During my high school holidays of the summer of 1925, I worked as a striker on an
ice wagon, for the Granite City Ice Company of Quincy. This was several years before
the advent of electrical refrigerators.
There were several other Nova Scotia men working there at that time, and, apparently,
they had earned a reputation as good and able workers for, I was immediately hired
as a striker when I applied for the job.
The driver (ice man) was responsible for the care of the horses and driving them.
In the morning he would harness the team and load his wagon with 100 lb blocks of
ice at the ice house in Norfolk Downs. He would then drive to Wallaston where he
would pick up his striker (me). We would then start covering our route, which extended from
Atlantic to the Quincy line. He would drive the horses and cut the ice to the desired
size, and I would deliver it to homes, stores, club houses and wherever ice cards
were displayed in windows.
I was successful as a striker, by the manager. He told me that I probably could rent
a room at a certain rooming house on Bele Street in Wolliston.
I was successful in attaining a small room there, as the previous roomer had moved
out the day before. It contined a small single bed, a dresser and a chair. The room
was lighted by a single bare bult suspended on an electdric coord from the ceiling.
A gas light jet protruded from a hole half way up the wall from behind the bed.
I was bone weary when I returned from my first day of work, as some tenaments required
carrying a fifty pound block of ice to the second and occassionally a third floor
apartment.
I slept for possibly an hour and then became restless. Finally I became awake enough
to realize that something was radically wrong. I pulled the light cord and discovered,
to my horror, that I was being attacked by an army of bedbugs. A line of them was
emerging from the hole in the wall, where the gas light protruded, and were travelling
straight down to my bed. Another line, of the miserable pests, that had apparantley
completed their evening repast, was marching up the wall to their domicle within
the hole in the wall.
I picked up my sneaker and, using it as a swatter, vicioulsly killed every bedbut
in sight. I did't sleep much for the rest of the night, for every hour I would put
on the light and flatten more of my tormentors. When I arose the next morning, the
wall was well splatterred with dead bugs and much blood (mostly mine)
When I returned to the rooming house, that evening, the landlady had prepared another
room for me. She properly apologized to me and said that she was unaware tht there
were bedbugs in the other room. She also stated that she had had the exterminators
in that day and had repaperd the room.
The moral of this story is "when you are having a restless night and can't sleep,
don't always blame it on the fact that you are in a strange bed. It might be that
you have strange bed fellows"
He left school after his Junior year -on his own, and back in Grandma Keene's home
again - alone in that five bedroom Victorian mansion and full time at Economy Grocery.
Airborne 1927
The year 1927 was a memorable year, for this was the year of Charles Lindberg's solo
flight across the Atlantic Ocean, which effected the entire world. Also it was the
year that I started working at the Atlantifc National Bank of Boston, which effected
my entire future.
I had become aware that my job as clerk in the Economy Gracery Stores (now Stop &
Shop) promised little future, for, top pay even for a manager at that time, was
only twenty five dollars a week. I thought that it might be interesting to work
for a bank, and looking over a list of banks in Boston, I decided tht the Atlantic National Bank
sounded very impressive, while on the contrary, banks like the First National Bank
sounded very common and commercialized.
Drawing on my meager savings account, I invested in a new suit, a shirt and tie
and shoes. Then arrayed in all this new finery, I headed for the big city. I readily
found my way from North Station to the bank's head office at 10 Post Office Square.
In the Personnel Department there, I filled out a job application and then was interviewed
by a personnel officer.
About a month went by and I had about given up hope of hearing from them, when the
bank officer called and informed me that my application had been accepted and asked
I would report to work.
I gave my notice at the store, and in August 1927 started my career at the Atlantic
National Bank of Boston, which, by the way, merged with the First National Bank of
Boston five years later. My term of employment there ended with my retirement in
1972. A span of forty five years and two months.
John spent each of his brief summer vacations by returning home to Nova Scotia - and
it was there that he began courting Elva Taylor of Wittenburg. Fleeting times with
intense feelings away from each other - Elva teaching an eleven grade, one-room school
house at Caribou Gold Mines, and John - apprenticing at First National Bank of Boston.
Finally, arrangements were made for a permanent alliance - and Elva came from Yarmouth
to Boston by boat in 1930. First time away from home, venturing to a strange country, all out of love for a Reid?
