Chapter 3 - Sowing my Oats (Though not very wild)

Midwest

It didn't take me long to decide not to register for my senior year at PRI. Instead, I went

back to Glenville and took a summer course in Audio Visual Education after which I hitch-hiked to Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio to visit my sister, Frances. I used the visit for a launching point for further adventure. With only $5 in my pocket, I started hitch-hiking west to look for a job in the wheat harvest. The harvest had already started in Kansas, so I headed for Nebraska. No wheat there, but my $5 was about gone. Spending my last 50 cents for a sandwich, I asked the waitress if she know of a job in the area. She said, "Yes, the haying season starts in two weeks. Here is the name of a farmer that will probably put you up until it starts." A customer overheard the conversation. He confided in me that most of the farmers would pay very little, promising a bonus at the end of the season only to fire you before bonus time. He was looking for someone to mow weeds along the highway. I took the mowing job. His wife agreed for me to stay in their basement, but she didn't want to feed me. He arranged, at the local diner, for me to have credit until pay day. The diner also prepared a bag lunch for me to take on the job. Pay day was two weeks away and I had no change at all. While mowing, I would pick up drink bottles to cash in for movie money.

Nebraska did not require drivers to have a license in '48. My first day out was a hot day in July. I thought I was accustomed to the sun. In Virginia, I spent many a day on the tractor in the sun without a cap. But then I had a full head of hair. It was cut off in the Air Force. I liked it short and kept it that way. At the end of my first day mowing, my head felt like a bushel basket about to burst. I wore a straw hat after that.

My first pay check was enough to pay my bill at the diner and a little to spare. The drink bottles still on the tractor went back in the ditch. No more stooping to pick up bottles.

Each day when I returned to the shop after mowing, fellow workers asked, "Have you turned the tractor over yet?" Luckily I hadn't, but one day I learned how easy it would be to turn the tractor over. There was just enough room for the tractor to mow behind the guard rail. It was flat for about 8 feet and then a steep bank about 10 or 12 feet down. About half way between ends of the guard rail was a culvert covered with cement. I knew the culvert was there, but when I got to it I forgot and let the right wheel slip off the end. The tractor stopped with the gear pan on the cement. I walked back a mile or two to the truck. I tied a chain to the tractor and started to pull it out. Naturally, I didn't have any help so I tied the steering wheel. The chain broke just as the tractor was about on level ground. The tractor rolled back to the same position. I tied a knot in the chain and tried again successfully. The gear had punched a hole in the pan and oil was leaking out. I emptied the gas can into the tractor gas tank, removed the dented pan and poured the remaining oil in the gas can. Then I drove 40 miles to the nearest town and had a welder repair the pan. I put the oil back in the pan and put the pan back on the tractor. Some experience.

One day I was near a small town at lunch time. I sat in the shade of the tractor eating my lunch. I kept a gallon jug of water with burlap wrapped around it. I splashed water on the burlap to keep the jug cool. A small boy came by while I was eating. He said' "I bet I know what you have in that jug." I replied' "I bet it's not what you think."

While I was mowing, the combines went through to the Dakotas to continue the harvest. When I got my second pay check, and I still had another one coming, I headed north to find a harvest job. I got to Perrier, South Dakota just before noon. Combines were working in the area. I went to the employment office and asked about a harvest job. I was told that the operators often came to them for workers, but "no jobs were available right now. Would I consider anything else?" "Yes". "The Red Line Transfer Co. is looking for a driver." I got to the Red Line office at lunch time. The boss was at lunch. The Secretary took my application and said she thought I as well as had the job. Before the boss returned, the lady from the employment office came with word that a harvest job opening just came in. She couldn't get through on the phone, so she closed the office and came in person. I took the harvest job.

The unmarried farmer in his forties was harvesting 100 acres of oats by himself. His mother felt sorry for him and hired me to help him. I hitch-hiked to the field a few miles out of town. He was greasing the combine when I got there. He was using a Nicholas & Shepard combine just like the first one Daddy had. He pulled it with a John Deere D tractor just like the one Daddy had. I don't remember his name; I'll call him Jim. Jim said, "I'm about through, as soon as I start the Pop-Johnny you can follow me around the field with the truck. When the tank is full, I'll dump the oats into the truck and show you where to unload them." To his surprise, I started the tractor.

