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Between my freshman and sophomore years of college, I worked for the summer at the Reynolds Aluminum plant in McCook, Illinois.
It was my first big-boy job. I had to join a union and punch a time clock. Often, I worked a 16-hour double shift. I was assigned to the cast house and hot line, the roughest spots in the whole place. It may have been my best job ever. I sure learned more about life there than at the University of Illinois. All my fellow workers were people of color, tough and super cool.
I could write a book about the experience, but this is my super-short Aging blog, so just the highlights:
After my first day, three of my coworkers surrounded me and strongly recommended that I slow down. I looked them up and down. I slowed my pace for the rest of the summer.
Half of the guys were White Sox fans (Luis Aparicio, Nellie Fox). The other half were Cubbies (Ernie Banks, Billy Williams). At lunch, they sat at separate tables and threw verbal barbs at each other. I thought it was all in fun. It wasn’t. I chose to eat on a tin can between the tables.
The “white shirts” would roll past the hot line on their motorized carts. They were management but had no real power. It was not smart to be caught talking to them – or even to give them a friendly nod.
In August, one of the good guys fell on a hot ingot and burned his hand off instantly. I saw tears well up in more than one face. I went in the back and threw up.
By the end of the summer, I had passed the test. On my last day, I found a soiled card in my locker. Inside was a $20 bill and a note: “You’re okay for a white boy.”
It may be my favorite card I’ve ever received.