— Chapter Two —

A Dollar per Hour

D

inner started on time, and Frank was not a minute late. The table was set for four to dine, with Frank at the head and Gretchen at the opposite end. The two sons, Felix and Tommy, flank the sides. Gretchen had made the dinner table smaller since most of her children had grown and left her home. There were days when she missed having them all together very much.

At the dinner table, two broiler chickens were presented. Both were placed in front of Frank, where he gladly craved them. Gretchen loved this time of the day, for she could be with her husband and two sons. She began the conversation by bringing everyone up to speed on the neighborhood gossip. Her sons and Frank listen with politeness. They asked questions from time to time to show that they were listening.

Once she had said everything she knew, she asked her husband how work was. Frank loved to talk about business and fill the rest of the dinner time with his work stories. When Frank finally took the time to finish his meal, Tommy chimed in.

“So, I was thinking about what I should do with my future,” he announced.

“Is that so, Tommy?” asked Gretchen.

“It is, Mother. Since this coming fall will be my final year in high school, I would like to attend college to earn a bachelor’s degree. After that, I want to work for Father.”

Felix snickered. Looking around the table, he realized that Tommy was not joking.

“Oh, you’re serious, Tommy? I apologize; please continue,” Felix said, feeling sheepish.

“Are you really serious, dear?” asked Gretchen. “Do you want to work for your father?”

“Yes, Mother. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I believe I can do a good job at Williams & Kendell,” Tommy replied.

“Well, it’s a lot of work and many responsibilities,” said Gretchen. “Are you sure you would be up to handling that?” she asked.

“I do. —I’m hoping, of course, that Father will be able to show me the ropes,” said Tommy, looking towards his Father.

“Frank, you haven’t said anything. “What do you think?” she asked.

Frank, still focused on his dish, finished his last bite. No one spoke as they watched him wipe his mouth with a napkin. After clearing his throat, he said, “Your mother is right, Tommy. The work is long and hard. There are responsibilities, and what we do is serious business. Many people depend on Williams & Kendell.”

“Yes, sir. I believe you,” Tommy replied. “But with your guidance on how the business runs, I’m sure I can make the family proud. Don’t you think?”

“You already make us proud, Son,” said Frank. “I want you to be sure this is something you really want to do with your life. This type of business isn’t for everyone. Your uncle worked for two years at the company before selling his shares to me. And then there’s your oldest brother—he thought he wanted to get into the mail-order business, but he decided to walk away. As I said, this business isn’t for everyone.” Frank’s voice trailed off as he pondered.

“I still want to work for Williams & Kendell, Father,” Tommy replied, emphasizing his determination.

“Well, Son,” Frank continued, “as long as you can prove that you have the skills and the dedication, I’d be happy to have you. You can start Monday,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I’m sorry—do you mean THIS coming Monday?” Tommy asked, surprised.

“Of course, this coming Monday. Why?” Frank replied, reaching for his crystal water glass.

“But what about my summer?” Tommy asked. “I had plans for things I wanted to do this summer.”

“Yes, you will be doing something this summer. You’ll be working at Williams & Kendell,” Frank said.

“And you’ll put him on the payroll, Frank,” Gretchen insisted.

“Pay him?” Frank replied incredulously. “Why would I do that? The boy has no experience. Why would I pay a teenager without any experience? No, he would be an intern, and interns don’t get paid.”

“They do if they are my son,” Gretchen countered. “You’ll put him on the payroll, or he won’t work for Williams & Kendell,” she demanded.

Frank cleared his throat and said, “Tommy, you’ll be put on the payroll. You’ll make fifty cents per hour.”

“Fifty cents per hour?” Tommy exclaimed with a surprised smile.

“NO,” Gretchen interjected. “He’ll be making a dollar per hour and will only work eight hours a day this summer. I want him home for dinner every evening — and NO weekend work.”

“Dammit, Gretchen!” Frank exclaimed. “It’s like you’re cutting my throat and taking everything I own,” he added bitterly. “The boy has no experience; paying him that kind of money is just—”

“Your son will make a dollar an hour, Frank,” Gretchen replied. “And no more than eight hours per day,” she insisted.