The combine is designed for an operator to ride the combine to keep the head adjusted. Jim tied the head control and when it needed to be changed, he would step off the tractor, while it was going, and climb onto the combine to adjust the head. Some times the tractor would continue to go straight and sometimes it would wander. I suggested that he cut out a section of the field that would allow him to just fill the tank in one round. That way, I could ride the combine or tractor and leave the truck in one place. This worked well.

The oats harvested and money in my pocket, I hitch-hiked west. Usually rides were easy to get, but in Casper, Wyoming I waited a day and a half with out a ride. There was some local traffic. I wanted to go through Yellowstone. Finally I asked someone why no one would stop. They said it is because the highway to Yellowstone is snowed in. No one can get through. This was some time in late August. I changed to a highway heading south and caught a ride right away.

Most of the people that gave me a ride were pleasant. Some would buy me lunch. Some would ask me to drive. One clown was different. He stopped to pick up an old tire that might be the right size for his car. I was hot. He asked me to hold the wheel while he undressed to his under shorts. We ran out of gas just over the top of a mountain. We coasted into a filling station half way down the mountain. They were out of gas, but the owner had two gallons in a can he would sell for a dollar a gallon. No way was he going to pay a dollar a gallon for gas and started coasting down the mountain. I bowed out expecting to catch a different ride. Soon I had a ride. We passed the clown at the foot of the mountain trying to flag us down. I said I had just left him, don't stop. As far as I know, he is still there.

I wasn't going anywhere in particular. I wound up in Portland, Organ. The ride through the Columbia Gorge was beautiful. I guess it is full of water now.

I still had some money. My Nebraska check had caught up with me. After getting a room at the YMCA, I found a factory job feeding tin to a machine that made cans. If the machine jammed, we were supposed to wait for the mechanic to come clear the jam. Some times he was busy, so I cleared it myself. I noticed that a screw head was catching the tin as it went by. I tightened the screw with my scout knife and it ran smoothly. The foreman thought I was doing so well he would put me on a machine that was having trouble so I could solve the problem. Once he called, over the loud machines, "Bill, take 10." It was a little early for my mid morning break, but I went on and took the break. When I returned, he asked where had I been. He meant for me to take line 10.

About a month had gone by. Production was ahead of sales so they were going to shut down one shift. I was a recent hire, so I expected to be laid off. In the meantime I was assigned a roommate that was to oversee the construction of a National Biscuit Co. Bakery in Portland. Construction was to start soon. My foreman at American Can said I would not be laid off, but I wanted an outside job. I was the 16th laborer hired. The construction job required me to join the union. I was short of cash at the time. Union dues were $25. My roommate wrote me a check for $25 and gave me a note to give the union master. I went to the union hall that was full of 50 or so men waiting for job assignments. A sign was over the window, where I was to go, saying "No Checks". OK, there was the main branch of the bank the check was written on in the same block. Nope, they could not verify the signature over the phone. A Fred Meyers grocery store, near by, cashed the check with out me buying anything and minimum identification. The Union Master read the note and gave me the job assignment. What good did the union do for all those men that were there before me? I don't know what the note said, but I bet the Union expected favors from the National Biscuit Company inspector for the favor they were doing for him.

One of my jobs was assistant to the carpenter at a saw table. He was building forms for the concrete foundation. Later I was digging footings along with several others. The others were leaning on their shovels shooting the breeze. I did, too. I was the one the straw boss picked on. "All right, Myers, go push a concrete buggy a while." It was hard work, but I soon caught the hang of it and didn't mind it at all. In fact, it was the only overtime I got while on the job. I liked that.

They used a gasoline-powered tamper to settle the concrete in the form. One of the machines fell in. They just left it there and covered it with concrete.

