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[p.41: Uz Ameriku 3]
With the help of my countrymen I found work at a warehouse on the waterfront. When a ship docked for freight, then we
had to grab a hand-truck and push it around the warehouse, and up the gangway and into the ship's compartment. The same applied
to freight loaded off the ships, or material from railroad cars. The work was hard, and often led to injuries and disability.
There was still no system of workers' insurance against accidents in existence. One could get compensation if a court ordered
it. Then the employer's fault had to be proved. Even then, the request was denied if it was shown that a co-worker was at
fault, or that the injured was partly at fault, having been aware of the hazardous nature of the transported freight, or having
accepted any risks in taking on the job. In those circumstances it was rare for anyone to receive compensation for a crippling
injury, or for a killed worker's family to be provided for. There was a surplus supply of labor, and masses more were coming
from the overfilled countries of Europe.
When I accepted the job, I had to give my age. I stated that I was 22 years old, since the other Latvians had warned me
that minors wouldn''t be hired, because in the event of a disabling injury, the employer would not be able to avoid responsibility
and payment of compensation. I had grown up in height, but certainly not in weight. The warehouse floor was made of soft wood,
mainly pine. Over the years the planks had worn down so that the tough, resiny branches stuck out and caught on the wheels
of the hand carts. If you were moving at a fast pace, and carting a thousand-pound barrel of oil, then running up against
a branch [I assume he means a knot] would throw you up into the air, and the barrel would go rolling away, You'd be embarrassed,
and everyone else's curses would rain down on you. Another unpleasant job was stacking up sheet metal. Although we wore work
gloves, those were soon cut through and the sharp, burred edges cut into my hands. I had to be alert to avoid this job. Another
hard job was unloading metal pipes from railroad cars. Those came tied together by the half-dozen, and two of us had to move
them together, each of us with a metal rod which we pushed into the end of a pipe to lift them over to the edge of the car
and let them roll down some two-by-fours which had been leaned up against the side. There they were piled up until they were
delivered or transported further. At first this job seemed easy. After a while, lifting the bundles of pipes above the chest,
my arms started to get tired, and my stomach and entire torso protested, until I barely had the strength to hold on opposite
the strong, burly Polish worker on the other end.
When I crawled home from work in the evenings, I often fell into bed and couldn't get up to go to the dinner table, I
was so exhausted, and not yet eighteen years of age. It was good that we only worked ten hours a day, six days a week. On
Sundays I could go to picnics or other get-togethers. I didn't need too many hours of rest before I could 'fly' again. My
wages were low-- about ten dollars per week, if I recall. Living with my aunt, my living expenses were small, and sometimes
they were paid by my brother Fricis. I didn't have to pay my own way, either, when we went to see Buffalo Bill and his Indians
on horseback. Their show grounds and tents were set up near where we lived. I did indulge in one expenditure: buying a Remington
rifle and Fourth-of-July fireworks. I didn't have to buy my own beer either; usually one of the Rozentals (the older or the
younger, or their brother-in-law-- I think his name was Freimanis) paid. I had to take the 'pail', a small tin bucket, to
the nearby tavern and fill up five or ten cents' worth, then bring it back; then there was some for me too.
When I had worked for a while, and had saved a bit of money, I began to talk about going back to school. My co-workers
were almost all Baptists, and several had worked there for years. They recommended that I not toss aside a good job, that
it would be harder to find another one later. I think that one of them, Labzars, had earned a good amount and had bought a
little house for $1,500, becoming a homeowner. I persisted, saying I wanted to master the English language. After I also started
talking about this at home, my brother Fricis' friend, Voldemars Bekeris, took me to Chicago, to a school agency. There I
registered to attend Greer College, about 100 miles from Chicago, since there were none of my countrymen there, and I wouldn't
be sidetracked by speaking Latvian. I paid $75 for three months' tuition and living expenses, and prepared for the journey.
Voldemars Bekeris was a boxer, and he introduced me to another, Sedlins, who had already earned enough to own a tavern on
North Avenue, in a German neighborhood.
Now that I have started talking about Bekeris, I need to mention the rest. Old Bekeris was a jeweler and watchmaker, as
was his eldest son. Valdis didn't like this trade, and had devoted himself to boxing. For many years his brother owned a store
and workshop on Wilson Avenue in Evanston, which at that time was some distance away from Chicago, without any direct connection
other than the railroad. His father had (the store is still there) a larger shop in the village, now a town, of Downers Grove,
right next to the railroad station. Later it belonged to another Latvian, Radovics; now it belongs to strangers, though I
believe that Bekeris' name is still on it. Today there are no surviving members of the family; if I recall, Voldemars was
the first to die. Sedlins lived longer, and I met him in 1928 or 1929 when he came to visit [in Latvia]. Sedlins owned some
birch woods somewhere out past the Des Plaines River, where the Latvians would have their excursions; they continued to do
so after Sedlins' death, renting the grounds from his widow.
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