Fond recollections of
high school summers from others bring back other kinds of memories for me, as I
worked migrant labor on custom combining crews.
We hauled combines and trucks to Oklahoma, and then worked our way back to
the Aberdeen area, following the ripening of wheat and other grains.
On our first crew, the
boss, Emmett Peterson was a rancher in the Richmond Lake area, who also owned
the Silver Dollar Bar in Mobridge. The
Silver Dollar was a rough and tumble western bar where Emmett recruited
alcoholics to work his crews. One other
kid, a year older, from Frederick, and I were quickly schooled in the way of
transient lifestyles.
We were drinking in
Kansas bars at 16 years old. I learned
how to hide a bottle of Muscatel and sneak a swig during the work day. Foul language like I had never heard before
was profuse…and I use it to this day! I
“learned” what women were all about, and you can imagine that modern feminists would
have a lynching party for those winos and bums that espoused those opinions,
and mentored me. Fortunately, my values
from my Catholic family would not accept that, and I have chosen a very
different philosophy of close relationships.
Hygiene did not
exist. We had no running water or
toilets. We went wherever we could find
a spot in a field, ditch, etc. Bathing
was a luxury, where we would use puddles, stock tanks, ponds, creeks, or sneak
over the fence into municipal pools after they closed at night. And, we were filthy!! Often we were so covered with dirt and dust
that you could not even tell what race we were!
Bed was sleeping on the floor of a trailer with grungy blankets, hoping
not to be stepped on by a drunk making his way outside. The boss just flopped down in a filthy easy
chair, fully clothed, instantly fell asleep, and got up and started up all over
again the next morning. We worked seven
days a week. After a while, you either
didn’t notice the smell, or the microbiota equalized the bodily
environment. I wonder why the local
girls all stuck up their noses at us??
Meals were restaurants at
night, and whatever Emmett brought out to us in the fields. I was often so exhausted at night that I
could not even eat, preferring to crash asleep.
The best roast beef sandwich I have ever tasted sat under the seat of my
grain truck for two days in scorching heat!
It’s a wonder we were not sick all the time.
Washeteria came into my
lexicon then, the Texas name for laundromats.
A big Texan, Jesse James Burton, took me under his wing that summer, but
disappeared one day when he hooked up with a barfly in Nebraska. He “taught” me lots about women (you don’t
want to know!), and that Justin boots were the best. Funny thing is that these guys were
essentially drunken tramps, the low-life’s of our world, and I loved them! What a fascinating world they introduced me
to. Yet, I also recognized that their
world was not what I wanted for my future.
To this day I have a soft spot for working stiffs and addicts, even
though they think very differently than I do.
Then, tragedy
struck. I was hauling a load of wheat
into a small town elevator, and the line to unload was long. I finally got the load dumped, and was
heading out of town when I noticed Emmett heading into town in a hurry looking
for me as the combines could not unload without trucks. I thought about following him and telling him
I was headed back out to the field, but not wanting the ass chewing he would
give me, I drove directly back to the field.
Emmett had a heart attack. Two
days later, against medical advice, he left the hospital, and went home back to
the ranch. We pulled the whole crew
back, and a few days later, Emmett died.
Emmett was a hard ass, gruff, and pushed hard all the time. But he had a kindly spot for me; my memories
of him are fond.
The rest of the summer,
we bucked hay and worked horses until the grain was ripe. Wayne Stone got mule-kicked in the gut by a
rank horse, and the black ooze emanating from the hole in his belly was
alarming. Far as I knew, he lived, but I
never saw him again. I learned how to
ride a hay skid, and make mini-stacks in the field to pick up later. Amazingly dirty, but fun. We finished the harvest year in August, then
it was time to head home to Aberdeen, and my Senior year.
The following year, I
went with a different crew, with only a little better conditions. No drunks, just preachy farmers lacking
senses of humor. I think I preferred the
drunks.
As I look back, I learned
some profound lessons. People are
fascinating, all of them. Each one has
his/her own story. Everyone has loves,
hates, prejudices, flaws, and loveable parts.
People have different work ethics.
Life can be hard, then you die, at times with little or no warning. No one is better than someone else, but we
are all different and have value.
I learned about hardship,
hard and dirty work with minimal reward.
I learned that I could subsist on next to nothing, with few creature
comforts. I learned that misery is a state
of mind. Pain is mandatory, but
suffering is optional. Unfortunately, I
also learned to resent people who had a lot, who did not have to live in a filthy
work world that is now illegal, kids who got the cushy, clean jobs. At the same time, I also learned over those
next few years of grimy and awful work experiences and Army life that going to
college and having a career seemed like a pretty good option.
So, those are a little
different summers than many folks like to remember. But I wouldn’t trade them, and their lessons
of life, for any other summers.
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