First was the dishwashing. Our parents were not willing to see us sitting around the house or hanging out at the beach. The mantra that 'I had to work' was drummed into me at an early age and so when the produce manager at our local store, Larry Song asked my mother if her son (me) would like a job at the new Chinese restaurant where he was a partner? They needed a new dishwasher and my mother thought I would be perfect for that role. So one day I walked to the Restaurant, Tai Song, and asked for Mr. Song. I told him that I was interested in the job...I was soon handed an apron and some papers to sign, then I met the real dishwasher. A stainless steel monster that dominated the corner of the kitchen. But it only looked complicated and was quite easy to operate. What bothered me were the 3 chef's that stood over their Wok's. They were real prima donna's and loved to lord it over me. They spoke Chinese and I didn't, so I never knew when they were criticizing me. They would look at me and then laugh...what did that mean?
The head chef, the one at Wok #1 would frequently drink coffee and when he was through, he would look at me and say "Hey, kid" and then throw the cup. I would lean out over my work station as far as I could in a vain attempt to catch it. He knew just how to throw it. As soon as the cup hit the floor and shattered, all 3 cooks would look and laugh while the head chef would say "Godown kid, go fetch bloom" and then they would all laugh again.
Of course every job has some benefits, no matter how small. At the restaurant, the chef's would turn off the heat in the Wok's as soon as the closed sign went up at the entrance. Whatever was left in the Wok was fair game for us. The Bus Boy, a friend of mine, would bring me my small share of the tips and then we would get plates and silverware and pile on the shrimp and lobster plus anything else that looked edible. We were teen age boys so we would eat anything! Then we would go to one of the banquet rooms and enjoy it all. Sadly, I was not through as I still had a mountain of dirty dishes to wash. It didn't take all that long and then I had a short walk home, with money in my pocket and the promise of more in my paycheck. The downside was that I smelled like garbage from all of those dirty dishes I had to handle.
Just when I was becoming frustrated by my dishwashing job at the Chinese restaurant, another friend told me about a great job opportunity at the place where he worked. He was working as a liquor delivery driver for Bill’s Liquor Store. You only needed a drivers license and good recommendations for the job, since all of the bottles and cans were sealed, you didn’t need to be 21 years of age. He told me that the pay was just $1.50 an hour but what $$ you received in tips were all yours to keep and that could add up to quite a bit of money every shift.
My friend, Bob, said the job was mine if I was approved by the owner or manager. I knew where the store was located, on the s/w corner of Marine and Sepulveda, and that is where I went to meet ‘Goody,' the day manager. He was very gruff and never smiled while he asked me about my driving record. He was also a former professional wrestler. Then he introduced me to Bill, the owner of the store. Bill had the opposite personality of Goody and he smiled all of the time we talked. He had a heavy accent and was sometimes difficult to understand. I later learned that he was a Russian Jew that had escaped from Russia in the 1920’s with his wife and young son. He had bought a small grocery store and had become popular in the very small community of Manhattan Beach. The store was located on Sepulveda Blvd, the main S/N corridor in Los Angeles County. When the aircraft plants, like North American, Douglas, Lockheed and Hughes moved their factories close to the Los Angeles Airport, LAX, a lot of the work force came from the South Bay cities and they drove by his store, both going and coming to work. Besides the beer, liquor, and wine, Bill sold milk and bread plus the usual small grocery items. But what made him wealthy was the fact that he would cash payroll checks. On paydays, his store was full of workers and their paychecks at the end of every shift.
I got the job and it made me a wealthy teenager after a few years. But it wasn’t all easy money. Bob and I split the shifts so sometimes I worked in the morning (during summer break from school) and that’s when I had to stack all of the incoming deliveries, stock the big walk-in cooler, sweep the store and then the sidewalks, answer the phone and if it got very busy, I was expected to be a clerk and operate one of the big cash registers. The register had 3 drawers, one for each clerk and we had 3 of them sitting on the counter. With 3 drawers it was impossible to see over the top of them.
Sometimes I would have to deliver cases of assorted liquor to the Pen & Quill restaurant that was owned by Bill’s son, Bob. Bob Reuben had been a war correspondent during WW 2 and used his connections to help the growth of his restaurant. I would also deliver cases of liquor to all the City Council and the Police Chief during the Christmas season. The delivery ‘boys’ never got a ticket, for anything as every policeman in town knew what our delivery trucks looked like. Delivery Truck? It was a VW Van and as this was 1957, you can imagine how much power that poor little van had.
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