We had several days of rain (not unusual for the North West) and one of the walls for the Sugar Room had caved in against the form that had yet to be poured. I was given the job of going down between the form and bank with a bucket on a rope to clear out the unwanted dirt and rocks. Occasionally a rock the size of a soccer ball would fall. The pit was about 12 feet deep. Though I had on a hard hat, I considered it too dangerous. The foreman said, “OK, you pull the bucket up and your coworker will go down to fill the bucket.” My coworker was a family man and claimed he couldn’t jeopardize his job by not doing as he was told. I questioned him, “Would you rather have a chance of being crippled for life than loose your job? I wasn’t fired for refusing the job.” Luckily, he wasn’t hurt.

My National Biscuit Company roommate soon rented a house and moved his family to town. My new roommate was a young man in trouble with his wife. He had a drinking problem. His occupation was making ceramic figurines for carnivals. He would get out an order, get paid and go on a drinking binge. I don’t know if he was abusive, but his wife kicked him out.

Being a union member, I wanted to participate in the meetings - mostly for curiosity. The bottle was passed around freely. I didn’t refuse to partake. If someone said something against the moderator’s view. the moderator would say, “Throw the drunk out.” It could apply to any of us, including him.

I had a few drinks at the meeting. After the meeting, my roommate came in with an unopened bottle. “Let’s go to Unk’s place in Oswego.” We went. The bottle emptied, I drank as much as he did, his uncle wanted me to drive back because my roommate was in no condition to drive. I said I wasn’t either and my roommate drove. At 3 o’clock or so in the morning there was little or no traffic. I remember straddling the curb and running completely off the road into a field once. We made it back in one piece and parked his car near the Y. We started to enter the building by the side door as we usually do but the double door was tied together and a sign saying to use the front door. When my roommate pulled on one of the side doors, the other door also partly opened hitting him on the forehead. The next morning my roommate saw the cut on his forehead and exclaimed, “Where is the car? Did we wreck?” He didn’t even remember leaving his uncle’s place. I remembered everything. He wanted me to meet his wife. He thought we would make a good couple. No way!

My third roommate was an English teacher. We tried to be friends, but could not find any common interests. Sometimes we would eat out together, but very little conversation.

One of my off-the-job activities was flying in the Air Force Reserve. I don’t know if I had gotten overconfident or just rusty in my flying. My check-out flight didn’t go too good. The instructor said I barely passed. Up until then I had only been praised for my flying ability.

I knew I eventually wanted to complete my college degree, so I enrolled in a couple of evening classes at The Portland Extension Center. I took Mechanical Drawing and US History. I enjoyed the drawing class and made an A. I slept through the history class but read the assignments at the Y. I read the final exam, signed my name and turned in a blank paper. I didn’t know any of the answers. The instructor said I could write two pages about any history subject I wished and he would give me a passing grade. I said, “No, I don’t deserve to pass when I slept through all the classes.” I really needed that credit. I was a rising Senior and had no history. I walked out.

Even so, I had time on my hands. Starting in Nebraska, I read the Bible from the start and finally, by the hardest, finished the entire Bible. I’ll admit that Numbers, Revelations and other parts of the Bible didn’t get digested.

While I was in Portland, my grandfather Spicer died. I was told that I could have his 1936 Chevrolet. It had close to 100 thousand mile on it, so I requested the motor be overhauled and I would pay for the repairs. It came to $40.. I took off two weeks from work to fly east on an Air Force transport for free. Mother and I left the farm on Christmas Eve heading, eventually, to visit her sister in Tacoma, Washington. We would take a southern route because of the weather and mother wanted to visit friends in Mississippi. The old Chevy was running hot by time we got to Charlotte, North Carolina. I had the radiator flushed and went on. I drove a day, night and the next day to Mississippi. We stayed with mother’s friend one night and then drove the next day, night and day to Tucson, Arizona. If my eye lids got too heavy, I would stop for about twenty minutes to nap.

