Monday Moanin' with Bob Talbert

1936-1999

I liked the style of Bob Talbert's writing so much that I remember trying to be the first one to snag the Detroit Free Press off the front porch, in the morning, so I can open it right up to his column and read it, untouched by others. Monday Moanin' was always my favorite. I was only 12. What 12 year old read the paper? It appealed to all. Once in a while he ran an article with items written by some readers. I decided to write him in the early 80's to see if I could get in that.

The first time that I wrote him he put it in the first opening line and I got the headline too. That was pretty exciting for me so a few months later I wrote him again. The same thing happened, my words were the headline and I had the first few lines. Then a third time same thing. I was getting used to it.

Then one day he announced that he was going to let the readers write his entire column, while he was on vacation for two weeks. He gave us a month or so to submit something. I wrote every night for a month. I was actually getting in trouble for it. I was married and he was not happy with how much time I was spending on this. I did it anyway. I was on a mission. I tweeked it, fine tuned it, edited it, rewrote it and added to it. I had to submit a photo of me and had no current ones, so I sent along my photo off my high school ID card. It didn't look much like me anymore.  I finally mailed it off to him with enough time to get there by the deadline.

The day before he left for vacation he wrote that 401 people had submitted articles. He said it was really hard but they narrowed it down to 10 writers. I knew I could not make that cut. No way.

On Monday morning I got up before the Sun did to go check the Free Press and see who it was that wrote the first one. Knowing full well it wasn't me. I quickly turned to the Feature Page, I saw Ann Landers and looked right above her were Talbert usually was and saw the person that got the first day of his vacation....Jana Wallace and a photo that I didn't recognize. I closed the paper up, kind of bummed that it wasn't me. I sat there for a few minutes trying to calm myself enough to go back to sleep and thought.....wait a minute. Let me open that back up. Took a closer look and by golly it was me. How did that happen? How could I possibly beat out 401 people for one of the coveted spots in the Feature Page of the Free Press. This was big time. This was cool. I was so excited. I could not contain my excitement. I had worked so hard for this. I went and showed my husband and all he said was, "I bet you think you are hot shit now."

That was kind of a real buzz kill. After he left for work I went back to bed hugging the paper and tried to get back to sleep for a bit.

At about 11am the local radio station called and asked me if I would do an interview at Noon. I agreed and then proceeded to get real nervous. I called a friend and told her. Well, maybe a few of them. One taped the interview for me. The radio station called me right at Noon and the only thing I remember was them asking me how do I think I got the first day. Just a young woman from Jackson. How did I get picked over all the other submissions? I don't remember much about it. The friend brought over the cassette tape but I tried to listen to it and could not stand my voice and gave it back to her. I wonder if she still has it? It was Barb Winn if anyone knows her and wants to see if she still has it. I bet I could listen to it now.

Well, a few months went by. I had achieved the best that I had worked for. I went on to other things like cooking, cleaning and driving kids around.

I was cooking dinner one night and the phone rang. Kids running all over the place. The guy on the other end  appeared to have a southern accent and asked for Jana. "This is her." Then he said, "This is Bob Talbert."

Right!! Who is funnin' me? Why would he be calling me? No way. "Who is this really?" He then went on to convince me that it was him. Well, it was him. "What's up?" I ask, trying to act cool. Like this is a normal occurrence for me, to be talking to my IDOL. The man that I spent most of my teenage years reading his words, every day. The man that gave me the opportunity to write in his space. I was ecstatic. He called me to ask why I stopped writing him. I told him I had done what I wanted to do and was real busy doing other stuff with 3 young children.

I so wish he would have pushed it further and encouraged me to write. I remember talking to him for 15 minutes or so. I wish he would have directed me out of my marital misery. It was my choice to stay.

He sent me a note once. I still have it somewhere. He was cleaning out files and sent back the photo of my sons, that I had sent him. The note said he was cleaning out files and to write him sometime. Bob.

I got summoned to jury duty in Federal Court in Detroit and on the way to the court building I noticed the Free Press building. I went in. There was heavy security. You had to talk to the front desk person. I went in and asked if I could see Bob Talbert. They almost giggled and then told me that he doesn't come in much. He writes from his bedroom. I tried. 

A few years later a good friend, Dave Cummings, called me to let me know that Mr. Talbert was going to be at the Jackson Country Club to speak to the Women's Club luncheon. He was offering me a seat at his Mother's table to see him speak. I gladly accepted the invitation. How sweet was that? I ate lunch with a bunch of older women, that I did not know. I got pretty bored with the items on the agenda before the speaker. I excused myself to the bathroom and what do you know......Mr. Talbert was sitting in the side hallway waiting to be introduced. I stopped to say hi. I just looked at him and asked if he knew who I was. He said, "Absolutely!! You are one of my best writers, Jana Wallace." I am just going to fall apart with joy. I shook his hand and chatted for a bit. I am sure he asked me why I still don't write him any more. The conversation could have gone on all day and into the night but he was there to be the speaker for the luncheon. I did not want to dominate his pre-speech thoughts, so I thanked him for the opportunity and continued on to the bathroom.

