my first real money job.

Jake Hanlin

 baling hay about 2 years ago with my hired help, Me, myself, and I

      Jake was an old dairy farmer from our neighborhood or at least the hood on over the hill from us, and he managed to seek out a pretty nice living for himself over the years from running about a 60 head dairy operation. Both my brothers, Faw and Jim worked for old Jake and he was pretty set in his ways about doing things then and never deviated much for me. He would produce from his bib overall pocket a little notebook, and he would take down the time you started to work and when you quit,  deducting of course time off for dinner and supper, if the day was long. His wife Gladys would set a great table and the food was always sumptuous. Of course Jake like all farmers who were career farmers never let on to having any money and so when dinnertime would roll around old Jake would always say “Well lets head for the house and wash up and see what the neighbors brought in, and see if we have something to eat”.  As usual there was always plenty. His house was always clean, and his yard was always neatly trimmed. The barn always needed some kind of repair, as a dairy farmers job is seven days a week, 365 days a year, so things will always break down , and something always needs fixed, but with no time off for vacations, unless you could find good help to trust the milking chores to, something had to give somewhere.

     A dairy farmer like Jake always had to watch to not get hurt, and avoid cow kicks, or the occasional times when a cow might step on your foot. You had to be part veterinarian and part cow psychic to try and figure out those cows who were not doing as well as they should. Your skills as a herdsman told you when it was time to get rid of an old cow and replace her with a young heifer, knowing the fight was gone in one, but just beginning in the other and you were not getting any younger to deal with it. It seemed as if old Jake took all these things in his own way, never worrying about the small things as there was plenty of big things that would need his attention soon enough.

     When we worked for him, he was always the same way. Years of being battle hardened under the elements made him that way I guess. Rugged as the new morn with a wad of beech nut chewing tobacco shoved in his jaw to get him going. Sometimes barking orders to be heard over a tractor or baler as we were loading hay in the hot sunshine, old Jake would never hesitate to let you know his displeasure and rarely showed any assurance when you were doing the job right, as it was only expected of you, after all he was paying you. And although I was only twelve in 1967 then, I still had to work as hard as my older brother or harder at times, as he seemed to slack more when I was around.

      We worked hard at home on the farm and it was nice to finally get out and work for another farmer and see how he did it also. My grandpa and old Jake seemed to have been brought up in an era when work was defined by how you handled the task as opposed to how much was done. It seemed as if there mind was made up way before starting to work, as to what materials were needed and how they were going to get the job done. Proven by time I am sure they knew what the best way was. Offering up an easier way was something they looked down upon at times as if a young pup like me would ever know more than they do, and usually we were quickly dismissed. After a time or two of being shot down, one quickly learned it was easier to just embrace the job as they would like it done. Whether it was baling hay or shoveling shit. Griping didn’t get you very far.

      The nice thing about working for Jake was getting paid. Old Jake would look as if he was in slow motion when it came time to pay you. Heck I had already figured in my head what my final pay was, but not Jake as it seemed he was in a slow motion movie picture, or he really hated parting with his money and hoped you would die before getting you paid, so as to relieve him of the debt he owed you. I am sure my lack of patience had a lot to do with the time thing as I just wanted my money in my hands, after all I worked real hard for it. Slow or not eventually it was offered up and we were heading home. Getting paid at home was something that didn’t happen much, unless you were willing to pick black berries, and then you were only paid for those berries before you went to the state fair otherwise you would just spend it.

       I always loved my parents so much more when they would say things like “Oh you will just blow that money if you have it. We will keep it for you”, as if it was some kind of incentive to think that if you listen to them you never have to worry about the finer things in life like a new bicycle, or maybe a fishing rod, or who knows maybe some candy to rot my teeth. Working for mom and dad I never had to worry about those things for sure, but with old Jake I can now become a spendthrift as I ran down to old Web Fetters Union 76 gas station where gas back then was still 28 cents a gallon and people claimed they were still being robbed.  His wife also had the local candy counter offering up fine wares such as penny candy and then the more luxurious candy bars. When I say run, I mean run. as soon as I would get home, before I even had a chance to let my pockets get a little warm, let alone burn a hole in them , I would sneak off,  and soon I was filling my face with Reese’s cups as Mrs. Fetters, Web’s wife had arranged to get me a whole box of Reese’s cups , not like the ones we have today as these were much bigger, and tastier, all for a nickel a piece for 24 of them, and I would have half of them  eaten by the time I walked the half mile home. Washing them down with a 16 ounce bottle of Dr. Pecker as we used to call it, 10, 2 and 4,equals 16, which also stood for the total amount of cola in the bottle I would drink, as well the times you were supposed to be drinking it.  Then I would wait for the pimple plantation to erupt on my face as one after another of the snowcapped volcanoes unleashed their slimy contents at me, just by looking at them in the mirror. Their festering guts would be revealed soon enough, but not so bad was the effect as to let me share my wealth of Reese’s and Dr Pecker with anyone else in the family. I was a closet hoarder of the chocolate covered sugar I needed so badly.

    It was to be my penance for being filthy rich from my new 1.25/ hour job. Maybe mom and dad was right, and they were saving me from a sin of my soul as even then they knew money and me were soon parted for the wrong reasons. But being the last boy left at home I was soon needed back at home and so I never had a chance to work for old Jake much after that one summer. Jake and his money source soon dried up but sadly the pimple farm stayed with me for a while as puberty was rearing its ugly face by affecting mine.