That Summer Work Pressure

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE
Of the editorial /opinion page staff
published by the StarTribune
June 26, 1966

   WE GO INTO rhapsodies about the glories of youth, but the person who has it--and fully appreciates it--is a rare individual.  He may be happy to be snappy on a tennis court but his situation frequently galls him.
   He has reason to be galled.  He's always being reminded that he's the hope of the future and that if he doesn't shape up and modify his dedication to girls, thrills and hamburgers he'll wind up a bum, a pick-and-shovel man, or a charity case.
   The heat is particularly oppressive in summer.  He must get a job and store up money if he's going on to college.  Otherwise he'll be a dropout and a failure.

   AS I PREACH this line I keep trying to forget that the only man among my relatives who ever got rich was a dropout.  He quit school after eighth grade and was quite happy with his lot, even though he may have thought Swinburne a pitcher for the Dodgers.
   The teenager who hasn't found a summer job by now may have to turn to occasional lawn mowing assignments, some baby-sitting, and some work around home.  The odd-jobs boy has the leisure to swim and acquire a tan.  He can shoot firecrackers on the Fourth and perhaps cruise about in the car when Pop isn't yapping at him to clean the basement.  But he realizes he isn't on solid economic footing and that the work he does is piddling and lacks challenge.

The Guthrie sheep

   FORTY YEARS AGO he scarce could have avoided seasonal farm toil.  This had challenge aplenty, especially to the back, and gave the toiler definite kinship with the ox.  It was a type of labor now done largely with machines, which is fitting and proper.
   There always was work at haying and harvest time when I was a lad in Montana, and you could, if you had no sense of pride, herd sheep at lambing time.  If you had a sense of smell, a few weeks of this was enough.
   If you insisted on status employment, such as jerking sodas at the drug store, you might go without a job, but you didn't have to hunt much for temporary work.
   The rancher (Montana had no "farmers") came to town and dragooned kids from the pool hall.  Or father knew a rancher, or you were a pal of a rancher's son and got work through him.
   I hear tell of some present-day lads making $1,000 to $1,500 through summer work.  Back in the '20s this was more than the rancher made.  If the kid who worked for him started back to school in the fall with $100 in his pants he was affluent.
   The going wage was $35 a month--with room and board.  The "room" was a bunkhouse barren of amenities, but the board usually was great.  The rancher knew that a good table was as essential to completion of the harvest as the threshing rig and exhorted the cook not to spare the culinary horses.

CM Guthrie in transition

   THE TRANSITION from boy to man is grim and devitalizing.  Childhood days finally are done and it's time for serious business.  An emptiness comes to the stomach when the sufferer raps on the door for a job.  The prospective employer, who may be a lamb, forthwith assumes the bearing of a drill sergeant and, as a boss, it is plain to see, would be a veritable Captain Bligh.
   I well remember the early-teen days when life was a melody.  They were days meant for baseball and fried chicken and swimming.  Duty plucked but feebly at the sleeve and one could lie on a gravel bar beside the Teton, look at the blue above, know a languorous peace, and not fret about a job.

A.B. Guthrie, Sr.

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