The Milestone

Today I turn 50 years old – a half century of life and vitality on this Earth. If I were a car I would qualify for Antique Status. Luckily, I’m not a car.

This morning I have been reflecting on my life. Having a naturally depressive personality, the things that spring into my mind first are things like the fact that I can not say, “I have 30 years of seniority with the company I work for.” Or “I’ve lived in this community all my life.” But then I realize that neither of these are common situations these days.

The only people I know who can actually say they had even 20 years in with the same company are 80 years old. The social situation was very different when they were part of the work force. Longevity and loyalty meant something then. Today workers hop from position to position almost as often as they change their clothing as they search for bigger, better, more. But then, employers have no more of a commitment to their employees than their employees have to them, so it’s perfectly just.

Marie was born and raised in St. Louis and lived there for 45 years before I dragged her off to the mountains of Tennessee. She thought it would be a difficult adjustment for her. It wasn’t. In fact, after a year here, she said she’d never go back to living in a city again.

I’ve been a vagabond since birth. My family never lived anywhere for more than 2 or 3 years maximum, and generally for only one year before we were moved again. It’s in my blood. Not being a long-standing member of a community has never been a concern to me before. But since we’ve gotten here to the mountains I’ve started regretting the fact that I can’t make this statement. Although, most of the people I know who can claim to have been born and raised here left for 20 to 30 years to seek gainful employment and came back when they retired. The young people today still seem to be in a big hurry to grow up and go somewhere else.

They will learn – and they’ll be back one day.

I have worked for more employers than I can count, doing every thing from mopping floors to managing a multi-billion dollar per year business. Well, managing a piece of it anyway! I can say that, for the most part whatever, I chose to do for employment I excelled at it and it was generally outside forces that separated me from that employer.

A good example was my stint with Professional Maintenance in Peoria Illinois. I took a job with them as a night janitor while I was in High School. It wasn’t glamorous work, but I applied myself and did the best job I was capable of regardless of the task I was assigned. As a result I received better and better assignments, I was promoted to Lead of a work crew, then a bigger crew, then I was made the Lead of the crew that did promo jobs where the company was wooing a new client by showing them how much better our work was than their in-house staff or current contractor. Eventually I was promoted to District Manager, in charge of all accounts in the Peoria district. This included some prestigious accounts like the Bell Telephone Towers building. All before I had reached the age of 21. I was the youngest DM the company had ever had.

I do realize that a booming economy and the company’s need for effective leaders had a large part in my rapid advance. In slower times this would not have happened. In fact I was laid off from this job because slower times came. Clients began trying to cut their expenses and contract cleaning services were often one of the first cuts made. As clientele dwindled, districts were combined. I lost mine to a man with much more seniority than I.

There were other such jobs: the newspaper where I started as Supervisor to a section of the city’s newspaper delivery boys and girls. I worked my up through the paper, and into the corporate office ultimately becoming Production Manager over the corporations three newspapers and it’s book division. There was the riverboat casino where I started out as a lowly token seller and ended up as Deck Supervisor and the top runner for the next Assistant Shift Supervisor opening before the whole thing toppled like a house of cards.

But most of my occupations were more mundane. Usually managerial in nature, but not always such sky rocket performances. On no occasion, however, have I been fired for being a failure. That in itself could be counted as a success – perhaps even a mark of distinction.

There are no bronze plaques or statues attesting to my having made a difference. In fact if I were to return to any former employer now, I doubt anyone would even know me. Mostly because the staff I worked with will have all gone elsewhere as well. But I know.

Regardless of where I worked to earn a living, I was also involved in woodworking. It was a hobby at first, then became a passion. It allowed me to own furniture I couldn’t possibly afford to buy. It provided me with quality gifts to give friends and relatives, and it challenged me to grow and learn and become more than I was.

No, my name is not as well known as Sam Maloof, Auther Formsby, or Norm Abram, and it’s a very good possibility that it will never be. But that’s fine with me; I don’t do this to become famous. I have a file box crammed full of the many hundreds of orders and letters from the customers we’ve served. Many of whom told their friends about us and they ordered something as well. Their glowing comments are all the fame I require. I am gratified just knowing that my furniture graces the homes of hundreds and hundreds of families. Perhaps it will be handed down to the next generation as a cherished family heirloom.

That is a legacy of a sort – even if they forget my name, my furniture will stand as a mute testimony to my having been here. A few clients have actually asked me to sign their piece of furniture – somewhere inconspicuous – because they felt it was a work of art and deserved to be treated as such. I blush at these requests, but am gratified that they feel this way. It gives me courage enough to look forward to my next half-century. Perhaps, like a fine wine or a pot of home-made soup, I’ll just get better and better with age.