I don't even remember him speaking. Not a word. All I knew was that we met, in person, in the hallway. I got to touch him. You don't even know how much I loved this amazing man and mind.

It was a few years later and the internet was just getting popular. I was looking around on the www. Surfing I guess. I ran across a headline that Bob Talbert had died that day. I am going to tell you that I was bummed. I was hurt. I was crying. He had meant so much to me. I only wish that I had paid more attention to him and realized my potential. I still don't get how you picked me out of 400 to be the first. I really don't get it.

Someday I might.



I took advanced writing at JCC a while back, I got a 4.0 and then proceeded to apply for an easy job at the Citizen Patriot. I had three interviews and did not make the cut to write the Countryside Page, in the late 80's. Not enough college. 

I wrote and published (along with Ed Childress) the newspaper about live music in the Jackson area titled The Buzz News, for a year back in 1999 or so. 

I wrote articles for a year or so for the Blazer newspaper in Jackson. My articles were quite often on the front page. 

I put together the newsletter for the art group JCAA for a year or so. 

I wrote and published the newsletter at Frost school back in the 80's. 

Pretty sure that I wrote some stuff for the Capital Area Blues Socitey newsletter. I was on the board of directors for 4 years. 

I might be expecting too much.....

Back in the 80's, when my sons were young, I signed them up for various art classes at Ella Sharp Museum. I had read the little blurbs in the newspaper about the classes they offered. I was so excited that they would be going to my beloved Ella. Growing up in Jackson, the Ella was near and dear to me. I love that park. Spent a lot of time there as a child rolling down the hills, flying kites, playing Frisbee, etc. As a teen I attended the Concerts in the Park every Sunday with a bottle of Boonesfarm wine and a couple of joints. 

We arrived just before the class was to start, I dropped them off and made sure they were secured and then went to leave. I over heard two women talking outside the door. One asked the other if she would like to go up to McDonald's for a cup of coffee. I wrongly assumed that they had just met also and asked if I could join them. I thought I was just being friendly and accepting of all. They both looked at me like, "Really, who do you think you are?" I was pretty close to devastated. I was trying my best to be friendly and make new friends and actually made a fool of myself. I am pretty sure I cried on the way home. Thinking to myself, "You dumb ass, what made you think you could just go have coffee with just anyone?" Actually, the feelings inside were similar to the *jump rope incident on the playground. I guess I just didn't get how you could talk to anyone like that. What if that person that you just rejected was sent to you for a reason. Anyway........

Fast forward to about 5 years ago.....I was asked to find a caricaturist for a local bar. I found one. We got to talking, while she was drawing and she said she had to leave early to go to an art group. I was interested. "Where is it?" Then she told me at Ella Sharp Museum. Now, I am not interested. She could tell that I changed my mind and asked me what was wrong. I said I don't really like the attitude there. She told me it really wasn't like that anymore. Everyone was friendly and welcoming. I hesitated but thought I could give it a go. 

A few weeks later I showed up and kind of sat in the back row. Not really wanting to be seen. Just wanted to feel it before I made any commitment. I was welcomed. That wasn't so bad. They made me a name tag to wear. Now, we are getting somewhere! If I raised my hand they answered my question in an informative way. I really liked the different speakers they brought in and I learned a lot about art. 

I don't fancy myself to be a public speaker and never really want to be. Sometimes it is necessary. One night they had "Story Time" where you brought a piece of art and told the story of it. I had no plan on telling a story. I was just going to listen. They started in the front row and one by one they all got up to the podium and told their story. It was usually a painting of a barn that they painted and they would tell the story of how the day went. When the Sun changed, the bugs that were biting them and the like. After they finished their story they received a round of applause from everyone in the room and then went back to their seats. 

When it got around to me I figured that I may as well give it a go. My heart will start beating like crazy, my hands will sweat but I can get through this couple of minutes. I am a trooper! I told the story of the night that I tried to draw for the first time as an adult. With a friend I decided to try and be an artist. We listened to music, painted, drank some wine and went out on the porch every hour or so to smoke a cigarette. I was crumbling up every sheet of paper. Could not get where I wanted to be. Didn't like any of them. 

About the third time we went outside, just after dark, a guy came walking around the corner and informed us that a cat was in the road apparently hit by a car. I knew my cat Smokey was out but she never left the yard. She was mostly an indoor cat and was timid. She did like to go out right before dark and chase fireflys. I guess her passion for that is what got her into the road and not looking both ways for cars. 

As I went around the corner to see if I could help remove someone's cat from the road, as I got closer I realized it was my sweet Smokey. She got hit pretty hard. She was bleeding from the mouth and not breathing. I bet I was hollering at that point. Not sure. Jimmy came and took her out of the road. He placed her in a box and let me sit next to her. I was a wreck. Smokey slept under my arm every night. I loved that cat. Jimmy asked me what I would like now. I looked at Smokey and said, "I would like her to be alive again." 

Smokey in her morning position in the Sunshine. 