Unlike John, who had early New England roots, Elva's lineage (Ailbhe MhicLeoid Taylor)
was straight from the auld country. The Taylors arrived from Scotland in 1810. The
McLeods (1772) and Ellis'( 1767) were both Ulster Scots who arrived from Scotland
via Ireland. Rich in the Scot's culture: the fiddle, bagpipes, ceilidths - Elva was
nurtured in that close-knit clan spirit. Herself also being an identical twin and
one of eleven children of Susan (McLeod) and Corey Taylor, there was an unusual bonding
to the primitive homestead in Wittenburg, Nova Scotia. Home would always be Wittenburg
- even though she would be destined to live in Melrose, Massachusetts for over 62
years.
She arrived, as scheduled - only to discover that John had the dates mixed up. Immigration
services arranged for her to be picked up by her mother's sister, Aunt Cora - and
to stay in Brockton until her residency had been completed and her marriage to John in September of 1930.
Prone #7 Skinned 1931
Maybe my glasses needed corrective lenses, when the accident happened, because I did
not see the broken casserole sitting on the sink counter. It was the last of the
kitchen cleanup, after the dinner hour, I was in the process of swabbing the sink
counter with the dish cloth when my hand hit the jagged edge of the glass casserole, cutting
off the end of my right index finger.
A friend, Dick Nordberg, happened to come to the door at tht moment, and as Elva had
a cake in the oven, he rushed me to the hospital for emergency treatment. The nurse
administered first aid to the injured finger, and said that I would have to wait
for the doctor.
When he appeared, about one half hour later, he took a look at it and asked "how did
it happen?" I gave him the detail, and he said "call up your wife and see if she
can find the missing end of the finger". I called Elva and after some searching,
she retrieved the missing part from the broken dish, which was in the rubbish recepticle
where I had thrown it after my brief, but disastrous encounter with it.
She drove up to the hospital bringing the severed member with her. The doctor gave
me a local anesthesia, and then stitched the errant piece onto the injured digit
and then bandaged it.
Elva had waited while the doctor was doctoring me, and when the job was completed
she drove me home. it was a dark, rainy night when we left the hospital, and as
we pulled out of the parking lot onto the street, I said to her "why don't you put
on the lights?"
She quickly did so and then exclaimed "I wondered why it was so dark while I was driving
up". The finger healed perfectly but was quite numb for a couple of years.
Moral: The end (of a finger) justifies the means (of retrieving it)
"In Retrospect 1932"
"Probably most everybody, at one time or another, has had an experience that bordered
on total disaster, but in retrospect, with the passing of time, assumes a very humorous
aspect.
It happened in that eventful year of 1932. A year that few, that are now living today,
would recall with nostalgia.
In March of that year, aviator Charles Lindberg's infant son was kidnapped. The child's
body was found three months later and Bruno Hauptman was executed for the crime four
years later.
The great depression, that started with the stock market crash of 1929, hit rock bottom
in 1932. It was a year in which companies were laying off their help and others
were going bankrupt. Runs on banks were forcing many to close their doors, and as
this was the Hoover administration and prior to the advent of Federal Deposit Insurance
Corporation (F.D.I.C.), depositors had no means of recovering their funds.
This was the era of the six day working week with unlimited hours and no overtime
pay - for those who were lucky enough to still hold jobs.
However, the landslide victory in November 1932, when Franklin Delano Rooseveldt took
forty two of the forty eight electoral votes from Herbert Hoover, was the promise
of the great changes to come. Lincoln is known as "the great emancipator" of the
slaves. Rooseveldt was to become "the great emancipator of the working class" regardless
of race, color or creed.
In 1932 countless numbers of families were feeling the crushing effects of the great
depression, and Elva and I were no exception. I had been working for the Atlantic
National Bank since 1927 when, early in that eventful year, every employee of the
Bank was hit with a 10% cut in pay. This created a financial crisis, as I was left with only
$90 a month to support Elva and I and our baby son Wallace. (Incidentally, it took
four years more into the depression before I fully recovered that cut in pay.) In
spite of the decreased income though, we considered ourselves fortunate, for many of our
friends and neighbors had been laid off by their employers.
Our troubles were not over yet though, for shortly after the pay cut, rumors ran
rife that Mayor James M. Curley had withdrawn all City of Boston funds from our Bank.
This started a run on the Bank as depositors clamored to withdraw their funds while
it was still solvent.
Fortunately, the Atlantic National was saved from bankruptcy by the First National
Bank of Boston taking it over "lock, stock and barrel" - to be more precise: "assets,
liabilities and personnel" ( which included me). I had been working in the Night
Department of General Settlement, so was automatically absorbed into a crew of about forty
men in the First's Night Department, General Settlement.
