By Seán C. Malone and John Sweetman
Seán and I talked about our story and came up with the idea of our early money-making jobs. It turns out that Seán had been involved for some time in a “pen pal” arrangement with some young literate persons and had pursued this; his story follows mine.
In our youth, we all received some kind of an ‘allowance,’ which was usually based upon the performance of regular household chores. In addition, we also did seasonal work for real wages. We all picked berries and participated in haying season.
Gene Amundson and I picked strawberries. We kids were met by a bus and basically were indentured servants until the bus returned us very late in the day. We were paid by the crate and it was hot, hard work.
One time, Gene and I were “fired” three times in one day for “allegedly” starting a strawberry fight. “Firing” at that time was more like “detention,” so we were allowed to return several times. Oddly, I recall we made more money that time than usual because, when we actually worked, we were good.
One summer, my dad logged a 40-acre stand that had significant cascara tree debris. Cascara bark was used as a base for a laxative. I did not know what that was. It turns out cascara berries are also effective to that “end,” so to speak. My sister has finally forgiven me for testing that scientific concept on her.
I made enough money by peeling, drying, and selling the bark to pay for a train trip to Montana to visit my cousins. I think I was on the Great Northern train through Thompson Falls, with the last of the great steam engines pulling us up the grade.
In Helena, we actually made money lawn-mowing, and providing hay help and various other deeds so that I could bring back a whole bag of silver dollars that I kept for years. My cousin and I panned gold and kept a significant amount of that for years. Lost in the past, but maybe used at the dentist.
Now to Seán’s story with his pen pals. He actually had a “real” job for a time.
Dear Pen Pal,
I’m sorry I’m late in answering your letter. I have never resented my work at the Skippercraft Marina in Cove, a half mile north of where we lived on five acres.
I was 13 years old, and 75 cents an hour was big money in 1953. I was especially proud when Harry Larson, the owner, told me how I should stain and fill the Mahogany foredeck of the 14-foot kicker boats.
I used a folded burlap bag to apply the stain, waited and wiped the foredeck to get rid of the excess stain and bring out the patterns in the Mahogany. If I wasn’t careful, the finish would be muddy in places.
Chores at home were repetitive and boring, like cutting the grass and cleaning up after our three dogs so we wouldn’t step in the dog manure and track it into the house.
Dad would often read to us before bedtime. One day, he brought home a book called “Cheaper by the Dozen,” which described how 12 children would get together on Sunday after church, to bid on their favorite chores for the next week.
The winning bid for the chore did not always go to the lowest bidder, as Mom would only accept those bids that were level with the quality she expected in the completed chore.
Molly, Mike, and I all wanted to lick the beater after Mom used it to produce frosting for one of her delicious birthday cakes. A war for the frosting beater started. The bidding for chores was dropped shortly after that.
