GOING TO WORK WITH MY DAD

Due to the physical disability that my dad had which was a fusing of the joints, he could not longer do the farming.  He had to rent the farm out, and so took other jobs to bring in more income.  One of those jobs was working at a cotton gin keeping books.  The gin was called Clays Corner Gin, which was where the gin was located.  Once in a while, usually around the Thanksgiving holiday, I would get to go and spend the day at the gin with my dad. I looked forward to going and was excited to "help"  him with different jobs in the office.



My first task was to be my dad's eyes. He was able to still drive, a 3-speed on the column no less, which I found amazing in later years.  At the time, I did not think much of it.  We would get to the highway, and he would ask me if anyone was coming.  If he were by himself, he would just point the pickup toward the east and then look in the rear view mirror to see if anyone was coming from the west.  There were two other stop signs on the way to the gin, Again, I would be asked if there were any cars coming.

Once we got to the gin, our first job was to go in and make coffee.  Then we would take a broom and sweep the concrete floors.  There were three rooms to sweep, a main office, a smaller office which was my dad's, and a bathroom.  To keep the dust down, there was some sort of saw dust that we would sprinkle on the floors,  Then we would take the broom and clean up the place.

After this, my dad usually had some sort of bookkeeping duties. I never really understood what he did.  I loved the adding machine, and some time during the course of the day, he would let me play with it.  My dad's fingers would fly on the 10 key machine. I was truly in awe of how he never looked at the keys and entered numbers.



There were cards that were attached to a wire that went on the cotton trailers to identify who the cotton belonged to.  Those cards would eventually be wired to the cotton bale.



Sometimes we would sort those and some other type of cards, matching numbers.  There was a scale to weigh the cotton trailers, and my dad would write weights in  a book or ledger.  The trailer was weighed with the cotton on it,and then again when the trailer was empty to see how much the cotton actually weighed.



Sometimes we counted the change, which was kept in an old muffin tin.  Each hole was used for separating quarters, dimes, nickles, and pennies.  If there was enough change, we would put the coins into coin wrappers.  If the coke machine was low on sodas, we would put the more into the machine.

At lunch time, we would get out the lunch pail.  It was an old metal pail that was gray and dented. Sometimes we took sandwiches, and sometimes we had Thanksgiving leftovers.  I guess we did not worry about food poisoning or warming the food.  There was not a refrigerator that I can remember nor a way to warm up food.  We sat out our meal and then my dad would let me get a dime from the muffin tin and go get a "coke".  That was the term for all soda's in West Texas.



After lunch, I usually just had to find things to keep entertained.  I am not sure what all I did, but I kept busy.  I think there was scratch paper to draw on, I could go outside and wonder around, and farmers would come in and talk to my dad.  I often listened.  The farmers all wanted to buy me a soft drink.  There was one occasion that several bought me a soda, and I think I was not very hungry for lunch.  My dad was not aware of how many cokes I had drank.  Fortunately some of the bottles were 8 oz bottles, I did not get that much.



Another thing I liked to do was get the sugar cubes and suck on them.  My dad was pretty careful to not let me have too many of those.  There were also raw peanuts in a big bag.  I could shell and eat some of those too, but not too many, or it would cause a stomach ache.

Sometimes the gin office would get super smoky.  Almost every farmer smoked cigarettes in that time era.  It would get so smoky that you could barely see people.  At those times, I would go outside and get some fresh air.

In the afternoons, when it got really quiet, I would get so sleepy and would lay down on a couch they had in the main office and take a nap.

I remember the gin manager was a man by the name of Mr. Scott.  He had a wooden leg.  He would often take me and set me on his lap and talk to me.  His wooden leg always felt odd. That leg was hard and stiff.

Quitting time was 5:00.  I was usually ready to leave and go home.  I had done all I could think of to do, and was tired and bored by that time.


I love all the memories I have of going to the gin with my dad.  Those were special days.