My story will not be long here, but it’s a true sample of how I lived from the early ’60s to the 2000s.
If you have never been in a automobile factory back in the ’60s, you have missed out on a real eye-opener for sure. The walls are tall, concrete, and cold, the floors are made of old telephone polls chopped into blocks. You could see the tar seep out on real hot summer days. The smell was bad, and some of the guys didn’t smell good either.
You have to remember, I was just out of the service, and my father got me a job just like everyone else that worked there. My hands were white as snow, (virgin) soft. I remember the oily smell as I twisted my way down to the middle of the plant and into an oil-soaked room that was putting body parts together. The job looked easy enough: take a plate and two screws with an air gun, and lock them down. But no! Jerry was smooth as silk, and in the process, sliced two finger tips. So how great was that, huh? This is just day one. So why did this young man want to hang in there to build transmissions and make a career out of this cold, nasty factory?
His future was well worth reading about and the fortune he came to win and lose! Maybe more to come, and with it laughter, fun, sadness, and heartbreak.