“Fine,” Frank conceded reluctantly.

Tommy exclaimed, “Holy cow! A dollar an hour! Do you hear that, Felix? I’ll be making a dollar per hour! I’ll be there bright and early every day for that kind of money. Can you imagine? Me making a dollar an hour? Just think, I could buy a Roamer Roadster with that money before college starts! I can see myself now in my very own Roadster!”

Felix replied, “That sounds fantastic, Tommy.”

Frank turned to Felix and asked, “What about you? Will you be joining your brother and me at work on Monday? The company has enough space for both of you.”

“Well, Father, yes. I am going to start work on Monday, but not with Williams & Kendell,” said Felix.

“Is that so? So, a company has offered you a job, then?” asked Frank.

“Yes, I did get an offer; it’s with a newspaper company,” answered Felix.

Frank laughed out loud and said, “As if? Doing what? Being a newspaper delivery boy?”

“That’s exactly what I said,” remarked Tommy.

“You knew about this?” Frank asked Tommy, surprised.

“What? Oh, sorry, no, I must have misspoken,” said Tommy. “I meant to say— that’s what I would have said.” He grabbed the Brussels sprouts in front of him, pretending to have suddenly developed an interest in eating again.

“They would like me to be a reporter,” Felix told his father.

“A reporter? Gretchen, are you hearing this?” Frank asked, looking at his wife.

“Yes, Father, I’m going to be a reporter,” Felix replied.

“Oh, the Hell you will! —No, son of mine is going to work for a newspaper. Who offered you this job?” Frank demanded.

“The Daily Herald offered me a position today, and I start Monday morning,” Felix answered.

“For Herbert Lance’s paper? I forbid you to work for Lance,” Frank said sternly. “Taking on a blue-collar job — what will people think?”

“Being a reporter is NOT a blue-collar job, Father,” Felix pointed out.

“The hell it isn’t. Being a reporter is a labor union job. No, sir, I forbid it! You’ll be starting Monday with your brother at Williams & Kendell. That will be FINAL,” Frank declared.

“Father, I won’t be in the mail-ordering business,” Felix argued. “I am taking the job at the Herald, and I’m starting on Monday,” he insisted.

“The Daily Herald is nothing but TRASH. There’s a reason why people line their birdcages with that newspaper,” said Frank. “The only paper worse than the Herald is that God–Damned Tribune. The whole industry is full of liberal hacks who want to turn this God–fearing country into the next Soviet Union.”

“The Herald is not a socialist newspaper,” Felix countered. “Besides, I’ll be writing for the sports section.”

“Sports!” Frank exclaimed in disgust. “What a completely useless aspect of our society. What’s even worse is the idea of writing about those knuckle-dragging Homo erectus animals and their pointless jobs. If it weren’t for the absurd notion of making sports a form of entertainment, sportswriters wouldn’t even exist! — Just think about what our neighbors will say! I’m telling you, young man, you’ll never be able to show your face again at the gentlemen’s club or any other social event. Have you considered that? I dare say not! My God, what will your poor mother say to all the women at the social club? — This is outrageous!”

“Father, I—” Felix began before being abruptly cut off.

“NO, SIR, I will not continue this conversation,” Frank said firmly. “Gretchen, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to the office. Those press sheets are waiting for me. Please don’t stay up for me; I won’t be home until late,” he said, getting up from the table and throwing his napkin onto his plate.

“Yes, Dear,” Gretchen replied with a nod. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Sportswriter? Of all things!” Frank muttered as he walked out of the dining room.

The three remained at the table in silence as Frank left the house.

Gretchen finally stood up, breaking the quiet. “I have dessert — chocolate pudding cake — this evening.”

She went into the kitchen to have the table cleared and set for their final course.

“Well, that could have gone better,” Felix said to Tommy after their mother had left the dining room.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Felix,” Tommy replied. “I’m surprised it didn’t go worse. And you said Father would start drinking tonight,” he added with a smirk.

Felix responded, “The evening is far from over, my dear fellow. Have you forgotten about the secret liquor cabinet in Father’s warehouse office?”