prune picker

This is the blog of a prune picker. (Native born Californian) Retired oilfield. I am an old man. I blog a lot about my body and getting old. As I approach death life gets more interesting. More interesting is not good. I still drive. I attend sports, music, and civic events. I am writing my memoirs. I attend swim class three times a week. Some of my blogs might be interesting. A lot of my blogs are silly and trivial. None are very long.

Sunday, August 4, 2013

My first job and my first bike.

I got a job in 1937 or 1938 (I was 12 or 13) picking up papers after school at the John C. Fremont Junior High School in Pomona. My boss was Papa Chance. He was really named Mr Chance and was the Principle. We called him Papa Chance behind his back. He was a big balding man. We had previously met. He once had me lean over a desk and paddled my rear end with a fraternity initiation paddle. I had broken a rule or talked out of line. The referring teacher (a nice lady) had to stay and observe the punishment. I made sure that I smiled at her while Papa Chance paddled me.



I had the latest high tech equipment. I hung a bag over my shoulder. I believe that I was paid about 30 cents per hour.  An hour and a half five days a week earned me about $15 per month. I can remember walking clear across Pomona (several miles) to the Education Office to pick up my check.

I decided that I should have a bike. I can remember a bike store in Pomona on West 2nd Street. Way in the back I picked out a Pierce Arrow to buy on time. I paid $6 per month for six months. I was so proud of that bike and used it a lot. I have a bike story to tell.


While working for the school I was carrying a load when my right leg just below the knee hit the sharp corner of a metallic object. Without cutting my pants a 2 inch gash opened up in my leg. I could lay my finger in the gash. I do not believe that the gash bled. It was strange. I guess that my leg was stressed from my load and the bump caused the gash to open up. It was nice that I did not cut my pants. 


Can you see the scar? Papa Chance drove me to the doctor's office where several stitches were applied.
I could see that Papa Chance was concerned.


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