It was time! Yes, it was time, jobs were going south, NAFTA had
passed and consequently, jobs were also moving off-shore, our nine military
bases had moved to safer climbs, places like South Carolina, where they didn’t
have ant-war rallies, or, at least, not as many of them. The Rail-Roads had
lowered their rail-beds, to allow them to double stack containers on their flat
cars and many of the containers that we had previously unloaded were now being
unloaded directly off the ships and on to the trains and were headed right back
to work states, like Utah, where the work could be done much cheaper. It
wouldn’t be long before merger mania arrived on the scene. Pretty soon, the
industrial tract in Emeryville, where many of our truck terminals had been
located, would be redeveloped and turned into a shopping Mecca for suburban
housewives.
Yes, it had been a good long run all right, I thought, almost thirty years. But
now, it was over and it was time, time to pick up the pieces of my shattered
life, glue theme back together and move on, on to newer and I hoped; better
things.
There had been a home invasion robbery, my place was a mess and anyway the place
where I had been living was too far gone to be brought up to code. I was past
that certain age, my place was being raised and I was therefore, a displaced
person, I had no work and had no place to live.
It had, I thought nostalgically, all started back in the early sixties when my
Greyhound bus arrived at the Terminal in Oakland I had the address of the
Teamsters Hiring Hall so I knew that it was on West Street. So, when we passed
West on the way in, I took note of the event and walked back there and started
walking down it. Fortunately I had done the right thing and soon arrived at my
destination. There was a lot of work out of the Hiring Hall back then, even for
some one on the “B” list, which I was. We would go out, unload a truck, which
would take about two or three hours and then we would hasten back to the Hall
and get dispatched out to another truck or get a night shift. Eventually the
freeway came through and the Union had to build a new place by the Airport.
There was less work downtown and more out that way. So everything worked out all
right but the total amount of work was gradually diminishing,
Now, that was all over and it was time to trot on down to Catholic Charities and
see if I could find some assisted housing, No, the man said, there wasn’t any
thing, all their places were occupied with sick people, Aids cases, parolees,
recovering drug addicts etc. etc. But, he gave me the address of the Harrison
Hotel and I went over there. No, all full up they assured me, but, I could fill
out an application, maybe they would have some thing later on. I finally found a
place at the Will Rogers, but you could only stay three weeks and then you had
to move on, otherwise, you would become a permanent resident and it would be too
difficult to move you out. It was the same every where and I eventually ran out
of places to stay. This is it I thought, I’ll have to move into the emergency
shelters and live on the streets. Well, I thought, I’ll try the Harrison one
more time. Oh yes, the manager said, we’ve been waiting for you, where have you
been? The workman are just getting through, I was so surprised and relieved that
I almost fainted dead away on the spot. He took me up and he was right, the
workmen were just finishing up. Some how, I never did quite figure out how or
why, I had hit it just right. Somebody up stairs must have been looking out
after me.
At that time the BOSS employment office was in a suite on the third floor and I
went over there to see George who checked me in. Eventually he put in a good
word for me and got me into an employment training thing at Jobs Consortium,
they don’t have much work over there, he said, but, at least you’ll get a
resume.
Working out of the Hiring Hall had been a really simple relaxed routine, you got
your dispatch in the morning, went out to unload your truck or work at your
truck terminal and if the work was slow, you went to the Unemployment Office and
got your unemployment check resumed, employment applications, interviews, these
were all things you didn’t have to worry about. But now, I was in a whole new
world. While I had been enjoying my simple nineteenth century existence, society
had been changing and we had switched from an industrial based, to an
informational based society. It was going to be necessary to get a whole new set
of job skills.
After they had sorted us all out and made sure that we all could do basic math,
could read write and speak English and weren’t hopelessly addicted to anything.
They put us in job training; interviewing, and filling out job applications, all
that sort of things. There were it seemed, two jobs coming up, one was working
for Mr. Jackson, who owned the Jackson House a place where they took care of
retarded people and the other was a desk clerk. Since I didn’t have a mother
instinct I told them I wanted to be a desk clerk.
After I got through at Jobs Consortium, I went back to the Harrison to see
George and to report on my progress. George was the employment representative at
the Harrison and it was his job to help ex-drug addicts, parolees and other such
people with their employment problems. He was a tall thin fellow that had
dread-locks.
“You’re going to be a desk clerk eh?” - He chortled, you’re probably going to
need computer skills, better get over and see Eric at the computer lab, he’s
just around the corner you know, on 15th, and it’s free for low income folks.
So, the next time I wasn’t doing anything I went over there. Eric was a short,
amply proportioned gentleman of the same ethnic derivation as George. As well as
teaching homeless and low -income people to use the computer, he also did all
the office work and repaired and rebuilt computers. I told him what my problem
was and he asked me if I had ever been on a computer before? “No, I replied, I
never have.”
“Well, he said, come over here a minute. He led me over to a thing that looked
to me like a TV set, this,” - he said, one large hand flopping up and down on
top of it like a newly caught fish, is a monitor, he gazed gravely into my eyes
for awhile and this, slap, slap, is a key-board and this, picking it up and
shaking it in front of my eyes, is a mouse. After that he solemnly instructed me
how to turn the thing on. Then he showed me how to insert a disk, after telling
me what a disk was, after a few more instructions he finally left me to struggle
with the intricacies of the point and click program.
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