Getting Up REALLY Early for Work
Do you have to get up really early for work? Wake up times typically vary with the demands of your job, of course. Years ago we had a neighbor, an older gent, who worked for a wholesale butcher establishment in Manhattan. His name was Jack and he left REALLY early, I think it was around 3:00 AM, to catch the train that got him to work around 4, at which point he started butchering in a refrigerated space that was REALLY cold. Every day. For years.
I remember when Jack retired. He was still up pretty early, albeit not at 3 and I'd run into him when he went out for his morning walk, I for my run, sometimes when the morning light in the east was just a slight hint in the black sky of first dawn. Not only was he up, but he was always cheerful and his German-accented "Good morning" was sometimes the first sound I'd hear that day.
Some days if I didn't see him earlier, I'd see him later when I was walking to the train. Again, cheerful, this time besides "Good morning" he'd tell me about how he used to get up REALLY early, as well as some details about his 8 hours butchering meat in that cold refrigerator, under the supervision of a boss who constantly pushed the men to keep at it, carcass after carcass, day after day, week after week. He would bark the details through Cheshire-cat-like big teeth, smiling through his German accent, and you had the feeling he kind of missed those REALLY early wake-ups, even the butchering under the prodding of his old boss.
Jack was an immigrant from Hungary who came to America after World War II, and some days, besides the work stories, he'd tell me a little bit about being in the war, coming to America after the war, being happy to get the job as a butcher, stuff like that. He never imposed himself, and I never grew tired of listening to him.
I remember at one point when I was having a tough time at my own job, he talked about that daily routine and that boss always hovering over him and the guys, making sure they kept chopping and slicing in that cold refrigerated space, starting in the wee hours of the morning, and continuing on for 8 hours - unless he had overtime of course - with a break in the morning, lunch, and another break in the afternoon. And I remember that whatever it was that was bugging me at my own job at the time just kind of melted away as I listened to Jack talk.
Of course, after a time, he'd repeat the same stories, but somehow they always sounded fresh and interesting. There was something about the guy that just perked me up every time I ran into him. Maybe it was the smile, or the accent, or the idea that this guy lived through the war, or him being an immigrant coming here with nothing and working hard all his life. Maybe it was because whether it was when he was still working or when he was retired, he never complained about anything. You sometimes got the feeling he missed working, missed the guys, missed the barking boss.
When he got old and had hip-replacement surgery, causing him to slow down quite a bit as you might imagine, he'd sometimes point out how he couldn't walk the way he used to, couldn't do all the things he used to do, and all that, but there was no bitterness in his words. And when his dear wife, Anna, got Alzheimer's disease and had to live in a nursing home for her own protection after wandering away too many times, he just kept getting up early, hobbling through the day, still smiling when he'd see you, still telling those stories.
Jack lived alone for years, visiting Anna in the nursing home for years until she died. He kept pushing himself through it all, and, frankly, inspired me to keep pushing myself when I wasn't all that thrilled about getting up early and getting to work on any given day. In fact, he was one of the reasons I grew to like getting up really early in the morning for work.
More about this next time...
I remember when Jack retired. He was still up pretty early, albeit not at 3 and I'd run into him when he went out for his morning walk, I for my run, sometimes when the morning light in the east was just a slight hint in the black sky of first dawn. Not only was he up, but he was always cheerful and his German-accented "Good morning" was sometimes the first sound I'd hear that day.
Some days if I didn't see him earlier, I'd see him later when I was walking to the train. Again, cheerful, this time besides "Good morning" he'd tell me about how he used to get up REALLY early, as well as some details about his 8 hours butchering meat in that cold refrigerator, under the supervision of a boss who constantly pushed the men to keep at it, carcass after carcass, day after day, week after week. He would bark the details through Cheshire-cat-like big teeth, smiling through his German accent, and you had the feeling he kind of missed those REALLY early wake-ups, even the butchering under the prodding of his old boss.
Jack was an immigrant from Hungary who came to America after World War II, and some days, besides the work stories, he'd tell me a little bit about being in the war, coming to America after the war, being happy to get the job as a butcher, stuff like that. He never imposed himself, and I never grew tired of listening to him.
I remember at one point when I was having a tough time at my own job, he talked about that daily routine and that boss always hovering over him and the guys, making sure they kept chopping and slicing in that cold refrigerated space, starting in the wee hours of the morning, and continuing on for 8 hours - unless he had overtime of course - with a break in the morning, lunch, and another break in the afternoon. And I remember that whatever it was that was bugging me at my own job at the time just kind of melted away as I listened to Jack talk.
Of course, after a time, he'd repeat the same stories, but somehow they always sounded fresh and interesting. There was something about the guy that just perked me up every time I ran into him. Maybe it was the smile, or the accent, or the idea that this guy lived through the war, or him being an immigrant coming here with nothing and working hard all his life. Maybe it was because whether it was when he was still working or when he was retired, he never complained about anything. You sometimes got the feeling he missed working, missed the guys, missed the barking boss.
When he got old and had hip-replacement surgery, causing him to slow down quite a bit as you might imagine, he'd sometimes point out how he couldn't walk the way he used to, couldn't do all the things he used to do, and all that, but there was no bitterness in his words. And when his dear wife, Anna, got Alzheimer's disease and had to live in a nursing home for her own protection after wandering away too many times, he just kept getting up early, hobbling through the day, still smiling when he'd see you, still telling those stories.
Jack lived alone for years, visiting Anna in the nursing home for years until she died. He kept pushing himself through it all, and, frankly, inspired me to keep pushing myself when I wasn't all that thrilled about getting up early and getting to work on any given day. In fact, he was one of the reasons I grew to like getting up really early in the morning for work.
More about this next time...
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