"HI HO, HI HO, IT'S OFF TO WORK WE GO..."
While not a Protestant, the Protestant work ethic was impressed on me from a young age by my parents. I have always had some kind of job since age 12 when I reached the time I was able to have my own newspaper route. It was almost a rite of passage. It was quite a responsibility for me to assure that the residents of the adjoining neighborhood were able to read the news every evening, by delivering their newspapers whether it was in the stifling heat of summer or on the icy, snow-covered streets of winter.
THE DAILY ARGUS
No longer in existence now for some years, the Argus was the way people got to know what was going on in our community. Founded in 1892, it ceased publication in 1994 after its purchase by Gannett, a glorious run for a local newspaper. Obviously, there was no internet and there were only three television channels, all based in New York City, reporting on the goings-on in Gotham as well as national and international news. Big news items were how our local high school was doing in sports, the decisions in local government under long-term Mayor Joe Vaccarella and all the City Hall wheelings and dealings, petty crimes, marriages and engagements, and, the inevitable obituary column of which my dad was a regular reader. (I'm afraid I've inherited this habit)!)
My route had around 55 subscribers, spread out on Garden Ave, Vernon Avenue, and E. 4th Street, only blocks from my house. But I had to go down to East Third Street to the drop-off point where I'd pick them up and then walk up a big hill with all the papers stuffed in my canvas newsboy's bag which strapped over my shoulder. The hill always seemed more steep in the snow and ice.
Each subscriber had a particular demand as to where and how they wanted their paper placed. For most, I would fold the newspaper into a cone-shaped missile (taught to me by the older newsboys) and fling it on to porches. Once in a while, I'd have to walk up icy outdoor steps and place it in an outer alcove. At the end of the week, with the last delivery, I would have to "collect". I think the fee was 65 cents a week, so, as most people had a dollar, I always had to have lots of change to give them the 35 cents. I would keep a record of all these transactions as I then had to pay the Argus, getting a small percentage as my salary. But Christmas was the big windfall as most everyone would give a tip of any amount from one to five dollars...and, in my 12 year old mind, became a rich tycoon! I deposited all my wealth into my own savings account at the Eastchester Savings Bank. One customer I'll never forget was a Mr. D who tended to drink a bit much after work. One night, he didn't like the way I delivered his paper, one of my conical missiles, and totally freaked out, threatening to kill me. Obviously, I reported this and he was no longer my customer...but it was very unnerving.
RETAIL
During my high school years, money always came in handy for gas, movies, pizza on dates and gifts for family birthdays. On Sundays, I would get up early and head into Fleetwood to work in a candy/news store for a few hours of work folding the Sunday New York Times which always had around ten sections. The boss, one Harry Falter, was very particular about how it was to be folded and in what order the individual sections were to be inserted. He would always be looking over my shoulder. Harry was a large muscular man with hairy tattooed arms from his service days in WWII, so I fell into line pretty quickly. I can appreciate that this order hasn't changed for over 50 years every Sunday when I open my front door and pick up my NY Times!
After school, I had a job at a hardware/gift shop on Fourth Avenue, Mt. Vernon's major shopping district back then. I had one task and that was to wrap gifts which is truly an art, making those neat folds and corners, placing the Scotch tape in the right places and getting the ribbon just right, with a finishing curl, using scissors to make it look nice. This skill stays with me today, particularly around holidays and birthdays.
The summers after my high school graduation were busy ones. At one point I had multiple jobs, as a teaching assistant in a summer program for economically challenged kids. One little boy, Allen, was a tough cookie, leading the class in all sorts of challenging behaviors, but exhibiting great leadership skills and moxie. He was the nephew of the World Boxing Champion, Floyd Patterson. I wonder what became of him.
I also worked for my caterer uncles at Bar Mitzvahs and Wedding parties, occasionally as a server where I learned white-glove French service. (There were, nevertheless, always some drips and spills.) Uncle Sy would give me leftovers to take home to enjoy the next day. My favorite was their Lobster Newburg, nice chunks of lobster swimming in a sea of cream and sherry! However, one hot summer night, he gave me a case of champagne from an over-order. I stuck it in the trunk of my dad's car that I had borrowed and drove home from Long Island. I heard some unusual sounds during the drive home, only to discover the bottles had all popped from the heat and my dad's car smelled like a French winery for weeks to come.
