooze on the mattress. “Quiet rooms” were the Navy version of a padded cell. The walls were padded and there was a lone mattress on the soft floor. These were rarely used so they made a great room to sneak into and nap for awhile. (No, I didn’t…honest!)
We also had a Tub Room, where we could put violent patients into a warm tub of water, where a canvas covering over the tub held the patient in place despite their struggles. The warm water would soon slow them down…that and the injection of Stelazine!
And so began my final year in the Navy; working on a maximum security psychiatric ward. And it was easy…far too easy. Since our ward was locked, most of the hospital staff stayed away from us. This led to some pretty relaxed duty.
A few of my fellow corpsmen would take naps whenever they felt like it, disappearing into a “quiet room” for a snooze on the mattress. “Quiet rooms” were the Navy version of a padded cell. The walls were padded and there was a lone mattress on the soft floor. These were rarely used so they made a great room to sneak into and nap for awhile. (No, I didn’t…honest!)
We also had a Tub Room, where we could put violent patients into a warm tub of water, where a canvas covering over the tub held the patient in place despite their struggles. The warm water would soon slow them down…that and the injection of Stelazine!
Thursday, February 16, 2006
At work in North Carolina
This is me at work just after arriving at Camp Lejeune. Note the silly grin. I didn't know that much about the camp yet and so grinning was easy. My sleeve has two stripes on it plus the medical corps "cadeuceus". That indicates that I was a Hospitalman Apprentice.
The second photo shows me in a lttle more serious mood...but still smiling. The eagle on my left shoulder indicates that I was then a petty officer. Besides giving you a better place to sleep, that eagle would get you into the non-commissioned officers club, better known as the "non-coms slop chute." You got to associate with a better class of riff-raff there.
And as an indicator of the great respect shown for that "eagle", it was simply known as a "crow"...
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Elite?
I was now an elite member of the Hospital Corps, a Neuropsychiatric Technician (in training) and I was assigned to the Open Ward, Ward 11. The ward was located at the far end of one wing and you had to pass through some formidable doors to gain access to it. Before I joined this unit, I knew of it’s location but I knew nothing else, only rumors. This was where they kept the “crazy Marines” and rumors about the conditions there grew larger than life. Even today, nobody really wants to talk about mental illness and in the early 1960’s, it was very much misunderstood. In fact, NP Tech’s were treated differently just because of what we did. It was as if we were somehow contagious because we treated patients with mental illness.
The patients here had somewhat minor problems; mostly “inadequacy” and some bed wetting…which, for some, was a preferred method of leaving the Marine Corps. Truth be told, most patients on this ward wanted out of the Corps…in the worst way! So much so that they were quite willing to be embarrassed for their bed-wetting episodes, as long as it got them into Ward 11 and then out of the Marines. Strange, but they never wet their beds while waiting to be discharged?
Right across the hallway from Ward 11, were the barred doors to the maximum security ward, Ward 12. I was given a set of keys that would allow me to access that door if there were an emergency and the staff behind the door needed help. I wasn’t sure what kind of help I could be, but I was willing…
After I had worked on Ward 11 for about a month, I was told to meet the Senior Corpsman of Ward 12 to be given a tour of the locked ward. Oh, oh! I guessed I was ready and so I took a deep breath and marched over to the button on the wall that paged a corpsman to come and let me in. Speaking through the bars and mesh, I explained that I had an appointment and the door opened for me. There was a short hallway inside and then another pair of locked doors. Beyond that was the ward itself. We went into the Nurses Station and I was introduced to everyone on duty. I already knew most of them on a casual basis and so after a few minutes, my guide and I left to tour the ward…
The patients here had somewhat minor problems; mostly “inadequacy” and some bed wetting…which, for some, was a preferred method of leaving the Marine Corps. Truth be told, most patients on this ward wanted out of the Corps…in the worst way! So much so that they were quite willing to be embarrassed for their bed-wetting episodes, as long as it got them into Ward 11 and then out of the Marines. Strange, but they never wet their beds while waiting to be discharged?
Right across the hallway from Ward 11, were the barred doors to the maximum security ward, Ward 12. I was given a set of keys that would allow me to access that door if there were an emergency and the staff behind the door needed help. I wasn’t sure what kind of help I could be, but I was willing…
After I had worked on Ward 11 for about a month, I was told to meet the Senior Corpsman of Ward 12 to be given a tour of the locked ward. Oh, oh! I guessed I was ready and so I took a deep breath and marched over to the button on the wall that paged a corpsman to come and let me in. Speaking through the bars and mesh, I explained that I had an appointment and the door opened for me. There was a short hallway inside and then another pair of locked doors. Beyond that was the ward itself. We went into the Nurses Station and I was introduced to everyone on duty. I already knew most of them on a casual basis and so after a few minutes, my guide and I left to tour the ward…
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