After one night in a motel, we headed west. I knew we would be traveling at night and might have trouble finding a gas station open, so I had put two 5 gal. cans of gas in the trunk along with a funnel grandfather had made for pouring gas into the tank. The funnel had not been used for some time and had been left under an Oak tree. Well into the night we were low on gas. It was drizzling rain, but I stopped to empty one of the cans into the tank. Only a short distance down the road, the car stalled. It wasn’t getting gas. I suspected, “There was trash in the funnel. I crawled under the car and took the gas line loose at the tank. No gas came out. I used one of mother’s hair pins to pick a leaf from the line. Of course, I got wet with rain as well as with gas.

Going through the desert the next day, the car started knocking. I slowed down, hoping to find a garage before it quit. We did find one and had the connecting rod cap, that was loose, filed down so it wouldn’t knock. We didn’t have enough cash to pay the bill and still have enough for gas. The garage accepted some cash and a check for the rest, much to our surprise.

We visited friends or relatives in Inglewood, California. The next morning we headed north. The main highway north ran atop the mountains. Snow had that route blocked. We took US 101 along the coast. There are lots of hair-pin curves and steep grades on 101. Also, log trucks raced along the two lane road. We traveled most of that stretch at night so the truck lights shown around the bends to warn us of their coming.

Mother stayed with her sister, Caryl Shevland, to return to Virginia by train or bus. I returned to my job in Portland.

One of my coworkers had a sister living on a farm in Iowa. He arranged for me to work there the following summer. When classes were over at The Portland Extension Center, I packed up and headed for Iowa.

A few miles east of Ogden, Utah, I ran into a snow blizzard atop a mountain. Fresh snow was on glaze ice. I stopped to put on my tire chains. (I had a rain suit in the car) Ice formed on my eye brows. When I tried to go again, my back wheel slipped off the end of a culvert. While jacking the car to get it back on the road, a large Cadillac stopped to help. I said I thought I could get it by myself. Then another car bumped the back of his car doing little or no damage. They couldn’t get going again, so I volunteered to go back to get a tow truck if they would share the bill. A Greyhound bus stopped for me. A snow plow operator was on board heading to the shop to get a truck, loaded with sand, to pull out the snow plow that was stuck. He said he would pull us out first. I rode back with the snow plow operator. When we got to the cars, a wrecker was backing up to my car. I told him I did not order a wrecker. About that time another car slid to a halt blocking the road. The snow plow operator told the wrecker operator to go ahead and pull my car out while he did another. I paid the wrecker operator $10 and then ran into the other ditch. He pulled me out again for another $10.

By time I got to the bottom of the mountain the road was clear of snow and ice. I tried to turn into a service station to remove the tire chains, but the wheels would only turn a little, not enough to get off the road. I had to go back and forward several times to get in the parking lot. Ice had built up in the fenders limiting the space for the wheels to steer.

I chipped the ice away with the lug wrench and removed the tire chains.

About dusk, I stopped for supper. There was a barricade just ahead. I asked what it was for, The road was blocked with snow drifts ahead. The road was clear where I was. About that time I saw a Greyhound bus go around the barricade. Maybe I could follow his tracks and get through. I remember a rough looking hitch-hiker a few blocks back. I thought it would be good to have help in case I got stuck again, so I went back to get the hitch-hiker. He didn’t know the road was blocked, but he was willing to give it a try with me.

Snow came down so hard the windshield wipers stalled. I had to look out the opened window to see where I was going. We passed the snow plow. We made it through to Cheyenne, Wyoming. I rented a room for the two of us. He didn’t have any money. I bought our breakfast and he headed north while I headed east.

On a long straight stretch of two lane highway in the mid-west, I was following a farm truck about one fourth mile back at about 60 miles per hour. The truck slowed to turn right without turn signal or brake light. A bus was coming toward us. I braked hard and started to loose control. I released the breaks and decided to go between the bus and truck. If I was going to hit one of them, I was going to hit both. I hit neither. I stopped and thanked God for the save. I trembled a while before going on.

As I approached Ames, Iowa, the differential began to hum and then locked, sliding the back wheels. Backing up released the gears. I drove on slowly. It locked several times again. As I was turning into a Chevrolet garage, it locked again. It would not release. They towed the car in. I left the car to be repaired and hitched a ride to the Isbon farm.