Other short-lived jobs were as a toll collector on the New England Thruway where, in those days, you had to actually count the axles on big trucks and charge accordingly. The fumes in that job were toxic and I didn't last long. Besides, being mathematically challenged, making change for the driver seemed to cause a backup in my line of traffic! I have to say, this is the one job I failed at miserably
Another "one-nighter" was as a busboy at the famed Century Country Club in Purchase, NY, founded in 1898 by wealthy German Jews like the Guggenheims, Loebs, and Lehmans. At the time I cleared tables, you had to be a German Jew to gain membership to the club, restricted to Eastern European Jews. This was a new concept for me, Jews shunning Jews!
I also parked cars at a restaurant, getting to drive cars I'd never dreamed of owning....Corvettes, Jags, Cadillacs, Lincolns, etc. Tips were great! One night, I saw my baseball coach's son, Jackie Wasserman, coming out of the restaurant with his girlfriend. He must have wanted to impress her as he slapped a five dollar bill into my hand as I brought his car around.
THE HOSPITAL
Probably the most formative job I had was during the four summers I spent working at The Mt. Vernon Hospital during my college days. The first summer, I was hired as an orderly. I did everything from making beds, emptying bedpans, wheeling patients to surgery, going out on the ambulance as a stretcher bearer, filling water pitchers, taking the deceased patients to the hospital morgue, and helping stroke patients walk down the hallways...and, of course, flirting with the nursing students. I felt like a big shot, wearing either a white uniform or operating room scrubs.
I had never seen people die before nor had I ever been in contact with the very ill. I can speak of two patients I'll never forget as HIPPA laws had not yet been enacted. One was an Air Force enlisted man undergoing lots of plastic surgery. He had been working on an engine that had exploded, losing a good part of his face. I was taken with his resilience and his surgeon's expertise in re-building his face and his hope. He loved to chat with me and always ended up having tears run down his deformed cheeks. I always thought of him during my three month rotation in plastic surgery during med school.. More on that later.
The other patient was a much sadder story. It was a young black man, about my age, who, during a petty theft from someone's house ( I seem to remember it was some change from a piggy bank), was shot by a policeman in the abdomen as he was fleeing the scene of the crime. He had been there for weeks on my ward. I would make his bed with him, handcuffed to the bedrail, remaining in the bed as he couldn't get up. There was always a policeman sitting outside the ward, not that the prisoner could ever go anywhere. We would make small talk as I really didn't know what to say to him. We were really from two different worlds. He would get fevers from infection and had become quite undernourished, his darks eyes deep-set and sunken, staring off into space all day.
I don't recall him having any visitors. On a Monday after a weekend off, I returned to work only to see his bed empty. He had, as the nurse explained to me, "expired". I never associated the word "expiration" with death but, there it was in front of me, seventeen years of age, trying to grasp the fragility of life. As I said...a formative job. I was growing up quickly.
The next three summers were more uplifting as I was working in the chemistry lab as a technician, me being a chemistry major. I was trained on the early automated blood chemistry auto-analyzers as well as doing urine microscopy and venipuncture. I learned to set the machines up, clean them, and then run hundreds of blood tests simultaneously. Dr. Jacob Sharnoff, the Chief of Pathology, took a liking to me and recruited me to do all his blood draws for a study he was doing on heparin and its prevention of post-operative blood clots that could prove fatal. He was a very tall, kind man, a pathologist from the old school who was very encouraging regarding my future The work was interesting and enjoyable and I felt I was doing something of significance. I got to know patients, doctors, nurses and felt at home for a career I was about to enter after college.
