That's what a coworker said to me last night during a break. I really hadn't given it that much thought seeing as I'm more distracted by Bruce's illness. I've been giving it some thought this morning.
I haven't been unemployed since I was 9. I started raking leaves, shovelling driveways, and picking up little odd jobs from the neighbors. My older brother had the afternoon Wilmington News Journal paper route. There was an old retired guy who delivered stacks to the various delivery boys and businesses. At the ripe old age of 10 I talked the motor route newspaper guy into letting me help him deliver the Saturday afternoon stacks to the different stores in town. By 12 (the minimum age for delivery boys) I got the local morning paper route. Soon after, I took over my brothers afternoon route. Not being one to idle time away I soon started cutting grass and trimming for some of the neighbors. That paid considerably more than delivering newspapers and the hours were better.
I left my career in media behind me. I had triumphantly returned to the lawn care biz. Not much I can say about it. I was just a kid, cutting five lawns, raking leaves, and trimming. I still shovelled snow during the Winter months. One thing I did learn during this time was that I wanted a nice inside job when I grew up.
That would last until I turned 16. At 16, in New Jersey, you were old enough to work real jobs. My brother Bruce had started working at a restaurant as a busboy and dishwasher. Dishwashers made minimum wage. In the day that was a whopping $2.35 an hour. Bussing tables paid only $1.12 per hour, but we made a percentage of the waitresses tips. Still, it was more lucrative than the "yard boy" circuit, so off to the food service trade I went. They couldn't give me enough hours. I was working anywhere from 25 to 40 hours a week during the school year and 40 hours a week during the Summer. This isn't to say all I ever did was work. I worked mostly at night so I had my days available for the usual swimming, fishing/crabbing, and general kid stuff during the days. I was saving money for college and was highly motivated.
In a decision between aviation and culinary arts that came down to nearly the last minute, I began my collegiate career. My first love was aviation, but cooking was a really close second. I decided that air traffic control was my calling. I was going to enlist in the United States Air Force at one point but there was one small problem. Dad wanted me to go to college. I had both the aptitude and the grades. Kevin and Bruce were by this time already in the Navy. My guidance counsellor found this small college in New Hampshire that fit the bill. Daniel Webster College had a co-op program with the Boston Air Route Traffic Control Center. I had a goal and now I had a plan to get there.
My first semester as a college student. I had saved enough money to pay for the year. I didn't want to screw it up. For the first time in years the only work I concentrated on was my school work. It was all new but I thrived on it. Christmas break came. My first report card arrived in the mail on, or near 23 December. I ran to the kitchen where Dad was making a pot of his "family famous" chili. He grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and we sat down at the kitchen table. I slowly opened the envelope. He looked at me and said, "Well?" I had four A's and one B+. It would be one of the last good memories we'd share. He'd live for just a few more weeks.
I thought I was working a lot of hours before. I came home from college determined to make it on my own without help from Mom. She still had my younger brothers in the house and Gary was most certainly going to college after high school.
My old boss Gus was thrilled to have me come back to work for him. He put me on 40 hours, gave me a raise, and put me at the top of the list to work any of the catering jobs in the banquet halls attached to the restaurant. Soon I noticed an ad in the newspaper. A local liquor store had an opening for a stock boy/delivery boy with negotiable hours. The owners liked what they saw in me and I got the job. I explained my situation. The other stock boy was a college student too. We were sort of in the same boat so we agreed to work out a schedule that would meet both our employer's and our needs. My 80+ hour work weeks commenced in full. That's what my Summer's would look like for the next four years.
My days of leisure were over in college as well. I took a position as an RA on campus. This was beneficial. My room and board was my compensation. This took a couple thousand dollars off my bill and it gave me time to study. I took a maintenance job at the local Children's Museum. That was good for about 25 hours a week. I did third shift data entry. The pay was good, but that shift took a terrible toll on both me and my grades. I was getting migraines and my grades dipped down to all B's. Ronald Reagan had arrived at the White House. He cut the Federal budget way down. The co-op program got axed the year my class was to compete for the 12 slots. One year later he made up for it by firing most of the Air Traffic Controllers who had participated in an illegal strike. The dream that had seemingly slipped away had come back into play full force. I stayed in school and finished my four year degree. There was no way the PATCO controllers would get rehired and no way the FAA was going to replace the 11,000+ openings in two years.
With everything considered, I averaged 80+ hour work weeks for four years straight. Even after I graduated and was waiting to get picked up by the FAA I maintained that schedule.
The last 25 years have been equally as wearisome. I've worked in three 24 hour facilities. We never close. We're there every day of the year. It has been all shift work, save the time from 2003 until 2005 where I was medically disquallified. I'll tell you about that some other time. Because of the way our schedules are run, there have been many times I've had only 8 hours of rest between shifts. Two nights, two days, followed by a midnight shift has been the norm. It ruins your Circadian rhythm. Many of us air traffic controllers have sleep disorders in varying degrees of severity. I have horrible sleep patterns. Mind you, I'm not whining here. These are plain and simple facts. I knew I'd have to endure them for some time.
But not for long.
My coworker was right. Starting 1 March, for the first time since 1970, all 24 hours of the day belong to me.
My life's going to be VERY different.
Air Traffic Mike
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