We went and buried her and I came back home alone. It was then about 2 am and I walked back into my apartment and sat at the same table we were working at earlier. No music, no wine, no more cigarettes, no Jimmy to talk to. Just the blank piece of white paper and some water color paint. 

I looked at the paper and cried some more. Alone....

Then picked up the brush and started painting a little painting. It was three Poppies. One was standing up tall, the next was a little bent over and the third one had lost it's petals that were laying on the ground. I was the first one. Smokey's Mom was my other cat and she was still alive but getting on in years. Smokey was the one that lost the petals. 

The actual painting that I did that night. My first attempt at art. 

It was that night that I realized how much emotion is associated with art. 

My story was done. I waited for the applause and there was none. I walked to my seat wondering what I had done to the audience. No applause. The next person just got up and started their story. I was sitting there dumbfounded. How the heck could they not clap for such a great story? I was crying inside. I did not even want to be there. Did I tell you I was born a Leo? 

It took me a while but I got over the non-response from the art group. One member (when asked) told me that he thought they were all so overtaken with emotion that they could not clap or didn't want to clap for a story were your cat died. OK, maybe I can understand that. 

A year later, when it was story time again. I went through the same feelings only worse. Because of the non-clapping incident I hesitated once again about taking a turn. Well, I was there and I am no chicken so when my turn came around  I got up on the fly and told another story. *See the previous story, "They all come back home." About the man that built his farmhouse and how his portrait ended up on the same nail it was always on. Again......I ended up my story to no applause. A quiet room. Again I had them so emotionally distraught that they could not put their two hands together and clap? Cry? Laugh? Something. I think I cried that night. How could it happen twice to only me. Everyone else got a round of applause. What was it that I was doing wrong? Did I belong here? 

I was then asked to speak in front of the group. I had seen three years of speakers and they were always entertaining and warmly welcomed. I spoke on hand painted photos with oil paint and took the supplies for everyone to try it out. I spent a month or so researching the art of hand painting photos and presented a slide show and some historical information. I gave my little speech and invited them to try it out for themselves. Huh, what do you know there was no applause. I had never seen a speaker not be thanked with applause. I dreamed the night before that the room would become thunderous with applause. Nothing!

When I asked someone later how they saw that night and why they think no one clapped she said, "They were so excited about getting up to get the supplies and try it out, that they must have forgotten to clap." 

I am just not liking the way this is going. Three times now. I don't feel like I fit in. I can't figure out if I am someone they enjoy or if they would just like me to go away. I compiled and published their newsletter now. I volunteered for all kinds of stuff. I became a paying member and participated in their art shows and the wall of art in the hall.  I was the only one that sold a piece of art at the Art and Wine Fest. I attended all of the meetings and as soon as I got there I was approached by many, that needed to talk to me. I was into it deep now. I even entered photos into the Statewide Competition in the gallery at Ella. You had to submit and be accepted into it. I submitted two photos and got both of them in, the first time. I even sold one there. At this point the entire Granary Restaurant was filled with my photography. I was the go to person for any photos needed in the art group. It was feeling pretty good except for the clapping thing, that I didn't understand. I just knew how it felt. It did not feel good. 

Well, once a month we all brought a piece of our art and lined them up on the wall. We voted for Artist of the Month. I was the only photographer. The rest drew or painted. Some of them were really good. It was hard to win Artist of the Month. I was in the group for three years and never won. I always took something just to enter. Just to play along. Just to show off my newest piece. 

One night the Vice President got up halfway through the meeting and announced the Artist of the Month...........
It was Jana Jamieson. Oh my, that is me. Now there will be a rousing round of applause, like always. Nope. Silence. It couldn't be too emotional (like the stories) it was a photo of a blues singer with really curly hair. I sat there in the silence and saw no reason for it. Not one clap. Even the folks that voted for me failed to clap. What the hell? 

I was seriously crying inside now. It hurt bad. How could they do this? I really don't get it. Not at all. I sat through the rest of the speaker. It was a photographer that took photos of moss on the swamp and rust on stuff. I was not thrilled. She spoke for two hours on how to take photos of rusty crap. 

I got up at the end of the presentation and told one person to not expect me back......ever. I had no intention of hanging around for small talk or helping them clean up the room. 

I had enough. I was out of there. 

You really have run out of excuses for your bad behavior. I am glad I don't live in that world. 

They all come back home.......

It was a nice summer day and we decided to go out for a Sunday drive. You know, where you just drive till you get lost then find your way home. An old boyfriend and I headed South out of town on some back roads. Not sure if he had a destination, but he might have. When we got closer he asked me to turn here or there. Then he said, "Hey, pull into that driveway."

We were sitting in the driveway and he was pointing out the old barn and the hill where he used to play. This is where he grew up. An old man came out onto the back porch and asked if he could help us. My guy said, "We are just looking around, I used to live here." He asked us if we wanted to come in and see the old place. There was no hesitation, we went up to the porch and introduced ourselves. He was a very nice guy. After he retired from Ford he bought this old farm house out in the sticks and settled in. He did all the work to fix it up. It was all restored very nicely. He really wanted to show it off to us.

