My wife and I were on a tour which included several days in Bankok. Our guide took us to a typical Thai restaurant for tourists with Thai dancers, there was an elaborate banquet, etc. We got to the restaurant about 6 O’Clock and were seated, It had partitions with railings to separate the groups. Our guide sent us a Happy Dinner card. Hell, I thought I was in Belgium. He told us the king and queen of Sweden were sitting in the cubicle about 10 feet from to me. I’d never been that close to a king before. The dancers had taken off their wrist corsages and placed them on the king’s table. The king and queen left with their bodyguards. We were the last ones to leave from our group so when we were leaving, we passed by the king’s table, so I picked up one of the corsages and presented it to my wife. And I said, this is from the King and me!
I was born in Morris, Illinois, population 6000, where everybody knew everybody. Everybody was related too. When we got married and had kids, I wanted them to know what small town living was like. One Christmas my family went back to Morris and the best day to buy suits is the day after Christmas. So I went down to Skloot’s (sp) Mens’ Store. My brother-n-law took me down to look at mens’ suits. Like I said, it was a town where everybody knew everybody. I couldn’t decide between three suits. All I needed was one for work. But I couldn’t decide. So there we were talking to Harry Skloot and he said to me, “Jim, why don’t you take those three suits down to your wife—she was with my sister-in-law— and let her decide. She’ll know which one looks best on you.” Just like that. He didn’t ask me for money or anything. Now that’s what I mean by small town. Reminds me of another small town story: One time I had a meeting in Bakersfield—I worked for PG&E—and there was only one taxi for all the passengers getting off the plane and they were all going different directions. No one was going my way. So they put everybody in cabs and the taxi man said, “See that cab over there by the fence” Take it yourself and drive yourself downtown. I’ll come and pick it up later.” And so I did.
—Jim Bryant
When I was a teenager I worked in a sandwich shop and I got ten cents an hour. This was in the 1930s. I fried hamburgers and they were good ones too and they cost ten cents. The milkshakes were ten cents too and they were the good ones with real ice cream. I saved my money and went off to college in Rolla< MO, 450 miles away. Now that was far for an 18 year old going off to college for the first time. I like to say I was born with the ability to make like into an opportunity and so I did. It was a state school, it was cheap and had a good reputation. I studied engineering but the draft board was breathing down my neck. Luckily I was exempted because of school. I eventually joined the Navy and the Navy sent me to Aimes, Iowa. They had a big college there where they trained officers. They called us officers ninety-day-wonders. I was a lieutenant, junior grade. I never had to dodge bullets in the Navy. But I nearly got killed in my home town. That was pure irony. Just west of Morris, I worked in a munitions factory in Joliette. They poured TNT there. It looked like hard taffy. We poured it into shells packed them into wooden boxes, and shipped them out on the train. One night there was a huge BOOM! And a hole in the ground two stories deep where the train loading dock used to be. Over 90 men were killed—some—there were only thumbs left. I look for the significance in things I was really ready to go back to college. I was earning a dollar an hour so I was rich! I did what I was supposed to do. I got good grades. I became an engineer—and yesterday I couldn’t even spell it. I got a BS in Electrical Engineering. That’s how I got my job at PG&E. They took me because of my title but you know, I’ve never worked with electricity. It seems I was in perpetual training. I never heard any bullet or any war action, but the munitions plant where they poured TNT into shells was right at my back door. Until the plant blew up that night—my dad worked there—everybody worked there—it didn’t occur to me how dangerous it was. When we went to work we had to change into company clothes. No zippers or buttons. It was probably a spark that set it off. I was the luckiest guy. My shift was the day shift. I’ll be 85 in a couple of days…
—Jim Bryant (to be continued…)
No comments:
Post a Comment