The phone rang at 8:30 p.m.
"OK,
mlb lanyards," I said. "Next Saturday." And put the phone down. Mike's dad had agreed to meet with Mike and me.
At 7:30 Saturday morning, I caught the bus to the poor side of town.
The Lessons Begin:
"I'll pay you 10 cents an hour. "
Even by 1956 pay standards, 10 cents an hour was low.
Michael and I met with his dad that morning at 8 o'clock. He was already busy and had been at work for more than an hour. His construction supervisor was just leaving in his pickup truck as I walked up to his simple, small and tidy home. Mike met me at the door.
"Dad's on the phone, and he said to wait on the back porch," Mike said as he opened the door.