We entered into the kitchen that was still vintage but very nice. The one thing I remember was the "pass through" glass door kitchen cabinets. They opened on the kitchen side and on the dining room side. I was very impressed because I never heard of that before. They were original. The next thing that I had never really seen was a safe that was built in under the front stairs, by the front door. It had the name of the original home builder hand painted on the front. I think there was a scene painted on it also. Very cool. It took me back to sometime in the 1800's, when you might need somewhere to keep your possessions. It looked very original and unaltered.

We were then directed into a room that used to be the parlor. He had made a pool table room complete with the old fashioned pool table and those green shade and brass light fixtures over it. The entire home was a showcase of fine restoration. The guy did nice work. My boyfriend was so excited to see the inside of the home he grew up in. It isn't every day that you get a tour of something so memorable.

We all went into the next room. I think it was a living room. Paul (boyfriend) looked at a vintage photo of an old man in an oval frame, that hung on the wall. He asked the homeowner where he had gotten that photo. The homeowner proudly said, "About 20 miles down US-12 at an antique store." Paul was thrown aback. I think he turned a shade of green. It was a strange moment in time. The homeowner said, "Why do you ask?"
Paul then told us that the old photo was an image of the man that built the home. His name is on the safe under the stairs. "That photo was on that exact nail when I lived here, as a child!" When his Mom sold the house she liquidated some items and had sold the photo to the antique store 20 miles down US-12.

We talked for a bit, thanked the homeowner for showing us around and I don't think any of us will ever be quite the same. It was a memorable experience to have been there in that moment. I will never forget.

Damage Control and Sister Love

By the time I thought it might be best for me to do some damage control, it was too late. It never entered my mind that one person could be so evil, let alone your own sister. The one you grew up with. The one that shares the same birth mark, in the same spot on her body. I thought there was a sister code. 

Guess not. There is way too much to tell. I will try and just relate some of the stories, of the relationship of my sister and I. 

I must first clarify that I was directed to never speak of her to anyone, ever!! Any information will be about my perspective in this relationship. There will be nothing about her personal life, unless it affected me personally or was an interaction between us. 

The only snapshot of our childhood that continually comes to the surface of my memory, is the room we shared as teens. It was the master bedroom of a very big house. There was a zig zagged dividing wall down the middle, of 4' x 8' sheets of bulletin board, that were hinged together. She on one side of the wall and I on the other. It was like night and day. I could not believe how she could be so effortlessly tidy and she could not believe that I could be such a horrible slob. I seemed comfortable in my mess and she seemed happy in a pristine clean space. I guess that is when I first noticed there might be a radical difference between us. 

I frequently wanted to follow her around. I looked up to her. She rarely wanted me there and usually tried to shoo me away like a pestering bug. 

I am going to narrow down this lifetime of crap to the top 6 issues that we had. There are way more.

I got married in February of 1979. She could not find the time to come to the small wedding. She said she couldn't because she was in rehearsal for a play. I should have gotten some clue there.



She refused to ever watch my sons. Well, they did handcuff her to a chair the one and only time she stayed over to watch them. I guess I don't blame her for that. Still, she only had 3 nephews. I was the only sibling that had any children. She never remembered their birthdays, rarely got them something for Christmas, never took them anywhere and generally did not seem to care. 

I spent my childhood learning how to sew by making clothing for my Barbie doll. When my Mom sold the home that we grew up in, shortly after I graduated, she went up in the attic and took (among other items) my Barbie doll. She still has it or maybe sold it. Not sure. She told me, "Possession is 9/10 of the law. It is mine now." It isn't really about a plastic doll, it is about the attitude of the person holding it. 

She called my Mom, the week she passed away, and told her that I was trying to control her possessions and take over her life. Without time to sort out what she was told, my Mom passed away with feelings of mistrust about me. The real intent was to try and help her because she had gone through a few years of cancer treatment, mastectomy, chemo, etc. I had met with my two brothers to discuss what we might do to ease her responsibilities. My sister lived out of state. She was so out of the loop that when I told her how we planned on helping she flipped out and called Mom to tell her that we were getting greedy and wanted her money and property. She upset her pretty bad. 

I figured out (by listening to her) that she had sabotaged all family relationships. She had never given me the "benefit of a doubt". She always thought I must be wrong and spun it that way. She kept talking smack about me to everyone. 

She always did little stuff like I was sitting in her back yard talking to her and she went in and came back out with the classified ads. She sat there reading it (which seemed strange) until I asked her what she was looking for. Her answer was, "Thinking maybe you could look for an apartment in another part of town." I live, you see, across the street from her and she doesn't like it. 

We used to go up North to a cottage on Bear Lake, when we were teens. It has been over 35 years since I had been there. I loved it there. One day I asked her if we could go back up and stay in the cottage for a bit. She got all snippy with me and said, "YOU, are no longer allowed to go there!" See a previous story about my Mom giving me the safe deposit key. She however, inherited a 4 unit apartment building because I had the key. 