NEXT: COLLEGE DAYS
While not a Protestant, the Protestant work ethic was impressed on me from a young age by my parents. I have always had some kind of job since age 12 when I reached the time I was able to have my own newspaper route. It was almost a rite of passage. It was quite a responsibility for me to assure that the residents of the adjoining neighborhood were able to read the news every evening, by delivering their newspapers whether it was in the stifling heat of summer or on the icy, snow-covered streets of winter.
THE DAILY ARGUS
No longer in existence now for some years, the Argus was the way people got to know what was going on in our community. Founded in 1892, it ceased publication in 1994 after its purchase by Gannett, a glorious run for a local newspaper. Obviously, there was no internet and there were only three television channels, all based in New York City, reporting on the goings-on in Gotham as well as national and international news. Big news items were how our local high school was doing in sports, the decisions in local government under long-term Mayor Joe Vaccarella and all the City Hall wheelings and dealings, petty crimes, marriages and engagements, and, the inevitable obituary column of which my dad was a regular reader. (I'm afraid I've inherited this habit)!)
 |
| The Daily Argus...not sure of what year this was. |
 |
| Mt. Vernon City Hall |
My route had around 55 subscribers, spread out on Garden Ave, Vernon Avenue, and E. 4th Street, only blocks from my house. But I had to go down to East Third Street to the drop-off point where I'd pick them up and then walk up a big hill with all the papers stuffed in my canvas newsboy's bag which strapped over my shoulder. The hill always seemed more steep in the snow and ice.
 |
| My "territory" |
Each subscriber had a particular demand as to where and how they wanted their paper placed. For most, I would fold the newspaper into a cone-shaped missile (taught to me by the older newsboys) and fling it on to porches. Once in a while, I'd have to walk up icy outdoor steps and place it in an outer alcove. At the end of the week, with the last delivery, I would have to "collect". I think the fee was 65 cents a week, so, as most people had a dollar, I always had to have lots of change to give them the 35 cents. I would keep a record of all these transactions as I then had to pay the Argus, getting a small percentage as my salary. But Christmas was the big windfall as most everyone would give a tip of any amount from one to five dollars...and, in my 12 year old mind, became a rich tycoon! I deposited all my wealth into my own savings account at the Eastchester Savings Bank. One customer I'll never forget was a Mr. D who tended to drink a bit much after work. One night, he didn't like the way I delivered his paper, one of my conical missiles, and totally freaked out, threatening to kill me. Obviously, I reported this and he was no longer my customer...but it was very unnerving.
RETAIL
During my high school years, money always came in handy for gas, movies, pizza on dates and gifts for family birthdays. On Sundays, I would get up early and head into Fleetwood to work in a candy/news store for a few hours of work folding the Sunday New York Times which always had around ten sections. The boss, one Harry Falter, was very particular about how it was to be folded and in what order the individual sections were to be inserted. He would always be looking over my shoulder. Harry was a large muscular man with hairy tattooed arms from his service days in WWII, so I fell into line pretty quickly. I can appreciate that this order hasn't changed for over 50 years every Sunday when I open my front door and pick up my NY Times!
After school, I had a job at a hardware/gift shop on Fourth Avenue, Mt. Vernon's major shopping district back then. I had one task and that was to wrap gifts which is truly an art, making those neat folds and corners, placing the Scotch tape in the right places and getting the ribbon just right, with a finishing curl, using scissors to make it look nice. This skill stays with me today, particularly around holidays and birthdays.
 |
| A lifelong skill! |
The summers after my high school graduation were busy ones. At one point I had multiple jobs, as a teaching assistant in a summer program for economically challenged kids. One little boy, Allen, was a tough cookie, leading the class in all sorts of challenging behaviors, but exhibiting great leadership skills and moxie. He was the nephew of the World Boxing Champion, Floyd Patterson. I wonder what became of him.
