Love's Laborer Lost

Happy Labor Day everyone! According to Wikipedia, who as we all know is just south of God in authority, this holiday came into existence to celebrate the American worker and their family. At the time, 1894, the term American worker, meant laborer.

I've written lots of stories about working class people. Truth is, I've always found them interesting. Moreso than those from a more privileged background. I guess this goes back to the adage of "write what you know". I know nothing about elite private education or vacation homes. I am more familiar with the school of hard knocks and summer jobs.

I grew up in the working class. My father was a pumper and gang pusher in the oil patch. My mom was a practical nurse. They worked hard for wages. They scrimped and saved and invested where they could. Ultimately, they did well. They were able to live comfortably, provide for their family and have a pension in their old age. That was their American Dream.

My dad was a great believer in education. He never went to college, but from the moment I was born there was never a suggestion that I might not go. During my high school years, when Oklahoma was trying to put more money into education, a bumper sticker began showing up on cars that read: Only Ignorance is Free. I remember Dad jokingly stated his disagreement. "Ignorance is not free. I pay for mine every day."

So Dad not only paid for his ignorance, but he and Mom paid dearly to rid me of mine. My older sister and I both went to Oklahoma State at the same time. My parents made that happen through buying "shacks" and fixing them up into rent houses. My mother finished her work week at the hospital by pulling 12 hour shifts every Saturday and Sunday for years. My sister and I worked, too. But without the sacrifice of my parents, I'd probably have taken that job as a "table braider" at the hose factory right out of high school. Maybe I would have ended up as a writer anyway, but I'm sure it would have been harder.

Another quote from my dad, "What you learn, nobody can ever take that away from you."

I got a Humanities degree at OSU and then went to grad school at University of Missouri. I often joke that becoming a Professional Librarian is like taking a vow of poverty, but it did provide me with a modest income and an interesting work day.

I also married well. Well, not well as in novels of "marrying well" where the impoverished governess charms the dashing Duke whose inheritance is "forty thousand a year!" But "well" in the sense of a guy that I loved and who loved me. Who took responsibility seriously and was unashamed of being thrifty. Or as my mother once said of him, "He could squeeze the manure out of a buffalo nickel."

Our squashed nickels managed to secure us a place among the middle class. The folks who, at least to some extent, can use their heads instead of their hands to make a living. That's very good for me, since my brain was always stronger than my back. I feel proud and blessed.

But I also feel very, very lucky. Luck has a lot to do with it.

Among the working class men and women in this country, and a lot of folks in middle class as well, luck seems lately to be in short supply. In fact, a holiday to celebrate the workers seems a bit out of sinc with the way things are. Technology and mechanization have increased productivity, allowing factories to pare down the staff. And companies have repeatedly relocated manufacturing overseas where labor is cheaper. With 9.1% out of a job, there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of holiday mood.

My dad grew up during the Great Depression. My grandfather had been partially blinded in a refinery accident at The Magnolia and was told that if he'd sign a paper absolving the company of blame, he'd always have a job. He signed and when hard times hit, he was the first man let go. There was one long winter when they had nothing to eat but black-eyed peas. They'd grown the crop to feed the cow, but skimmed off the peas to feed the children instead.

A sad story like this is not meant to say to folks who are out of work and struggling, "hey, you don't have it so bad." I would not diminish your crisis in any way. Your fears, your Plan B and Plan C and Plan D42 are as scary as any bread line.

What I hope this story reminds you, reminds us, is that while life is short, it is also long. The outlook today, the challenges we see, they are today's troubles. Tomorrow is the unknown. Forecasters, soothsayers, prophets may tell the truth or not have a clue.

Ten years after the middle of the Depression, with two sons in harm's way fighting Hitler and Japan, that cold scary winter of the black-eyed peas must have seemed like the good old days. And by the time I knew them, all of them, it was as if only the happy memories floated to the top. In later life Dad was not averse to a big bowl of black-eyed peas. And my Uncle Bob, in his last days, would ask me to make him "mustard sandwiches" like his mama made him as a kid.

What's happening to working people today, whether you make your living on the line or in a cubicle, is just plain crappy. If you've lost your job, you will never really forget that feeling. If you've lost your savings, you may never be as well-heeled again. But the thing about life is that it's always changing. The everyday people who feel overlooked today, are going to be the ones looking over the future tomorrow. Good times and bad, we must keep putting one foot in front of the other. A hard lesson for all of us.

But remember what my dad said, "What you learn, nobody can ever take away from you."

Happy Labor Day to all those who seek to do the best you can with the tools you've got.