Our work here was fundamentally the same as it had been at The Atlantic, only on a
much larger scale. There is one basic principle in the general settlement of a Bank,
which is "every credit has an equal and offsetting debit or debits". Based on this
principle, we reported for work at 8 PM and could leave for home in the morning when all
Bank transaction of the day and all mail deposits had been processed, all credits
and debits were in balance, and the resulting figures and totals were ready for bookkeepers and General Ledger personnel when they arrived for work in the morning. The experience
that bordered on total disaster happened in September of that eventful year 1932.
At that time, I had been with The First National Bank about five months working a
six night week, Sunday through Friday. The five day working week was still about
eleven years in the future at that time.
I arrived home about 7AM on a Monday morning, bone tired as the mail deposits had
been unusually heavy, and the settlement troublesome. Furthermore, twenty four hours
had elapsed since I awoke the previous morning, as I seldom wasted time by taking
a nap Sunday afternoons.
I ate a light breakfast with Elva, during which time she informed me that she had
already started the Monday wash and that my pajamas were all in the machine down
cellar. However, she would find me a nightie or something to wear.
She brought me a nightgown, that in past years had probably been the pride and joy
of my grandmother. it was very feminine, sky blue with white lace collar and a frilly
lace around the bottom - which came about three inches below my knees. I was so tire,
I put it on anyway.
As I climbed into bed, I said to Elva: "Don't wake me unless the house catches on
fire" And that is exactly what happened.
In retrospect, there were several things that Elva and I, individually and collectively,
learned from the disaster. For example: when you start a fire in the fireplace,
be sure that there is nothing flammable left on the hearth. Also, if a fire does
get out of control, never attempt to smother it with a mat. Let the firemen take care
of it. And above all, be thankful that you went to bed wearing grandmother's nightgown.
What if you had been sleeping ?
In retrospect 1932
The Great Depression that started with the stock market crash of 1929, hit rock bottom
in 1932. It was a year in which companies were laying off their help and others
were going bankrupt.Runs on banks were forcing many to close their doors, and as
this was the Hoover Administration, prior to the advent of Federal Deposit Insurance, depositors
had no means of recovering their funds.
This was the era of the six day working week with unlimited hours and no overtime
pay, for those who were lucky enough to still hold jobs. In 1932 countless numbers
of families were feeling the crushing effects of the great depression, and Elva and
I were no exception. I had been working for the Atlantic National Bank since 1927 when,
early in that eventful year, every employee of the Bank was hit with a 10% cut in
pay. This created a financial crisis as I was left with only $90 per month to support
Elva nd I and our baby son. (Incidently, it took four years more into the depression
before I fully recovered that cut in pay) In spite of the decreased income though,
we considered ourselves fortunate, for many of our friends and neighbors had been
laid off by their employers.
Our troubles were not over yet though, for shortly after the pay cut, rumors ran rife
that Mayor James Curley had withdrawn all city of Boston funds from our bank. This
started a run on the bank as the depositors clamored to withdraw their funds while
it was still solvent.
Fortunately, the Atlantic National was saved from bankruptcy by the First National
Bank of Boston taking it over "lock, stock and barrel" or more precisely: "assets,
liabilities and personnel" (which included me)
I had been working in the Night Department of General Settlement, so was automatically
absorbed into a crew of about forty men in the First's Night Department, General
Settlement.
Our work here was fundamentally the same as it hada been at the Atlantic, only on
a much larger scale. There is one basic principle in the general settlement of a
bank, which is "every credit has an equal and offsetting debit or debits" Based
on this principle, we reported for work at 8 pm and could leaave for home in the morning when
all Bank transactions of the day had been processed, all credit and debits were in
balance and the resulting figures and totals wre ready for bankkeepers and General
Ledger personnel when they arrived for work in the morning.
A second son, John Jr. was born in January of 1933, 17 months after the birth of Wallace.
Number Two looked like a Reid and was so named. Brown eyes, dark skin, head full
of hair - opposite of the blue eyed, fair skinned Taylor - number one son.
It was the height of the depression- money scarce, mother improvising in food and
clothing, and father working nights and long hours to make ends meet. No mandatory
wages or limited work hours! Later, the leadership of President Franklin Roseveldt
initiated the long lasting policies that lifted our nation out of depression. Still,
John was working when his friends were unemployed and the Economy Grocery store
had gone bankrupt. He had made a good move!
A third son, Joseph, was born in November of 1935. Three boys, stepping stones to
the father; nurtured and instructed by the mother. An instant tribe!! Each summer
the family would retreat for two weeks to Nova Scotia - and respite the other 50
weeks surrounded by an Irish neighborhood, a cantankerous neighbor, and a cocoon for a home.
Little time for relaxation, but when that happened, it was well remembered.
