First Job
At 16 years old I got my first, official paying job at the Greyhound Bus Station in downtown Chicago. It was the summer of 1969 and I worked during the three-month break between my junior and senior year in high school. At that time the station was located on Randolph Street between Clark Street and Dearborn Street across from the city's Civic Center and plaza with its Picasso statue. I started as a bus boy in a cafeteria style restaurant called Post House on the lower level of the building.
One day while I was busing (collecting used dishes, cleaning tables and resetting chairs before taking the dishes into the kitchen for washing) an old white man dressed in dark clothes was sitting at one of the tables. He had been quietly watching me, a young black male. He called me over and asked if I would get him a second cup of coffee which would save him from having to get up himself. With no hesitation I said yes and I went to get the coffee which cost perhaps 25 or 30 cents. Upon my return something remarkable happened. The old man gave me a $5.00 tip (equivalent to about $43.00 today). The old man and I both knew that it was not part of my job but I expected nothing in return and I told him so. Despite my protest, he insisted that I take the tip. He really wanted me to have it and he didn't want me to refuse. I relented and accepted the money. I was astonished and grateful that someone could do something like that for a teenager who was just cleaning tables. The reward he gave me was out of proportion to the act and I never forgot it.
That first job taught me more as time passed. I was a very hard worker and soon I was promoted to dishwasher. Before long, I was promoted to snack bar attendant, solely responsible for cooking and fully preparing hamburgers and hot dogs for customers, taking their money and dispensing change as well as cleaning the grill. On some days, especially if another worker did not show up, I worked double shifts from approximately 7:30 a.m. to 10:30 p.m. Lunch breaks were no more than 30 minutes. The boss complimented me several times as his best worker, one who was honest and reliable. He could trust me to be on time or early. I did everything to the best of my ability and I was good with customers.
My mother worried about the long days at the restaurant and my safety coming home on the "L" late at night but she knew I was willing and able to handle it. Sometimes I was very tired when I returned to our apartment on the West Side. But I saved money and saw it grow.
One day there was a huge celebration in the Civic Center plaza and during my lunch I ventured outside to Randolph Street where I looked toward Washington Street at the largest crowd I had ever seen. It was August 13, 1969. The city gave a ticker tape parade for the three Apollo 11 astronauts, Neil A. Armstrong, Michael Collins and Buzz Aldrin, Jr., who were the first men to land on the moon that July. The parade traveled along major streets including Michigan Avenue, State Street and LaSalle Street in the financial district. At the end, a packed ceremony was held on the plaza. I understood that I was living in a historic time because of the moon landing and many other major events in those years.
At the end of the summer, a few days before I began my last year in high school, I bought a new ten-speed bicycle and a ticket to my first real concert. I rode my bike for the next 9 years in Chicago and for another 22 years after I moved to New York City.