LEARNING HARD WORK - Opening segment (Scroll down for previous chapters)

     As a young boy, I was fascinated with magic tricks.  I was hoping to learn enough to make algebra disappear or, at least, turn my teacher, Mr. Rottenweiler, into a beautiful princess.  If I could have accomplished the latter, I may have attempted calculus and physics.  As it turned out, the only thing I made disappear was a nice coat I had gotten for Christmas.   It turned out to be one of my more expensive acts.        

     I also developed a keen appreciation for the Arts.   I was especially fond of the Art of Escape.  Watching someone set themselves free, after being bound in chains, was very impressive; much like watching someone escape from algebra.    

     Gramps wasn’t impressed.  “My stars, anybody can do that,” he said.  “I think you’re a far better escape artist; the way you can escape hard work.  How do you do it?”

     “It’s a secret, Gramps.  If I shared it with everyone, there would be no one left to do hard work.”

     “Goooood Gracious, I don’t know about that boy,” Gramps muttered to himself, as he walked away.

     Gramps had taught his children the value of hard work and he tried to impress it upon me, although I wasn’t all that impressed.      

     Having learned hard work as a child growing up in Alabama, Mom loved sharing her experiences with me.  “When I was your age I was picking cotton all day in the hot sun, while watching for poisonous snakes,” she’d ramble on.  She wanted me to experience that same joy.  But I was perfectly content pulling the covers over my head, and going back to sleep.   Besides, there was no cotton or poisonous snakes where we lived.  That was fine with me, because I didn’t think I could pick cotton and watch for poisonous snakes at the same time.           

      Still determined to have me learn the joy of hard work, mom waited for a hot summer day, and then informed me we would be picking peas at a local pea farm.  After a day of picking peas in the hot sun, she informed me we wouldn’t be coming back.  She never did say why, but I know it wasn’t the bending over in the hot sun all day and being paid the same wages as a volunteer.  She probably missed the poisonous snakes.

     After my brief run-in with hard work, we parted ways amiably. 

     Concerned that I might fall prey to “easy money,” Gramps warned me about get-rich-quick schemes.  I reassured him that I wasn’t going to Alabama to pick cotton.  Poisonous snakes that enjoy leg of cotton picker weren’t worth the money.        

     A short time later, hard work called.  I was offered a job bucking hay, which meant picking up hay bales twice my size and throwing them onto the bed of a speeding truck. I almost took the job, but in a dream the night before, I was warned it was a get-rich-quick scheme and that I should flee to South America.  With no money and no car, I would have to flee on foot.  The closest I could get to South America was the south side of our house, where I had my secret underground bunker.

     With no money, the location was perfect, because I was on a major supply route…the bunker to the refrigerator.  But I wasn’t sure how long I would be able to hide, since the bunker was a well-known secret.  Besides, I was certain it was under surveillance by Farley, our local sheriff. 

     Hopefully, I would be able to hang on until I was offered something more legitimate.