No, this is not going to be about Steve Jobs. He was a remarkable guy but this is, as usual, about me.
Some time ago, as I was trying to fall asleep, my brain fell upon the subject of jobs. I think it had something to do with the fact that both Pete and Danny were between jobs and seeking that elusive "career".
Men in general seem to be defined by what they do for a living whether it's CEO or HOBO. For most of us, or at least me, finding what that defining job was a very difficult process. I doubt many men know from an early age what they really want to be when they grow up.
My first remunerated employment (one that I got paid for) was as a 7th-grader working on a combine during spud harvest to the tune of 70 cents an hour. I think that had something to do with living in the county in Idaho known as the Potato Capitol of the World. Indeed, over one fourth of the potatoes in the world come from good old Bingham county Idaho.
We didn't live on a farm, thankfully, but they had us completely surrounded. I hauled hay, hoed beets, moved sprinkler pipe, shoveled cow poop, milked cows, harvested spuds, worked in a potato cellar and a potato processing plant. All of which taught me that I didn't want to be a farmer or have anything to do with things that grow from the ground other than to eat them. It was and is far too much like work.
I also worked at a service station. That's what gas stations were called before they became mini-marts and people pumped their own gas. Believe it or not, you would just sit in your car and tell the guy (me) how much gas you wanted and I would pleasantly ask you if you wanted regular or ethel then start the gas a pumping. While that was happening, I would clean your windshield, check your oil and tire pressure. I would automatically put any needed air in your tires (since the air was free) but if you needed oil I was required to show you the dip stick so you would know I wasn't just trying to milk you out of 25 cents that you really didn't need to spend. You would hand me the money and I would go get your change and bring it to you. They even had new-fangled things called gas cards (this was way before Visa or Master Card). They were only good for a single brand of gas so you had to have a separate card for Texaco or Shell or Utoco or whatever. There was no magnetic strip on the back of the card either. That's what those raised numbers and letters on the card were all about. We had a gizmo to put the card in, slap a multi-part form on top of it, set the numbers to the proper dollar amount, then run a roller across the form making a permanent record of the transaction. A return of your receipt, a smile and tip of my hat, and our business was complete and you were on your way. What a country.
I seem to have rambled enough for this installment and have only covered my employment up to high school graduation. I'll have to break this saga into palatable chunks. To quote Mr Jobs' last words, "Wow, oh wow."
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Day of Infamy
December 7th was this past Wednesday marking the 70th anniversary of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. It has been a significant day in my life because it marked America's entrance into WW II.
I was speaking with my uncle Lloyd Wednesday night. He winters in Hawaii and said there was a lot going on there at the time. He told me how he was ten years old at the time of the attack and remembered it like it was yesterday. He said it was fast Sunday and after church he had ridden his bike down to the blacksmith's shop in Arimo, Idaho and was watching the smith do the cool things smiths do, when the guy's wife came from the house and told them Pearl Harbor had been bombed.
When I was a kid WW II was our "play" war. When we weren't playing cowboys and Indians we were shooting down Japanese Zeroes or Throwing grenades(dirt clods) and machine-gunning the Krauts. I don't know if my boys played war or if their boys do, or who they fought or fight.
For me WW II was huge. Eight of my uncles served during that war from Pearl Harbor to Iwo Jima, Battle of the Bulge to bombing missions over Germany. One served in Burma and another spent the whole war in Canada. All of them came home safe.
My mom's brother Francis, was in the Navy and was at Pearl Harbor for the attack. I never heard him speak about it or his other experiences during the war but I do know he was on survivor's leave three different times. That means he was on three ships that were sunk but he managed to get off in time. He told his brother Arthur, who was a machine-gunner in the Army, that he should join the Navy because that gunner job was too dangerous. Francis was killed years after the war while driving a water truck in California.
My father-in-law, Ernie Parkin was also assigned to Pearl Harbor at the time of the attack but he was in Massachusetts attending his brother's funeral. His brother, Joe had gone down when the Ruben James was sunk.
Ernie died 36 years later, on December 7th.
I was speaking with my uncle Lloyd Wednesday night. He winters in Hawaii and said there was a lot going on there at the time. He told me how he was ten years old at the time of the attack and remembered it like it was yesterday. He said it was fast Sunday and after church he had ridden his bike down to the blacksmith's shop in Arimo, Idaho and was watching the smith do the cool things smiths do, when the guy's wife came from the house and told them Pearl Harbor had been bombed.
When I was a kid WW II was our "play" war. When we weren't playing cowboys and Indians we were shooting down Japanese Zeroes or Throwing grenades(dirt clods) and machine-gunning the Krauts. I don't know if my boys played war or if their boys do, or who they fought or fight.
For me WW II was huge. Eight of my uncles served during that war from Pearl Harbor to Iwo Jima, Battle of the Bulge to bombing missions over Germany. One served in Burma and another spent the whole war in Canada. All of them came home safe.