One Christmas instead of making plans to hang out for a bit, she saw me out shoveling the sidewalk and pulled up to the curb. She reached into her back seat and grabbed a gift bag and called me over to the open window of her car. I walked over there and she tried to hand me the gift bag. I wouldn't take it. I said hold on to that and when you have 20 minutes where we can sit down and have a cup of tea, bring it back. She asked me why I was being such a bitch about it. My only answer was, "I don't accept Drive By Christmas gifts." The gift that I had for her was up in my room. Was I supposed to run up real fast and hand it in through the open window?" She now just gathers up some old stuff in her house and puts it in a gift bag and drops it off at my front door and goes back home.

Which takes us to "The Conversation". I called her one day because I knew she had the flu. I asked her if there was anything that I could get for her. The answer was, "I don't want you to get me anything, EVER." Wow, jump back. Is there an issue? She answered....."Yes, there is. I have not liked you since the day you were born." Who would say that to anyone?? I felt like I should get to the bottom of this. She laid it on the table and I was going to help clear it off. "Let's talk about it", I said. I tried for two hours to come to some peaceful place but she wasn't having it. At one point, I asked what else was bugging her about me and she brought up that I borrowed a sweater of hers, when I was 12. That was about 40 years ago. That is the conversation that opened my eyes to all the damage she had done to family relationships. She pretty much explained it all to me, in detail. That conversation did not end well. She bitched me out that I better not meddle in telling Mike where his sperm donor lived. I had enough of her negativity and accusations of my wrongdoing. 

I am sorry but there really isn't a way to sugar coat this relationship. I live across the street from her and we have not spoke in over 3 years unless she chooses to bitch at me (only when there is a porch full of my friends over) or says hi real sweet when someone is watching her. Other than that, nothing. I don't want to talk to her. I want to talk to a sister, just not that one. 

She has never visited me at any place I ever worked. No one has ever taken a "happy time" photo of the two of us. I don't remember any good times. We went to St. Louis once on a trip to take my sons down to visit my nearly 100 year old Grandmother. The night before the planned trip she called me to say that she had to cancel the trip because she started her period. She ended up going but there was times when I wish she hadn't. 

The issues here are beyond me being able to solve them. I tried for years to be the perfect sister so as not to upset her. I still can feel the statement that she has not liked me since the day I was born. When she said that, it all started to make sense to me. All the behavior that I could not figure out, all of a sudden seemed normal for someone feeling that way. I wish it was way different but it isn't. I wish there was something I could do, but I can't. 

Life is too short for this crap!!

The Chip Chick

It all started one dark and snowy night......

I went to 7 Eleven on West Ave one night at 3 am to visit a friend that worked there. I told him I needed a job. I was 19. He had inside information that the Frito-Lay driver was about to quit. Something in my adventurous mind clicked. I can do that. I drove the next day to Ann Arbor Frito warehouse to apply for the job. I got hired, right out of high school. They needed minorities and I happened to be one. I was a female. I drove the route for a year until the pressure got so bad that I left. At the time there was only 5 sales persons in Jackson County. Four middle aged white men and myself. My route stretched from downtown Jackson, Polly's on Spring Arbor Rd., Francis St. and everything south of there on US-12 from Clinton to Jerome. It was one fifth of the territory. It was a huge job for a wisp of an 19 year old girl to do. I hung in until the company removed $1800 from my pay to cover an inventory shortage that arose when I could not do an inventory due to a 6ft. snowstorm in 1978. I could not get to the warehouse. One of the other issues that I remember is that my Regional Manager had me meet him at the restaurant in Holiday Inn, for a "6 month review" and shortly after dinner he wanted to know if I would like to go up to his room. 

I met a guy while driving the route and shortly after that married and had three children. That is another story for later. When I filed for a necessary divorce, 10 years later...I was waiting tables and did not make enough to support us. I went to work at a bridal shop doing alterations that also did not pay enough and had no health insurance for my sons. Another story for later. I got desparate to make enough to live on and jumped up on the dock at the new warehouse for Frito and asked what the chances are that I could have my job back. After extensive testing in Plymouth, I got hired again. $50,000 a year with a 401K and benefits including health insurance for the children. 

I was in the "let's do this" mode and I did. Soon after I got trained in the current way they do things, I was assigned a new route assignment that they had just brought on board. I would deliver to Airport Road Meijers, Sam's Club and the Kroger on Argyle (the day they opened). It was called TDD (total direct delivery) and my job was to decide what to order for the three stores every day and send the order in to Dallas. It would be sent to Plymouth they would put the order in a semi and bring it to me the next morning. I checked it in and filled the shelves. I was what was called the lead sales rep. for my stores. 

My average sales per week were about $12,000. A driver that delivered to smaller stores via the van style truck ran about $5,000 a week in sales. At this time the same territory as before now had 15 sales persons. Thirteen men and two women. In the warehouse on the wall every week they would post the sales of each driver in order of who sold the most. For three straight years my name was always on the very top. I was the one that you had to knock out to get to that position. 

