Rick Minerd - Life Is A Jukebox

Does anyone start a new job without a little apprehension, without wondering if they'll be able to cut it or fit in with their new surroundings?

I've had a lot of jobs during my labor years, and I think I can remember all of them. Beginning with my first job, after of course the customary paper routes, lawn mowing, leaf raking and other rites of adolescence.

That first one was at the corner of Front Street and Sycamore. It's a parking lot now, but back in 1966 it was a Moose Lodge. And the job I landed was that of a bowling pin setter. I was 14 years old and I earned ninety cents an hour to jump from a perch after bowlers knocked down pins and manually set them back up, and, roll their ball back to them.  I took care of two lanes so as soon as I finished one I had to jump a small brick wall and do it for the other lane.

Back breaking, muscle straining and what the hell was I thinking?

I only lasted about two weeks on this job. I guess I didn't fit in, or maybe I couldn't cut it. Thankfully I still had my Citizen Journal paper route to fall back on.

A few weeks later after finishing my deliveries I was in Schiller Park shooting basketball by myself around six o'clock in the morning. I did this practically every morning because no one was ever there at that time and I had the court to myself. 

A green Ford pick-up truck pulled up and a guy probably in his fifties, over-weight and completely bald got out and approached me and asked if I would be interested in working for him as a painter and wall washer. Talk about first day jitters. He offered to pay me $1.25 per hour and I agreed.

I gave him my address   (yes I know)  and he agreed to pick me up at my home the following morning after I finished my route. And he did.

For the first few days everything seemed to be alright and I was feeling pretty good about the extra money. About the third or fourth day I started seeing pornography on the front seat.  (You know where this is headed don't you?)   I didn't, I was 14.

In the second week of my employment with this guy he finally got around to the compliments. What a hard worker I was, what a good looking young man I was. Then resting his hand on my knee he explained  an easy way I could earn more money. It involved standing on a step-ladder and I wouldn't need a paint brush.

It became clear that I wasn't going to be able to cut it on this job either. After he dropped me off at our job site and left to go for supplies I left the job site.

It was somewhere on Cleveland Avenue, about five or six miles from my home and I started walking. Trying to stay off the the main roads in case he came looking for me, and getting lost in one alley after another.

I remember ducking out of sight every time I saw a green Ford pick-up. Somehow I made it home.  When my mother asked how I did at work that day I told her I wasn't any good at it and that I had gotten fired.  She said "Well at least you still have your paper route."

I never told my parents what had happened. And for months I worried about this guy. He knew where I lived and he knew my phone number. I think 14 year olds back then were older than 14 year olds today. I just moved on to the next job.

That came at Schmidts Sausage Haus in German Village.  $1.00 an hour. I was the dishwasher.  First day jitters were present but they subsided quickly because just about everyone working there lived in my neighborhood. I knew them all. And I did cut it, for about a year. But I kept my paper route just in case.

This pattern continued until my senior year in high school.        

After Schmidt's I went onto similar jobs at other restaurants making about the same money until I landed my first high paying gig at Village Packing Company. A Slaughter House that paid $1.75 an hour. Terrified cattle and sheep screaming as they were barbarically killed, blood and guts and stench all day. Talk about jitters and fears of not being able to cut it. Not a good job for an animal lover like myself.

I didn't pursue a career there either. As a matter of fact I hated my co-workers. I thought they were sick and demented because they seemed to enjoy their work too much.  I lasted about four months.

Other jobs that I wasn't cut out for followed. A delivery truck driving gig, a construction job, a sales job at Sun TV,  and perhaps my favorite job ever, working as a janitor for J-Mart Department Stores. There is no way I can explain why this job was so great. But I can say it's the only job that didn't make me nervous about taking it and I knew that I would be able to cut it.

After all of these adventures I got into broadcasting. a field where jitters and fears about being able to cut it were common every time the stations ratings came out.

But the greatest first day on the job jitters came when I was hired by the Franklin County Sheriff.

 I started working there on a Friday about an hour after I finished my afternoon talk-show on WCOL.

My first assignment as Public Information Officer was to tag along with the sheriff's special investigation unit as they raided a strip club. I didn't know anyone on that detail and I knew that they didn't want me there.

They were looking for illegal activity such as prostitution and illegal drug offenses. The raid was successful as they found plenty of both.

Trying to fit in I asked one of the supervisors on the detail what I could do to help. Besides writing a press release. He handed me a paper bag and a pair of rubber gloves and told me to collect condoms from under the seats and under cushions.

Have you ever picked up a condom that had been used by someone else?  If you have you know that they are disgustingly heavy. If you haven't, God bless you.

By the end of the night my bag contained more evidence than you'd care to know. And when I asked the supervisor what he wanted me to do with the bag he told me to "just hang onto it." 

I quickly learned that deputy sheriff's had warped senses of humor.

But I was able to cut it. Those first five or six years weren't easy, but somehow I managed to fit in. Of course in an agency as large as the FCSO  I wasn't able to win them all over. As a matter of fact probably not very many at all.

It was one of those jobs that by the nature of it's responsibilities, resentment from many simply came with the territory.

But like broadcasting, law enforcement is a profession where some of the friends you make are genuine. I have many and I hope to someday work with them again. And if I do, I expect first day jitters. Once I get past that I'll be fine.   Rick 

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