My mom's brother Francis, was in the Navy and was at Pearl Harbor for the attack. I never heard him speak about it or his other experiences during the war but I do know he was on survivor's leave three different times. That means he was on three ships that were sunk but he managed to get off in time. He told his brother Arthur, who was a machine-gunner in the Army, that he should join the Navy because that gunner job was too dangerous. Francis was killed years after the war while driving a water truck in California.
My father-in-law, Ernie Parkin was also assigned to Pearl Harbor at the time of the attack but he was in Massachusetts attending his brother's funeral. His brother, Joe had gone down when the Ruben James was sunk.
Ernie died 36 years later, on December 7th.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Stanley, My Brother
Now that my summer vacation is over and being inspired my Linda's blog, I figured I'd best be getting back at my "memoirs".
My only brother, Stanley, died a few weeks ago (November 4th) so I have been thinking about him quite a bit and wanted to pass on to whomever would be inclined to read my ramblings some of those thoughts.
He was the second child and first boy born to Pete and Ida Howe who were living in Lava Hot Springs, Idaho at the time. They named him Stanley Clarence Howe. Stanley, after the beautiful Stanley Basin area in central Idaho, and Clarence because that was Dad's real first name and it makes a better middle name. I made up the part about Stanley Basin. It is indeed a beautiful place and my sister Lorna, the firstborn and my only living sibling now, had no idea why.
Since he was 13-and -a-half years years older than me (I know that's grammatically incorrect but it sounds better) I have no recollection of him living at home (trailer) with us. My first memory of him is when I was about six years old and we were moving back to Atomic City from living in Lone Mountain Lodge, Montana. He was evidently helping with the move. I remember this because we had to share a small bed in the trailer and he pinched me for crowding him too much. I have photographic proof of this (the move, not the pinching) and will make every attempt to attach it to this post.
My next memory of him is when he got married to his first wife, Lila. I had looked up to Stan even when I grew to be taller much larger that he was. He and Lila had three boys and were kind enough to let me stay at their home in Blackfoot when I was in high school and sometimes got caught without a ride back to Atomic City. They added a girl to their family while I was on my mission. He and Lila later divorced and Stan married several times after that, once to a girl who was in the class ahead of me, and twice to a woman named Peggy. My Mom used to say her current news at any given time was that Stanley got married and Ron & Barbara were having another baby.
Stan was one of the few men I have ever known who was without guile. He was genuine in what he said and what he did. I can't remember a single time he spoke poorly of another person or held a grudge against anyone. He was 76 years old when he passed away and had spent the better part of the last six or seven years of his life in nursing homes. Lorna and I visited him when he was in Salmon and in Pocatello, Idaho and took him to the Potter Family Reunion. He had been in a home in Shelly, Idaho for about a month to be closer to his youngest son, Joe when he passed way in the TV room. He was cremated and wished for his ashes to be spread on the Snake River. I feel I am a better man for having had him for my brother.
Lorna and I are all that's left of our family. Bookends...
My only brother, Stanley, died a few weeks ago (November 4th) so I have been thinking about him quite a bit and wanted to pass on to whomever would be inclined to read my ramblings some of those thoughts.
He was the second child and first boy born to Pete and Ida Howe who were living in Lava Hot Springs, Idaho at the time. They named him Stanley Clarence Howe. Stanley, after the beautiful Stanley Basin area in central Idaho, and Clarence because that was Dad's real first name and it makes a better middle name. I made up the part about Stanley Basin. It is indeed a beautiful place and my sister Lorna, the firstborn and my only living sibling now, had no idea why.
Since he was 13-and -a-half years years older than me (I know that's grammatically incorrect but it sounds better) I have no recollection of him living at home (trailer) with us. My first memory of him is when I was about six years old and we were moving back to Atomic City from living in Lone Mountain Lodge, Montana. He was evidently helping with the move. I remember this because we had to share a small bed in the trailer and he pinched me for crowding him too much. I have photographic proof of this (the move, not the pinching) and will make every attempt to attach it to this post.
My next memory of him is when he got married to his first wife, Lila. I had looked up to Stan even when I grew to be taller much larger that he was. He and Lila had three boys and were kind enough to let me stay at their home in Blackfoot when I was in high school and sometimes got caught without a ride back to Atomic City. They added a girl to their family while I was on my mission. He and Lila later divorced and Stan married several times after that, once to a girl who was in the class ahead of me, and twice to a woman named Peggy. My Mom used to say her current news at any given time was that Stanley got married and Ron & Barbara were having another baby.
Stan was one of the few men I have ever known who was without guile. He was genuine in what he said and what he did. I can't remember a single time he spoke poorly of another person or held a grudge against anyone. He was 76 years old when he passed away and had spent the better part of the last six or seven years of his life in nursing homes. Lorna and I visited him when he was in Salmon and in Pocatello, Idaho and took him to the Potter Family Reunion. He had been in a home in Shelly, Idaho for about a month to be closer to his youngest son, Joe when he passed way in the TV room. He was cremated and wished for his ashes to be spread on the Snake River. I feel I am a better man for having had him for my brother.
Lorna and I are all that's left of our family. Bookends...
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