 To keep me out of troubles, into which idle young men are prone to get, my father found me a job with the company he was working for - which was responsible for maintaining the harbor of my native city Odessa, the Black Sea port in Southern Ukraine. We were 'Three Men in a Boat', plying the harbour’s waters, and our job was to measure the depth of it, so that the ships wouldn’t run aground. I would usually handle the oars, another man would drop a weight to take measurements and the third one would write them down. It went like this day after day, back and forth across the harbour, but I was never bored. The constant commotion, the coming and going of the ships, the smell of the sea mixed with that of the tarred ropes, the salty breeze, the scream of the seagulls, the feel of sun and wind stays forever in my memory. Of course, there were rough days, the strong wind blowing from the shore, the huge waves driving our boat into the open sea - no matter how hard I rowed, almost to the point of tearing my muscles. But, as I said, I was 16, full of strength and vigor of that age, and nothing seemed to matter. After two weeks of work I got the first paycheck and took my friends to a restaurant where we spent it all in less than an hour. My mother, who counted on it to improve our life a little, was furious. She reminded me, in no uncertain terms, how desperately poor we were and how important my wages were to make our situation a little more bearable. I was deeply embarrassed, for she was absolutely right. From then on I gave her all I earned and she would give me an allowance. I did this job for just two summers, but for the next 40 years of working - no other job gave me as much satisfaction as this first one. Of course, it was back-breaking and the pay was very low but I enjoyed it nevertheless. Now, come to think of it, this unfortunate combination of hard work and low pay has become a curse (or a blessing) of the rest of my working life. But, as the saying goes, the membership in such a not so exclusive club, has its privileges: the overworked and underpaid - since they have so little to lose and are always in great demand! Thus they have much wider latitude in expressing their opinions than your average ass-kissing, brown-nosing, ladder-climbing, money-coveting careerist! And because - no matter where I worked and what I did - I always valued freedom of expression above any career or material consideration, I found this trade-off fair enough and there was never a shortage of the greedy bosses who would put up with someone like me as long as they can work me to death and pay next to nothing! Nevertheless, working hard, being paid little, and telling honestly what one thinks regardless of the consequences, inevitably takes its toll both physically and psychologically. Now I cannot work any longer, but I still speak my mind freely no matter what. The old habit never dies. Nick Gurevich is a writer and a regular volunteer at 6 St Joseph |