Redneck Tale # 44 – Do you know what fires a Redneck?

It is quite an experience getting fired for the first time, particularly so when you are a know-it-all young Redneck of the age of 14. It was a memorable experience. How, otherwise, would it be remembered so many years later? Let’s see, it was 65 years ago.

When a Redneck gets to be my age, it can be forgiven that he may not remember the names of the folks that had hired him. I don’t. But I do remember that the place was named after its two owners; that is, it was the "J and M Silk Screen Processing Company." The two owners were military veterans, returned from the big war in 1945. One of them, the "J" guy was a rather stout Jewish fellow, full of smiles and dreadful amounts of bowel gas. He was most pleasant and kindly. The other owner was an Irishman, sandy haired, grim of countenance, and quite a stern master.

I was the "kid." Whatever they told me to do, I did it. They understood that I knew nothing about what I was supposed to do, so everyone, bosses and workers all, didn’t expect much of me. That was a good thing. There is not a whole lot to be expected of any 14-year-old Redneck kid. When they said, "Sweep!" I swept. When they told me to wipe up paint, I wiped. They paid me well – about 50 cents an hour, which, for me, was a magnificent amount to earn each day while school was not in session.

The company produced heavy paper displays for fashion companies – artsy sorts of things used to advertise and sell mostly sewing patterns for making women’s clothing. (Back then many people sewed their own clothes at home, particularly things like women’s dresses and other items for kids and females.) Those displays were made one heavy paper sheet at a time. The paper was placed between guides on a large table. Over the paper was a wooden frame to which a thin sheet of porous silk was attached – stretched very tight across the entire bottom of the frame. The design to be printed had been "melted" into the silk such that there were gaps in it through which printing paint could be pressed using great long squeegees.

As each sheet was printed, the sheet was slid into tall drying racks. When all of the various colored inks had been applied to the sheets and the sheets all dried, most had to be folded for delivery to the customers and for distribution to their customers.

One day we had a great big folding job to complete. Flip and fold. Flip and fold. The piles of folded pages began to get a bit high, and, because the paper stock was quite heavy and because we had been folding the pages by hand, the paper piles began to tip over and fall here and there. It became a problem.

The boss with the bowel gas problem came out of his office to help us. He recognized the problem and repaired to the little carpentry workshop in the back end of the plant. We heard the electric saw buzzing away, the hammer banging, a cussword or two, and, finally, here he came with the solution to our pile-tipover problem.

"Stick this onto the piles of folded displays and the piles will not tip over," he said.

I took one look at his invention and I broke up laughing. Tears flowed, the belly hurt, and I fell to the floor, laughing my fool head off.

The paperweight consisted of a flat board on the bottom and another at the top. There were four sticks of wood at the corners of each board, holding them together. Extra boards had been nailed to the corner boards, like big X’s, bracing them and keeping them from leaning one way or the other. Inside of that "cage" was a can of paint, sitting on the base board.

As I lay there on the floor in typical Redneck mirth, my Irish boss approached. He calmly told me that when I was finished laughing, to come visit with him in his office.

Well, that was the end of that nice job, but as I hopped on my bicycle for the trip home, I truly did feel that it was worth it. At the tender age of 14, this Redneck recognized two things: (1) bricks wrapped with clean paper would have worked better to hold the folded papers in their piles, and (2) it is good to laugh at something when that something is truly funny.

As a corollary to that recognition, I understood thenceforth that it is good for a Redneck kid to get fired at an early age such that it never might happen again.