I had already made plans that summer many years ago when my parents tag-teamed me with a command that shattered my world of leisure.
Son, they said, you need to get a job.
Oh, the horror. But it happens.
So, I spent the summer before my senior year in high school cleaning meat, bone fragments and blood off the machines in the meat department of a grocery store. It was dirty work, for sure, but not as difficult as trying to appease crabby, old women and men who kept ringing the buzzer to our department.
"Sorry, ma'am," I'd say, "but I can not answer your questions. One of our meat cutters will be with you shortly."
"You're an idiot."
"Yes, m'am, and have a great day."
With football fast approaching, I asked area high school coaches to share summer work experiences that either inspired or horrified them into continuing their education. I received so many responses I divided them into Part I for this week and Part II for next Sunday because of limited space.
Bryan Ross, Siloam Springs
I worked in a brick plant one summer. It was about 110 degrees because of the ovens, and the job consisted mostly of stacking bricks for eight hours a day. We had these fans on top of us, but all they accomplished was to blow the hot air around. It was miserable work to say the least. You either got paid $5 an hour, or you could be paid an incentive, based on the amount of bricks you unloaded and stacked in a day. I'm pretty sure I got my $5 an hour all summer. I somehow managed to mash fingers and toes and even had to have a brick chip picked out of my eye by a doctor. The plant manager later told my dad that they had kept a lot of kids in school after spending a summer with them.
Rick Jones, Greenwood
At different times during my "formative" years, I was a grocery store employee, hay hauler, freight dock worker, tire company truck loader, farm/ranch hand, car washer, wood chopper, yard man, door-to-door Christmas card salesman, sod layer, youth baseball umpire, and the worst of the worst, a worm ranch wrangler.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with any of these jobs. They are all noble in their own way. But having those jobs all along the way made me more sure than ever that I wanted to be a football coach. I never once thought about quitting college. If you've ever spent eight hours a day separating red wigglers from night crawlers or cramming 1,000 tires onto a 45-foot trailer during the summer heat, I promise you that the college life looks pretty good, even on its worse day.
Jeff Conoway, Shiloh Christian
Growing up in northeast Arkansas, I had several summer jobs that were "undesirable." From pitching watermelons and hay, to laying sod, and, of course, mowing yards. But the worst might have been my job as a dog kennel cleaner. I spent a lot of time picking up and cleaning up a lot of stuff that was not pleasant.
Lee Larkan, Greenland
My parents were rice farmers. It did not take long for me to figure out that a rice field in eastern Arkansas was not where I wanted to spend my life. Mosquitoes attacked from every direction, relentlessly. Did I mention the water moccasins? The work was hard, but I believe it taught me how to work hard and that the work still had to be done no matter the conditions. I still love to go home to see the beautiful fields of rice. All the more beautiful because I don't have to be up at the crack of dawn working in them.
Jeff Williams, Fort Smith Southside
I had many summer jobs, including four years with the Pocahontas Water Works. I worked with some good people there, but flushing out sewers and dealing with snakes provided me with a lot of motivation on getting into coaching, which I always wanted to do.
Zak Clark, Springdale
My first job was working for my uncle, who was a surveyor. He was gruff and tough but also very generous.
He would let me pick where we went to lunch, so long as that place was Ryan's.
The toughest day was when I had to drive stakes into the ground all over a new subdivision. It was the end of the summer, and the dirt was like cement from the lack of rain and heavy equipment that had been clearing the lots, moving dirt, etc. It was almost impossible for me to drive a post into the ground, and whenever I finally beat a stake far enough into the ground I would reward myself with a trip to the water cooler.
Finally, my uncle tired of watching me struggle with the post driver and took over. I remember watching in awe how quickly he would drive those posts into the ground. He was a big man, very strong, but I'd like to think there was something about his anger toward me that day that gave him superhuman strength.
Sports on 07/03/2016