I know that it may sound odd, but one of my many jobs that I remember most fondly was the summer job I had fresh out of high school. My father's company had a "summer jobs program." Employees with children looking for work placed the names in a hat. "X" number of jobs went to the "lottery" winners. "Y" number went to others.
As number three high muckety-muck exec he had a top floor, corner office. I was in the basement sorting mail and then delivering it. Chatting and subtly flirting with all the young, attractive secretaries was good good fun. That their knowledge of my "connection" might have affected their reactions meant nothing to this randy 18 year old.
We had a routine. Should we meet in an elevator he would address me as "Richard" and I would address him as "Mr. 'Shans'." It was "never the twain shall meet." Hell, he would drop me off at work, take my older sister to her job. I would walk home and he would drive whenever he would call it a night. That way we were never entering or leaving the building together at the same time. It was a ritual that I understood and appreciated.
I also got to meet and work with a number of interesting people. One was a former pro football player (SEC grad and player for the Orlando Panthers of the short-lived Continental Football league) who blew a knee but had no "credible" education as a fallback. He worked a linotype (after years of on-the-job training) in the print shop. His wife, who got an actual SEC degree was School Superintendent. Conrad, a Cuban immigrant, tried to teach me how not to cut off a finger tip in the paper cutter. He was 97% successful. He forgot the automated stapler. One staple through my thumb was all it took for me to "respect the machines."
A shining moment was befriending a Black kid who had no relative at the company. He was headed for Fort Valley State in GA. He started the summer with a cracker, racist SOB supervisor in the power plant (it was a natural gas supplier with its own electric generators) and caught more sh¡t than any man, much less an 18 year old kid looking to not put tuition money at risk.
He and I ate lunch together often and became good friends. He registered a humble and subdued complaint with the Human Resources when asking for a transfer. I backed him in an informal report. Within a day my father contacted me (strictly within the office setting – it was a unique elevator meeting) that had him "requesting" that I meet with HR members, HR executives and others to address the situation.
Within days I was transferred to the print shop, where I was able to staple my thumb and nearly cut off a finger, Reggie (that's his real first name, for what it's worth) was "promoted" to my mail sorting and delivery position and Cliff (the power plant manger, also his real first name) had his *** fired.
Reggie and I became (I hope) good friends. Check with him.
I like to think that my father gained a good measure of respect for me for standing up and sticking to my guns. This in spite of our differences over Nixon, the Viet Nam "War, the Draft" and a number of other things.
We stood apart in some things but were both proud of our stances and actions in that situation.