The ride let me out at the driveway. I went to the back door. An English Shepard dog was barking. I introduced myself. They expected me. I was told that I was the first stranger to come into the yard that the dog had not bitten. The dog was just announcing my arrival. I didn’t pay much attention to it.

The dirt roads were laid out checker board style in 1 mile squares. Elmer’s farm was one forth of a square, I think about 160 acres. He milked 20 Holstein cows, raised pigs and sheep.

The farmers shared haying equipment. It was customary for the wife of the farmer, whose hay field we were working in, to bring sandwiches and beer to the field. Elmer’s wife knew I didn’t drink beer, so she would bring me lemonade. The other wives didn’t know I didn’t drink beer. Our water supply was gone and I was thirsty enough to drink the beer. It hit the spot.

We cut hay in one of Elmer’s slanting fields just before an unexpected rain storm. All the hay washed against the fence at the bottom of the slope. It was a job to dispose of all that ruined hay.

One evening each week, one of the near-by towns had a free movie in the park. I would ride with Elmer’s family, not paying much attention to where we went. One day Elmer told me to take the truck to that town to get some feed. He had to give me directions.

Elmer took me to Aims to get my car. We got there about noon. One of the mechanics was eating his lunch in the shop. I asked about the repair. He said he didn’t do the work, but he thought the ring gear and pinion was not damaged too bad and didn’t have to be replaced. When I picked up the bill I noticed I was charged for a new ring gear and pinion. I waited for the mechanic that did the work and asked to see the bad parts. He said he did the job several days ago and the parts had gone with other junk. I paid the $60.

Elmer kept his Holstein bull in a stall tied by the ring in his nose. Elmer was going to be away for a few days. He said to feed and water the bull, but keep my distance. “He is a mean one.” He seemed calm enough to me. Some hay fell out of the trough. I reached with the pitch fork to retrieve the hay from under the bull’s front feet. The bull jerked back, tearing the ring from his nose. It was no china closet, but he went on a rampage, breaking down the door. He tore around the pasture and other parts of the barn. He put his head against a sliding door and pushed it all the way off the track.

The cows usually came to the barn at milking time. Once, while the bull was loose, they didn’t come as usual. I knew better that to go in the pasture with the bull, so I took the Chevy in the pasture to round up the cows. I would honk at the cows to make them go. The bull didn’t like that. He turned toward the car, pawed the dirt and snorted. I got out of the car, threw up my arms and shouted at him. He turned and ran away.

I thought I might be in big trouble when the, fairly new, Massy-Harris tractor threw a rod while I was plowing. I was pretty sure I had checked the oil and water before I started. It was so automatic to do before each job, I couldn’t be sure. Elmer thought I must not have. I was beginning to doubt. Lucky for me, neither was low.

Elmer was a member of the Masons. (So was Daddy, but I don’t remember him being very active in the Masons) Elmer was banned from the Episcopal church because of his membership in the Masons. I doubt if most Masons are aware of what I have recently heard about the organization. Of course. what I heard may not be true. For that reason, I will not repeat it here.

Elmer would start the morning milking about 7 o’clock. His neighbors would start about 4 o’clock. The truck would come about 7:30 so Elmer’s milk would not be ready for pick-up until the next day. By then, his milk was good and cold, though a day old. The neighbor’s milk was not fully chilled by time it was picked up. Occasionally the neighbor’s milk would be turned down because it had started to spoil. Elmer never had his milk spoil. He also said, “Life is too short to start that early.”

One of the neighbor’s hired hands asked me to go fishing with him. He milked by hand. (Elmer had machines) Elmer said he would do the milking so I could leave early. I milked 4 of the neighbor’s cows while he did the rest. I hadn’t milked by hand since leaving the farm in Hanover. It about killed me.

We fished a bayou of the Mississippi river. The Bull-Heads (a kind of Cat Fish) were biting. We grilled our catch on the river bank. Fish never tasted so good.

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