I also worked for my caterer uncles at Bar Mitzvahs and Wedding parties, occasionally as a server where I learned white-glove French service. (There were, nevertheless, always some drips and spills.) Uncle Sy would give me leftovers to take home to enjoy the next day. My favorite was their Lobster Newburg, nice chunks of lobster swimming in a sea of cream and sherry! However, one hot summer night, he gave me a case of champagne from an over-order. I stuck it in the trunk of my dad's car that I had borrowed and drove home from Long Island. I heard some unusual sounds during the drive home, only to discover the bottles had all popped from the heat and my dad's car smelled like a French winery for weeks to come.
 |
| Want White Glove Service...just call me! |
Other short-lived jobs were as a toll collector on the New England Thruway where, in those days, you had to actually count the axles on big trucks and charge accordingly. The fumes in that job were toxic and I didn't last long. Besides, being mathematically challenged, making change for the driver seemed to cause a backup in my line of traffic! I have to say, this is the one job I failed at miserably
 |
| My toll booth in New Rochelle back in the day |
Another "one-nighter" was as a busboy at the famed Century Country Club in Purchase, NY, founded in 1898 by wealthy German Jews like the Guggenheims, Loebs, and Lehmans. At the time I cleared tables, you had to be a German Jew to gain membership to the club, restricted to Eastern European Jews. This was a new concept for me, Jews shunning Jews!
 |
| Century Country Club |
I also parked cars at a restaurant, getting to drive cars I'd never dreamed of owning....Corvettes, Jags, Cadillacs, Lincolns, etc. Tips were great! One night, I saw my baseball coach's son, Jackie Wasserman, coming out of the restaurant with his girlfriend. He must have wanted to impress her as he slapped a five dollar bill into my hand as I brought his car around.
THE HOSPITAL
 |
| Mt. Vernon Hospital: it's seen better days...now part of Montifiore. |
Probably the most formative job I had was during the four summers I spent working at The Mt. Vernon Hospital during my college days. The first summer, I was hired as an orderly. I did everything from making beds, emptying bedpans, wheeling patients to surgery, going out on the ambulance as a stretcher bearer, filling water pitchers, taking the deceased patients to the hospital morgue, and helping stroke patients walk down the hallways...and, of course, flirting with the nursing students. I felt like a big shot, wearing either a white uniform or operating room scrubs.
I had never seen people die before nor had I ever been in contact with the very ill. I can speak of two patients I'll never forget as HIPPA laws had not yet been enacted. One was an Air Force enlisted man undergoing lots of plastic surgery. He had been working on an engine that had exploded, losing a good part of his face. I was taken with his resilience and his surgeon's expertise in re-building his face and his hope. He loved to chat with me and always ended up having tears run down his deformed cheeks. I always thought of him during my three month rotation in plastic surgery during med school.. More on that later.
The other patient was a much sadder story. It was a young black man, about my age, who, during a petty theft from someone's house ( I seem to remember it was some change from a piggy bank), was shot by a policeman in the abdomen as he was fleeing the scene of the crime. He had been there for weeks on my ward. I would make his bed with him, handcuffed to the bedrail, remaining in the bed as he couldn't get up. There was always a policeman sitting outside the ward, not that the prisoner could ever go anywhere. We would make small talk as I really didn't know what to say to him. We were really from two different worlds. He would get fevers from infection and had become quite undernourished, his darks eyes deep-set and sunken, staring off into space all day.
I don't recall him having any visitors. On a Monday after a weekend off, I returned to work only to see his bed empty. He had, as the nurse explained to me, "expired". I never associated the word "expiration" with death but, there it was in front of me, seventeen years of age, trying to grasp the fragility of life. As I said...a formative job. I was growing up quickly.
The next three summers were more uplifting as I was working in the chemistry lab as a technician, me being a chemistry major. I was trained on the early automated blood chemistry auto-analyzers as well as doing urine microscopy and venipuncture. I learned to set the machines up, clean them, and then run hundreds of blood tests simultaneously. Dr. Jacob Sharnoff, the Chief of Pathology, took a liking to me and recruited me to do all his blood draws for a study he was doing on heparin and its prevention of post-operative blood clots that could prove fatal. He was a very tall, kind man, a pathologist from the old school who was very encouraging regarding my future The work was interesting and enjoyable and I felt I was doing something of significance. I got to know patients, doctors, nurses and felt at home for a career I was about to enter after college.
NEXT: COLLEGE DAYS
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