Summer jobs - part deux

Ken's post reminded me of one of my summer jobs - warehouse and loading dock hand at a company in Elk Grove that manufactured aluminum siding, soffit and shutters. They hired lots of college kids...cheap labor ($2.00/hr). Most, like myself, worked the loading dock and filled orders - loading 30 lb (or more) boxes onto a skid and then loading them into the hold of semi trailers that had been sitting in the hot sun in order to get the inside up to a toasty 110F. However, one kid, Billy, who went to Tulane and whose parents knew one of the owners, was assigned a cushy job making shutters. He got to sit down and never got hot and sweaty....he was a little nuts and bragged about his status at every opportunity. Two memorable things happened to Billy that summer.

Billy always had the same thing for lunch - hot dog and a Mountain Dew -and as he was gulping his drink one day he gagged and reached into his mouth and pulled out a used condom! In those days the drinks were in glass bottles that were reused after sterilizing, so the condom must have passed by the inspection. While Billy was throwing up, we were rolling with laughter.

The other Billy event occurred later that summer. During a break, we were gathered around his work station chatting with him when he pressed the foot pedal on his machine and it made a little tink-tink sound as it bent the aluminum. He said there was no way this was a one ton press making such a wimpy sound, and before we could even react, he put his index finger tip in the press and pressed the pedal. Tink-tink! ...and Viola! a perfectly flattened fingertip! At first he was so surprised he didn't say a word...just stared at it. Then the pain came. He was taken to the hospital and he never came back. Glad I was on the loading dock.......

Summer Jobs

This blog title did not come as a deja vu concept, rather a current situation has dredged up ong forgotten and buried memories.

Growing up Jensen meant that somehow, some way, you spent time in economic activity, i.e. summer jobs. Well, we all had them. Some were good, some, not so good. RJ lucked out with the lifeguard jobs. DJ did a myriad of warehouse and office type work. Lou was involve in retail- but I could be very mistaken here.

Me? Well, as indicated before, I worked ramp at O'Hare Airport, but also dabbled in painting addresses on curbs, camp counselor for the YMCA, but the most poignant job- an likely not equalled- was the summer I worked for Louie Frappier Construction. "Construction" , I found out too late, is a loosely termed word meaning : sewer and septic service. Yep, you got it. Like the kids in Ollie Hopnoodle's Haven of Bliss movie, this was the job to propel me into the mega body I wanted- abs, .. well, you get the picture- manly stuff for the summer. Instead, being rather slight of build, I was the perfect hire to go down into septic tanks. Also, as the "grunt", I was the guy they left at a job site for a day to dig out and replace old septic tile fields. Mom would make me a bag lunch that I could only eat by taking the external side of the bag and hopefully chew through any wrappings to the food. All day, I was alone with my thoughts while plowing through my work. Everytime I ran into a broken pipe or a tough dig, I thought "Oh, crap" . Little did I know, my thoughts COULD became reality!

Character builder job? Nope, don't think so, except that I did spend a heck of a lot more time studying the next year at ASU for a "desk job".

To Grandmother's House We Go....

The house that Nana and Bubbub built for the family in Junction is a special place, a unique place.  I have always referred to it as where I would rather be more then anywhere other then the house I grew up in.  Driving up Tiara Drive, making the familiar turns, and seeing the monument for the first time evokes a feeling much stronger then what the idea of coming home is.  The ride is so much more exiting and anxiety ridden then the night before Christmas for a five year old.  It's a place of safety, of familiarity, and of love.  There's no place in this world that's more welcoming or serves as a center of being.  I know that no matter what growing pains or troubles I have, there is nothing that ginger snaps and biscotti with Nana over coffee can't fix.  The place is filled with history from Bubbub putting in a swimming pool before the house to Nana's 'rasberry' front door.  If chocolate ice cream is somewhere in the house, the place becomes that much better! 
EMILY

Jensen Firsts

Dad always taught us to be supportive of each other. That's why we were never competitive between ourselves, rather, supportive and coached each other to the next level. BUT, to set the record straight, I have some stats to present:

1. First out of country trip: KJ
2. First to Europe : KJ
3. First to ski with their own skis: KJ
4. First to dance with lady with boa: KJ- but this may be disputed
5. First to walk through a sewer after a great night at "Dirty Nellies": KJ
6. First to go to school out of state (Not a requirement of legal proceedings): KJ
7. First to marry an NFL cheerleader- let me redeem that to office personnel: KJ
8. This list could go on, but you get the gist.... there is always a trendsetter to each family................................

Camp Augustana Midnight Run

The Lutheran church in Rockford also had an affiliation with Camp Augustana in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. This meant that our church youth group would get to spend two weeks at “Auggie” every summer….boys and GIRLS! It was a blast! One camp experience, however, stands out above the rest.

The camp had a beautiful location on the shores of Lake Geneva. There was a large dining hall, an arts and crafts building, a chapel, and cabins. There were 8 cabins: 4 for boys and 4 for girls on either side of a large athletic field. My best friends, Gary Johnson, Terry Downey and I were in a cabin in which the senior boys included Ron and his friend John Cook. They took a perverse pleasure in lording over us at every opportunity, and punishing us when we screwed up….which was often. So we plotted our revenge.

