the day he was scheduled to report for work at the cannery, Richard tried to take a nap to prepare for his all-night shift, but sleep could not loosen the tense muscles of his body. I might as well give up and get up. I just can’t stop thinking about tonight. I hope I can stay awake on the job.
He proceeded to busy himself with a series of chores around the house—he washed the Chevy hatchback he shared with his uncle, did a load of laundry, and made dinner for his uncle and himself. Three hours before midnight, at his uncle’s suggestion, he sat down in the living room to relax a while.
“Wake up, Richard! It’s time to go.”
Richard sat up abruptly. “What time is it?”
“It’s 11:15. I have a lunch packed for ye.”
Twenty minutes later, Richard was in the car, heading for the cannery. On his arrival, he parked, and walked swiftly toward the main building. Inside he encountered several people talking together.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Ben, the shift leader,” Richard said, interrupting the conversation of four men and a woman.
The woman smiled at Richard and pointed toward a middle-aged man in bib overalls standing nearby.
“Ms. Packer told me to give you this.”
“Oh she did, huh. Well, let’s see what the foreman has to say.”
Ben stared at the note so long that Richard began to wonder if he knew how to read.
Nodding his head in satisfaction, Ben pocketed the note and gave Richard a welcoming smile. “Well, we can sure use another man on the shift, Richard. With you on the job, I can have an eye on our operation, without having to pitch in myself. Let me show you around the plant and have you meet some of our people.”
Ben gave Richard a quick tour of that part of the plant where he would work, including the location of the lunch room, restroom, and first-aid kit. Occasionally, he would stop to introduce Richard to someone. Then he led Richard to a woman seated on some sealed cases of vegetables. A small paperback held her attention so well she didn’t notice their approach until Ben spoke.
“Connie, this here is Richard Hawkins. Keep an eye on him so he don’t get hurt, will ya?”
Richard accepted this introduction with a look of gratitude.
“I’d be glad to.”
“Thank you, Connie, that makes me feel better. I’d be happy if you would give me any pointers about the job. I’ve never worked in a cannery before.” In making the last comment, Richard knew he was probably stating the obvious.
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine. Did you think to bring any ear plugs?” Connie asked.
“Well no. Do I need them?”
“You’ll want to protect your hearing, Richard. Here,” Connie said, digging into a pocket of her sweatshirt, “take these ear plugs. They’re new. I’ll wear my old ones.”
At Connie’s insistence, Richard took the ear plugs, a decision he was glad of when the machines started up and the graveyard shift went to work. The din was deafening, as Connie had warned him.
“Come with me, Richard,” Ben yelled above the noise. “I’ll show you your station for the time being. Do you have gloves?”
Richard nodded and pointed at his pocket.
“Here’s a hat. You wear it,” Ben yelled close to Richard’s left ear, “to protect the product and keep it sanitary!” Ben handed Richard a round, white paper hat.
Ben next grabbed Richard’s left arm and towed him toward a machine where a man pushed silver cans of peas without lids onto a large revolving circular plate from metal trays that contained a dozen cans.
“Jack, Richard will take over. You go back to your usual station.”
“Glad to!” Jack gave Richard a look of pity and sauntered away.
“Now Richard, keep feeding the cans in these trays onto the turntable,” Ben said loudly. “Make sure they move smoothly onto the conveyor. When the stack of trays gets low, someone will bring more. And make sure every can is full.”
“What do I do if the can isn’t full?” yelled Richard at the retreating shift leader. But Ben continued to walk, apparently not hearing Richard’s question.
9
Friendship With Tony
When lunch break came Richard was surprised that time had passed so quickly. Maybe that’s one advantage of having a repetitive job, you lose track of the time. He got his sack lunch from the car and slumped down wearily on a bench at an unoccupied table. He was surveying the contents of his sack when he suddenly became aware of someone standing behind him.
“Alright if I join you?” a voice asked.
Richard turned to see a man who had the appearance of an old hippie. He sported a short, scraggly beard and a long pony tail of gray hair; he wore a white, tie-dyed dress shirt tucked into faded jeans, held up by a wide belt with a large oval buckle bearing the peace symbol in brass.
“Sure! Glad to have the company.”
“Food goes best with conversation,” responded the stranger, as he seated himself across the table from Richard. “Don’t you think that’s so?”
“Yes, I . . .”
“I’m glad you agree, friend.” The stranger nodded his approval. “We human beings were designed to herd together and help each other. But we’re more and more separate. Say, my friends call me Tony. What’s your handle?”
“Oh, my name? Richard.”
Tony pulled an apple out of his sack and took a bite. “You know, Bob Dylan was right on. His songs warned us where this society was goin’. And it’s finally got there!”
“Where’s that?”
“Where? Right under the thumb of the establishment, that’s where, man! See that camera up there on the wall? That’s ‘Big Brother” with his eye on you.”
“You mentioned Bob Dylan. I especially like his song Tambourine Man. I sometimes play it on my guitar.”
“Right on! You dig Dylan, heh?”
“I taped some of his songs from the radio several years ago for my collection of 60s songs. I think he represents that era better than any other singer of that time.”
“Yeah, that’s it, man! I heard him sing in concert a couple of times. He and Joan Baez caught the soul of our movement in their songs.”
“What was the ‘movement’ as you saw it? I mean what was your goal?”
“In one word, love,” said Tony, as he stared into space as if seeing something long past. “Me and my friends would get together on warm summer evenings, and talk about love. We’d sit in the