This was not an easy job. Very demanding and took a lot of time. Our days were long. I would start at 5-6am and needed my stores looking great by Noon. The stores all wanted them to look good by 7am but that was impossible. I would get back to the warehouse by 3 to send the order, every day. Then go back out to all three stores to fill the holes. Then into the back room or behind the store to tie up all the empty boxes in bundles of 25 each. The driver picked them up in the morning. There was a lot of contact with my sales manager, the store manager, the receiver, the grocery managers and more. I merchandised all the product and controlled the back room stock. Can't have too much or too little or you would be in trouble. Just right. I had it down to a science. Just stay out of my way!!

If you had been given an End Cap (the rack space at the end of an isle) you better be back at the store a few times a day, that stuff emptied fast. I used to say if you put dog poop in a zip lock bag and put it on an end cap, it would sell. 

It was a man's world, that I tried my best to infiltrate. There were issues. I remember once the grocery manager at Meijers was telling me that I took up too much space in the back room when my order came in. They were big orders. My argument to him was that by the end of Sunday it was all gone out of the back room, so I don't think I order too much. He looked at me and said, "Fuck that!" I responded with, "I don't think a business conversation is the right place to use language like that." He apologized and said, "You are right, I will refrain from doing that." We continued the conversation about the back room space with the receiver, the store manager, the grocery manager and I. When we settled on how to solve the problem he looked right at me and said, "Can we fuck now?" I had no response. I was dumbfounded. You can't really talk back to them. They had the power. 

The one other time that I remember clearly was when I needed to ask the grocery manager if I could hang a big Race Week banner. He knew it was coming. To ask him something he usually gave you 3.2 seconds for the sales pitch, then he was gone. So, I draped it over a stack of pallets and had the 2 second request ready. I went and got him and asked if there was a space big enough to hang this banner. He walked around behind me and said, "Your ass looks big enough.". Again I did not have a response for his behavior. I did not find it funny. He must have. 

These are the two stories that stick in my head because of the emotional feeling at the time. There were many more minor ones. I started having nightmares about him. It was actually disturbing me. The pressure was pretty heavy. One afternoon when I could not deal with it, I was in the break room and saw a notice above the phone that said....if you are having trouble with any employee we don't tolerate that and would like to know, so we can resolve it. I wrote the number to the main office in Grand Rapids and called it the next day, at home. I told them some of the issues and abusive behavior of his. I really thought we would have him in check soon. Things would be alright because people should not be like this towards others. They asked my name and who I worked for. I was not comfortable telling them that. I could risk losing my great job. 

It was Memorial week and I had a semi of Lays that were on sale for $1.99  behind Krogers and Meijers. We were going to empty those semi trucks of extra product in a week. It wasn't easy. My sales that week jumped to $37,000. I had extra help from a temporary company and that wasn't enough. I called the boss in the morning and requested more help. It was a ton of product and it would be hard to be three places and keep the end caps full. He sent over my Union Steward to help me. We worked together for the next few hours, haulin' ass. 

A few days later, the pain in my ass grocery manager, passed me in an isle and pointed at me real mad and said, "WE NEED to TALK." I said OK. 

Next thing I know my boss paged me to come to the warehouse. When I got there he said he had arranged a meeting to talk about an issue. I went into his office ready to talk. He came in a while later and asked me to go wait out on the dock. In his office was him, my union steward and a Teamsters guy from Detroit. I was not real comfortable at this point. 

They talked for a half hour or so while they left me out on the dock. When they called me back in I sat (really nervous) in the chair, crossed my arms and said I would like my union steward in here with me. Something was going down and it did not feel good. My boss said, "We can't do that because he made management today." Oh shit!!. 

They informed their top sales person that they were going to fire me. "For what?" The answer was....."For not tucking your shirt in today." How would you know that? Your union steward informed us. THIS is Bull Shit!!!!  The meeting was brief. I don't remember much of it. Kind of like when you are in a car wreck. 

The next thing I remember is the Teamsters guy from Detroit (with the gold Cadillac with gold wire wheels out in the parking lot) taking me over to a table to sign the arbitration papers.  You can fight this and get your job back. As he helped me hold the papers his fancy suit drew back and I could see the full arm tattoos that the sported. I was a little scared girl at this point. 

I went home and could not believe how fast that all happened. My date for the arbitration in Detroit, at the Teamster Hall was a month or so out. I prepared my case and planned on going there alone. The night before I was to go, my oldest son Brad (about 19 at the time) refused to let me drive there alone. Smart one that Brad. I thought I could do it but I was pretty mentally shook. My hands sweat that whole way to Detroit. I got worse every mile. It might have been the worst thing I have had to endure yet. Brad stayed outside in the car and I walked into the Teamster Hall alone. I found the room and entered to see a long table that had Teamsters guys on the right side of the table and every level of manager from Frito on the left. I am surprised  that the  President of Frito-Lay isn't there. They all had brief cases full of documents and I was the scared little girl in the room that wore a fancy dress and heels to the event. If you know me at all, that was very out of character. I could barely speak. I was asked to tell my side of the story. Then some other guys spoke. It is kind of a blur to tell you the truth. They adjourned the meeting and I went home. "We will send you the findings in the mail."

