Back in the day of our print publication, a reader-favorite was SCENES FROM CHILDHOOD, a column created by former associate editor, Suzanne Beyer and populated by nostalgic reader-submitted essays. I hope to dust off these little gems from time to time and post them online. This contribution from Marge Stormo of Tacoma was originally published by Northwest Prime Time in 2013.
I was 16 living in Portsmouth, Ohio, reading the classified section of the newspaper and hoping I could find a summer job.
“Assembly line workers needed immediately for Portsmouth shoe company.”
I called the listed phone number and was told to appear at the address to fill out an application the next day.
WOW!
I told my friends and family of my upcoming appointment at the factory. I could easily envision all those shoes in beautiful colors and styles that I soon would work on.
The application’s questions were easy, except for the line that read asking how much experience I had. I wrote none and went home defeated.
But, three days later I heard the joyous news that I should report for work the following Monday at 7am and bring my lunch. The work shift would be a 40-hour week.
The first day at the factory, all of my senses were assaulted negatively. I was sure a bad mistake had been made by putting me in this work area – a huge room of exhaust fans stirring up the smell of old, heavy, thick oil. The tall narrow windows were either cracked or missing entirely and covered with grime. The loud continuous rhythmic, ear-splitting banging of metal on metal, the steady buzz of electric shears cutting leather shoe patterns, the sound of many commercial sewing machines all in constant chatter and the electric, squawking, humming sound of the moving rubberized belt holding cardboard boxes filled with bundles of flat, unstitched shoes gave me an immediate headache. How could this be where all those beautiful shoes were made!
I was shown how to grab one of the boxes off the belt and how to start gluing on bows, buttons, piping, buckles and sequins. With 25 pairs of shoes in each box, I had to finish a minimum number of boxes each day to keep my job.
That summer I learned patience, accepting what I could not change, the meaning of the word tenacity, and a strong work ethic. These became lessons used for the rest of my working career.
Marge Stormo of Tacoma originally wrote a longer version of the article for a writing class at Senior University.
