There I was, barely three weeks out of the United States
Navy and I had an offer to come to work with a professional firm of urban
planning consultants in Little Rock. Man alive! I guess I could kiss San
Francisco, California goodbye.
There was a catch, of course. There always is. Since they
had not harbored any intent of hiring anyone, they hadn’t programmed a salary,
thus … they could only afford to offer me $400 per month to start. It wasn’t a
princely sum for a professional. I would be informed later that secretaries in
my home town earned more than that.
But hell, it was more than the minimum wage of $1.60 an hour
back in 1971. It was indoor work and I didn’t have to suffer the indignity of
carrying a firearm. (I’ve never understood why that causes such a sexual rush
among some folks.) But their offer implied that magic word: experience. On the
other hand, it meant dropping anchor, at least for a temporary berth, in
Arkansas. Of course, if the seas proved choppy, I could always continue sailing
west.
I said it sounded fine.
We finished lunch and walked back across the street to the
office. I was re-introduced to staff. They learned that I would be entering their
ranks on the first Monday in 1971. With the exception of the receptionist, they
didn’t seem horribly excited at the news.
The young woman, Paulette did ask me where I had worked
previously. I told her and she smiled. Her husband and I would have much to
talk about. He was currently serving in the Arkansas National Guard. I said I’d
bet that was true, although I didn’t really mean it. The other drafter said he
would see me later and went back to work. I looked around and shook my head in
wonder, all this room and comfort in which to work.
Since I would be learning the urban planning business without
the benefit of an advanced degree, the guys gave me some textbooks to read in
my spare time. Names that were strange then, like Halprin, Mandelker, and Burnham,
would become old friends in time, along with others.
I drove back into my home town like a conquering hero. Needless
to say, Sainted Mother was ecstatic. I could live at home and drive back and
forth. She knew folks who did that. It took some talking to convince her otherwise.
My more pragmatic brother agreed to go and help me find a place to rent in
Little Rock by the first of the year.
Things were falling into place. I could spend some of my
travel money on extra civilian clothes. I would just see how this urban planning
thing worked out. I would be starting a resume at worst, and finding a life’s
passion at best. One little hiccup in this job, or the unthinkable return of
Orville Faubus, could release me to head back to a nice little berth somewhere near
Golden Gate Park. There was nothing to tie me down, no rigging that I couldn’t
unloosen to set sail again.
Not far away, in the sleepy little town of Conway, Arkansas,
that beautiful young college girl I mentioned earlier was probably getting
ready for a date. Maybe she had just washed her long red hair and was gently drying
it while thinking of her future. Would she have a long career in teaching? Would
she marry her current boyfriend? Would she return to her home town after graduation
to teach and look after her own parents, being a loving and dutiful only child?
Would she ever travel? What lay ahead on that long and inviting road?
One thing she probably knew well, as she looked at herself
in the mirror. She would have her choice in men. There was no reason to hurry
things. Maybe she hummed a tune from the latest James Bond movie. Maybe she
studied her face. She didn’t need much makeup, just a tad here, a tad there,
and let her natural looks do the rest. Maybe she just placed a couple of “doodads
in her hair and smiled, for some reason or other.
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