Weeks went by. No mail. 

Finally the envelope came. I wanted my job back. I was jacked. The contents of the envelope was one piece of paper on Teamsters letterhead and the only sentence written on it was..... Arbitration Denied. I guess that was the end of that. 

I filed for unemployment and got the full amount for 26 weeks. $300 a week. The unemployment office determined that not tucking your shirt in was a good reason for termination. 

I went to 7 lawyers (starting in Detroit, Ann Arbor and finally in Jackson) in the next couple of years. They all would sit across the desk from me, in their fancy offices and tell me that I had a case of wrongful termination but they could not (for various reasons) take the case. They would however refer me to the next one. I found out later that if they refer me and I ever win, they would get a percentage. 

I was so upset by the whole thing and pretty much broke that I looked into it and found out that three stores in Jackson paid you if you found any stale in their stores. $1 per UPC code that you found. I knew (from working with them) that most of the other drivers never rotated their stock when they merchandised the product and all the stale dates went out on Tuesday. I would go into the stores and fill carts full of stale product, take it up to the service desk and make $20-$30 on their stale policy. I knew they would not put it back up on the shelf and the driver would have to give them credit. I was pissed at the whole lot of them. I did that for a year or so. One day I got a letter in the mail from the headquarters in Dallas. The letter was a cease and desist. They wanted me to stop this stale policy thing. I guess I signed a legal paper when I hired in that I would not take anything that I knew from when they trained me to use it against them. It scared me for a minute but I went and did it a few more times. Just to say, "You are not the boss of me."

I stopped any thing that had to do with them to heal myself. I was so ridden with anger and anxiety that I physically went numb from the waist down. I was very disturbed by the fact that someone can do a kick ass job and others can be so disturbing that I can't sleep at night and when I attempt to solve the issues....I am the one that gets screwed. 

I am not angry any more, really. I mean it. Well, yes I am a little. I was good at that job. I should not have been let go. The worst part was that ass that ratted on me for not tucking in my shirt. He was the one person there that was supposed to be there for me, not against me. 

One of the main lessons that I learned was, that world is all about "Watch your own ass."  I really don't want to be a part of that world. That is one of the reasons that I work for myself. 

I ripped up my Teamsters card and burned it.

My brother.....sorta not really

Well, we had the same parents and grew up in the same house. That is where that kinship ends. 

I don't remember much when we were kids. He was the oldest child in the family. I know he was a Boy Scout. I heard he didn't like it but my Father was a Scout Master so he really had no choice. They went to Philmont Scout Ranch once. The newspaper came in the back yard and took their photo before they left for the trip. It seemed like a big deal. He was on the JHS swim team. He played Tuba in the JHS marching band. He used to practice his part at home and we teased him because it wasn't really a tune. It sounded more like a Moose farting. He didn't really like the Princeton haircuts that my parents gave him. He might have mowed the lawn once in a while. I think he was a paper boy. 

He mostly chilled out in the Lazy-Boy chair and watched TV. He watched shows that I had no interest in at the time. Three Stooges, Science Fiction movies, Mission Impossible  Car 54 where are you?, Hogan's Heroes and Daniel Boone. Matter of fact he had a Coon skin cap. I wanted to watch shows like Leave it to Beaver and Please don't eat the daisies. Back then there was no remote control. You had to get up to change the channel but if he was in the room we watched what he wanted. There was only one TV in the house. 

His musical interests were varied and a little more mature than mine. His music pretty much drove me crazy. The one I remember most was Frank Zappa. He also listened to Country Joe and the Fish. I bet he liked whoever was at Woodstock. That was his era. He was a Hippie of sorts. Just a couple of years ago I was told, by one of his old friends,  that my music drove him crazy too. I played Elton John real loud ...over and over and over.  

He bought a car before he had a drivers license. It was an old classic Austin Healey. It was green. He kept it in the garage and worked on it. I always told him it looked like a frog. Because he had no license yet he would just drive it up and down the driveway. Back and forth. I thought it was funny that he could not leave the driveway. 

I remember him being real happy that his number never came up to be sent to Vietnam. I guess I was real happy about that too. I don't think he would have gone anyway. He would have hitch hiked to Canada or something. Some of his friends were not so lucky. 

My memory starts to get a little more clear when he moved into the basement. What a move was that! How cool. Your own space away from parents. There was a pool table down there. Posters on the walls, incense burning, ashtrays. It was teenage Heaven. I wanted to be down there. After all the basement rec room was used by all to entertain friends until he moved an old couch down there to sleep on. He really didn't like me down there. Most the time he would tolerate me for a half hour or so then get up off the couch and grab one of his nasty Frito smelling socks and shove it down my throat. I would leave. Didn't want to but that wasn't much fun. Once in a while I would go down to visit and some of his friends would be over. They were so stoned. I did not know what stoned was but they put me to work rolling a joint or two for them. They taught me how. How cool was that. It was 1970. I guess you had to be there. 

