Working Class Hero: a serial novel(Chapter 4: Dreamwork)

No one was hired to replace Howard. The supervisor, Leon, said he’d be back in a month or two and he knew we could pick up the slack. Ralph said nothing, but when Leon wasn’t around, he’d complain as he worked. “I’ll take this up with the union steward. This is bullshit. I’ve been here too long to put up with this kind of management.” It became a mantra as he worked: “union, bullshit, management.” But as far as I could see, we worked more efficiently without Howard getting in the way. I even had time to read “Cat’s Cradle” for a third time. And I liked Leon.

One night he took me out to the screen print line. “Calvin, this is where your efforts come to completion. I thought you’d like to see why you’re mixing a rainbow of colors all night.”

I looked at the long line. It was the length of a bowling alley lane with a belt of plain white cloth running on it. “Thanks Leon. yeah, it’s interesting to know.” It actually was fascinating to see what happened to the assorted fruits of our labors even if I couldn’t care about the overall scheme of the business. “So is the cloth made here?” I guess I was sucking up a little bit, but that was my nature.

“Yup. Made downstairs. It’s brought up here on rolls and we lay it out on the line. It's teamwork. You mix the colors. They make the cloth. We print the patterns”

“Cool.”

He showed me a wooden frame, with mesh stretched across it like a window screen. But there was an irregular outline overlaying the screen that blocked off the larger portion of it. “So we put this screen over the cloth like this, and spread the dye like this, and voila the cloth is printed with the part of the pattern of the day. We’ll repeat the same process with other screens and colors to complete the whole design.”

“Cool.” I really did find the process intriguing. Moreover, my college education made me aware there was some metaphor hiding in his speech but I didn’t understand the exact association that I felt.

“So Calvin, speaking of design,” Leon said turning to face me directly. “I’m wondering what designs a college kid like yourself would have working in a place like this.” Obviously Leon understood the metaphor better than I did.

“Well I quit college and needed a job.” I had a feeling now this was the real reason Leon had wanted to show me around. I hesitated and added, “And I respect the work you do here.” A little deference couldn’t hurt.

“You know, I’ve been working here for twenty-five years last April. I started in the weave room when I was sixteen. I quit school. My father had died in the war, in France, and my mother needed me to get a job, so here I am.

“Look around you Calvin. Everyone here has been here for more years than they’d like to know. It’s a remarkable thing. You can tell how many years someone’s been here by their nationality. If he’s French, like me, I bet he’s been here around twenty-five years or so. Now if he’s Portuguese, I’ll bet he’s been here more than thirty. Puerto-Rican: probably ten. Black, well not more than twenty. Irish? God,” his voice grew louder so others could hear. “If he’s a mick, then he’s been here forever. Like old Clancy over there. Right Clancy?”

Clancy looked up. He looked eighty, but must have been only sixty or so. “Up yours, Mr. Frenchie.”, he yelled over the clack of machinery. “This place used to be all right until they let you frogs in.”

Leon laughed loudly. “If it wasn’t for us frogs, you micks would have put this place out of business with your liquor and women.”

Clancy laughed even louder. “I wouldn’t know about women.”

Leon’s voice grew to a whisper. “Clancy will be retiring soon. He’s a good worker. I can’t even tell you how long he’s been working here. Longer than dirt, but here’s my point. Calvin. You’re a good worker too. I really appreciate your dedication to the job. But do you really want to end up like Clancy?”

I wanted to disagree with him. I wanted to say mill work was respectable work. I wanted a chance at a pay raise and promotions. But the truth came out instead. “I don’t intend to make a career out of mill work Leon. I just need me a job.”

“Well, Calvin. I didn’t intend to make millwork a career either. But shit happens. Good shit, mind you. You find a girl. You knock her up…” he laughed.

“Well I’m more careful than that.” Not having a girlfriend the last year took care of that problem.

He went on. “You get married. You have the little shits and they need to be fed and clothed and schooled and the next thing you know, it’s 1972 and you’re 41 years old and you’ve never done anything but millwork, and that’s all you’re ever going to do.”

“You could still do something else.” I wasn’t sure if he could though.

“No, I can’t really Calvin. Not for the same pay at least. But you know what? You can.” I had heard this argument somewhere before.

“Well, to be completely honest Leon, I really don’t know what I want to do.” That was completely honest too, more honest than I had been with my family.

“Honest? You want to get laid every night and drunk every weekend. That’s being honest.”

“Well yeah,” I lied a little. I really wanted to get stoned every weekend. But he had the getting laid part nailed. “But I really don’t want any career and I really don’t care about making a lot of money.”

“That’s fine Calvin. There’s other respectable things you can do.”

He was starting to sound like my father. I was getting a little annoyed and I think he could tell. “Well Calvin,” he hesitated for a long few seconds looking at the operation of the line. “So what do you think of the fruits of all your work?”, he asked as he adjusted a dial on the line.

I looked at the paisley cloth coming out the other end. The colors were pretty garish. There were the purples and greens I had mixed the night before penetrating the cloth like some story in a bad dream. “Looks like a dream.” I smiled.

Chapter 1: Life Span
Chapter 2: An Academic Dialogue
Chapter 3: On-the-Job Training