Dust to Dust

As I reflect back on my 2/3 of a century on this planet, I can hardly imagine how quickly life has fluttered by, nor how much patience God has exercised with not only me, but with the entire rest of earth’s population.

I think I only began “growing up” after I finished living out the first three decades of my life. Perhaps the chiefest characteristic of that immaturity was the fact that I worked almost 40 jobs during the course of those thirty years.
In the past hour I found myself reflecting on a season in my life on which I had not reflected in years.
Having finished one tour of duty in the U.S. Air Force my wife, “Charlene” and I moved to her home state of Virginia. I cannot say things fell together as I might have hoped.
Not even close
As I soon discovered, the occupational environment in that part of the world was “slim to none” at the time, and I was forced to accept whatever work was available.
One of my friends made me aware of a position at a factory about an hour away from Stafford County; in which my wife and I and our three children made our residence. (After having procured the position and worked there for all of one day, I might have questioned the wisdom of continuing said friendship).
For you see, I found myself standing in the same spot for 8 hours at a time, and performing a “two step.” (No, not the dance). I would pick up a large, brown bag, hold it up to a blower; at which point twenty-five pounds of chipped newspaper would fill it to the brim. Once the initial operation was completed, I ran the top of the bag under a sewing machine head; a procedure which securely sealed it. It goes without saying, that in such an environment, one could not expect to continue breathing in and out without the aid of a respirator. (I must have looked like one of those ‘dough boys’ from WWI preparing to encounter mustard gas).
Readers, can we say the word, ‘Dust” (?)
As you might imagine, by the time my daily tenure concluded I was, for lack of a better phrase, a grey mess. All that was left to be done was to drive home, shed my filthy clothing, and head straight for the shower.
Well, my friends, I would not deter you from believing, no one had to beg me to scout around for something a bit more commensurate with my immense intelligence and talents. And having read the newspaper advertisements on a recurring basis, I ran across something which appealed to my sensibilities.
“Assistant Manager Trainee position available. Retail. Good starting pay. Apply Shoe Department, Woolco, Woodbridge, Virginia. Please call for appointment.”
Readers, can we say the word, ‘Now” (?)
I guarantee, (in my best Cajun pronunciation of the word) if cell phones had existed in the 70’s, yours truly would have summarily ‘blown mine up’ within seconds of having read the advertisement.
A ‘Mr. Hollister,’ (the Kinney lease department manager) answered the phone, and I explained that I worked at a factory in the Woodbridge area, that I lived about an hour away, and that I would love to sit down with him re. the job opening. Of course, I made him aware of the utter devastation the factory daily did to my countenance and clothing, but that perhaps I could drive home, shower and change clothes, and get back to Woolco prior to closing.
Oddly enough, (at least to me) my potential supervisor expressed a complete disinterest in my outward appearance, and suggested I join him at the Woolco snack counter, and as quickly as I could transport my dirty person to that location.
And thus, at 6pm sharp the next day I punched the off buttons on my insulation blower and sewing machine, stepped out the non-descript factory door, turned the ignition key, and pointed my ‘trusty steed’ towards the Woodbridge Woolco.
If any of my readers have seen, Will Smith’s, “The Pursuit of Happyness” you may recall the scene in which his character interviews for a Wall Street trainee position; thoroughly unkempt and dressed in paint-stained clothing. It is no exaggeration to say, this is exactly how I felt as I walked through the front door of Woolco, and down the main aisle.
Based on Mr. Hollister’s description of himself, (and the fact that he was the only adult male seated in the snack area) I immediately ‘recognized’ him.
(And based on my earlier warning that I would look a great deal like the previously cited movie character, neither did Mr. Hollister have any trouble recognizing me).
As I reflect back on our meeting now, I can only imagine how badly I looked, but also how badly I must have, well, smelled. No doubt, I left a trail of dust in my wake as I made my way down the store aisle and settled in at the snack table.
Ultimately, ‘Tom,’ (for he introduced himself this way) and I reached the conclusion that I not only considered myself qualified for the manager trainee position, but that he believed much the same way.
And the rest, as they say, is history. Tom hired me on the spot. I successfully completed my training program. A year later I was rewarded with a Kinney unit of my own, and was ultimately promoted to a higher volume store.

There’s an old adage,

“Dust to Dust. Ashes to Ashes.”

Rather reminds me of that season in my life, re. the role I held prior to assuming the position with which my friend, Tom, entrusted me. I tend to think it was about this time that I left the dust of the past in my wake, and went on to assume a bit more propriety and maturity.


   By William McDonald, PhD. From (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 35. Copyright pending

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