We would wait until the last night of camp and then short-sheet their beds. This meant pulling the foot of their bottom sheet back up to look like it was the top sheet. They’d only discover this when went to slide in and their legs would only be able to go half way. The only way to fix it was to re-make your bed. We decided to embellish the trick by putting sawdust and some dirt in the bed at the same time……devilishly crafty!

So that night, after the final campfire, everyone went to their cabins. Gary, Terry and I got into our beds and were trying hard not to let anyone hear our giggles as the seniors got into beds. Suddenly, there was loud cursing and yelling, and we dug our heads beneath our pillows to squelch our body-jerking laughter. It didn’t take a Sherlock Holmes for them to figure out who did it, and they came over and literally rolled us out of our beds and tore our beds apart. Then they made us make their beds correctly. When we were almost done, they asked if we wanted to go for a little run. “What? It’s 11 o’clock at night”, we said. They told us to strip down to our underpants, and while one guarded us the other went across to the girls cabins to wake them up and tell them to watch from their porch while a couple of knuckleheads ran by.

Silhouetted by the full moon, we took off at full speed. I was fast, Terry next, but Gary was portly and slow, and took the majority of the abuse and catcalls from the girls as he lumbered by. For months, we were referred to as the “Midnight Raiders” or the “Midnight Streakers”. Ahhhh, adolescent humiliation.

The Acolyte Fiasco

Growing up in Rockford meant church every Sunday at First Lutheran. Kids went to Sunday school, adults to church. Giving up a few hours of your Sunday morning was painful, but not as painful being in Sunday school instead of the actual boring church service. When I turned 12, however, I was informed that I needed to take confirmation classes….every Saturday morning…for a FULL YEAR! No more lounging in my pajamas with a bowl of Frosted Flakes watching Tom&Jerry cartoons. Yikes!   If I was going to suffer, at least I would be doing it with my best friend, Gary Johnson. Confirmation classes also signaled the end to Sunday school, and we would now be attending the adult services in the youth choir (where, incidentally, I perfected the art of lip-syncing which was later used by many stage personalities). It also meant that every Sunday two of us would be selected to be acolytes during the main service - where we would get to light the altar candles at the start of the service and extinguish them at the end. This was a highly prized honor because not only did you get out of choir duties, but you also could make your parents proud seeing you in a position of authority at the altar with the pastor. Playing with fire was a secondary perk.

Around Christmas time, it finally happened that by chance my name and Gary’s came up on the same Sunday to be acolytes. We arrived early to get dressed in the white robes and reviewed the instructions from the pastor: we would be stationed behind the altar curtains and come out on each side at the start of the opening processional hymn to light the 15 or 20 candles on each side of the altar; and again at the sound of chimes just before the recessional hymn, to extinguish them. Pretty easy. During the rest of the service, we were to be seated behind the altar and follow the service with our programs. Gary, however, had other ideas.

Gary knew that the pastor’s private bathroom was also behind the altar next to his office, and that it had a tile floor which was perfect for pitching pennies – our gambling addiction. So, right after we lit the candles, we ditched our poles and headed to the bathroom for some serious gaming. We were having a blast and forgot about the time (as 12 year old boys are wont to do), when suddenly Gary said, “Was that the chimes?” In a moment of panic, we raced out of the bathroom in time to hear the start of a hymn, which we assumed was the recessional hymn, and which meant we were late to be out there putting out the candles. So we piously walked slowly out from either side of the altar…paused momentarily to signal each other with a slight nod…and proceeded to extinguish the candles. I glanced sideways to smile at the pastor and give a little wink when I noticed the look of surprise in his face. We finished our duty and retired behind the altar where we looked at our program just as the pastor was beginning his sermon. “Holy Crapola!” Gary said, “The service isn’t over!” In fact, there would be another 40 minutes of candle-less service before it would be over. We were both dead and we knew it! How could we be so irresponsible and stupid? We knew precisely what our parents would say, and how they were mortified and embarrassed by our behavior.

I don’t remember the exact punishment, but I’m sure it fit the crime. I also don’t remember being asked to acolyte again. This did have a silver lining, however, as it allowed me more choir time to perfect my lip-syncing.

My Favorite Meal

In my life - I have been lucky enough to travel the world and eat amazing food. I have had seafood both caught and grilled within the hour, I have sampled delicacies from the finest restaurants in Chicago, and I have a mother who is an amazing cook and chooses only fresh and organic ingredients to cook with. Through all of these experiences, I have acquired a very fine (some might say expensive) palate.

However, there is one delicacy that will always be number one on my list of best/favorite foods and, like the Bible on all the book bestseller lists, will always retain its position. The delicacy I am referring too? Nana's Chop Suey, of course!

Let it be known that there is only one way to cook Nana's Chop Suey (specifically, I am speaking to my mother) - by using the vegetables of LaChoy #2 which can be found in the foreign foods aisle of your grocery store.  There is nothing fresh in this renowned dish nor should there be.