Next thing I know he announced that he was moving to California. Wow. Really? California? I guess he worked at a gas station and he sent home a couple photos from there. I think he came back and moved into the basement again. Not sure. It is kinda faint. 

He moved into an apartment next. My Mom owned the building on Michigan Ave. He let me visit once in a while. I heard recently that there was some really good parties there. I do remember going there with my Mom once because she suspected him smoking pot. She looked through his drawers. She found some. She went home and called the police to report that he had Marijuana. I do not know what ever happened with all that. 

I might get some of the time line screwed up but I think he moved to Arizona next. He just up and left. Might have had something to do with the police report. Not sure. The story goes that he called up one of his old girlfriends and asked her to come be with him down there. Late 70's. She agreed. He had a vasectomy before she got there. Never to have children. They got married in 1977 at 7pm with 7 people in the wedding on the 7th day of the 7th month at the edge of the Grand Canyon. No one in the family was invited. 

He got his own apartment building in the disbursement of my Grandmother's property so he came back to Jackson. My Grandmother had not passed away yet but had Alzheimers and was in a care home. My Mother was deciding who got what. I went there to visit him quite a few times.It was just a block up from where I lived.  We usually played Trivial Pursuit. It was a popular game then. Just out on the market. He liked to play it because he was an avid reader and always won.  He was the front desk clerk at the new Sheraton Inn in downtown Jackson. There was no caller ID then and a few times I would call him up and he would answer the phone like Richard Nixon or various other movie stars or politicians. While he was living there he called me up to pick my brain. He knew my husband was making money on the side doing various things. He wanted to ask me what I think he could do to make money. I had just read an article in the paper about a new class at JCC for clowns. I forgot to tell you that the best asset that he possessed was his sense of humor. He was pretty crazy and really funny. He latched right on to that idea and went to clown classes. 

He created his own clown personality. It was Capt. Squint. He learned to juggle and make balloon animals. He started entertaining kids. I remember once he came down and did his thing for my son's birthday party. It was a big deal. He found his calling. He was pretty good at it. 

Right when he was forming the face make up he invited me over to his apt. to see how he did it. I was sitting at his kitchen table so proud of him and what I had directed him into. He was almost done with the final look and a knock came at the back door. It was the lady next door. He had no phone so she came to bring him a message from family. My Mother had just passed away. The neighbor left and we sat back down and he asked me if I thought he should remove the clown make up before he went to be with her. Yes, I think that might be best. 

I had three sons by now and even though he entertained kids for money he really did not like the sound of Hot Wheels in his driveway. He wanted me to keep them away. He liked quiet. So did his wife. He also refused to ever babysit until they turned 18. 

Well, he hung out in that building that he was given until my Grandmother passed away. He put the building up for sale and sold it pretty quick. What he didn't know was that house still had a $12,000 bank loan on it. He never bothered to check. The estate was still making the payments. At the closing he was told that he could sell it but he had to pay the loan off first, off the top. He wanted out of town now, so he agreed. A few months later he hired a Jackson lawyer and took the rest of us to court for our share of his loss. We all got an apartment building for free with no loans and because it was all supposed to be dispersed equally, he figured we all owed him $3000. The three of us go to probate court and his lawyer explained it to us. I was thinking BULL SHIT. His lawyer took us out in the hall and explained that if we all argue there won't be anything left in the estate (cash wise) because the lawyers would get all of it. So, we all went back in and agreed to pay him. I had no clue how that was going to happen on my part. I was the only one that was trying to feed three kids. He kept hounding me for the $3000. I finally called him and said that isn't going to happen. I did however offer to make him a new clown costume. I suggested that he send me a drawing of what he wanted. He never sent it. I can't make shit up. So, I never paid him. The building he got was way nicer than mine anyway. 

He has lived in Arizona since then. He came back once in the last 30 years. It was to attend his wife's parents 50th anniversary party down at St. Marys and then PJ's for the after party. We chatted some. He sat there for a couple of hours in PJ's making balloon animals and flowers. The entire 20ft table where everyone was, was covered with balloons. It was getting kinda full and I knew others in the room so I got up and took some balloon flowers to a couple gals that I knew across the room. When I got back he asked me if I really was a lesbian. He was thinking I might be. 

He was staying up the street on that visit and in the morning, well Noon or so....I called up there and asked him if my sons could come up and say hi. They had not seen him in 10 or more years. He said, Not really. I said they really want to see you. He said his wife had a headache and did not want kids around. I said they are not little anymore. They are now 17-15 and 13. He still said no they were not interested in seeing them and they would be going back to Arizona in an hour or so and really needed to pack. That was the last I heard or seen of him. I really wasn't interested in communication at that point. I guess he wasn't either. 

Fast forward to a few years ago, soon after I made a Facebook page. I got a message from a young man that asked me if I had a brother named ****. I said I did and he explained that he was his Son. I asked him to send me a photo and sure enough you can not deny that face. I no longer have the pleasure of a relationship with my own brother. It never really was great. I do miss his humor, his intelligence and his face. I have an even greater pleasure of getting to know his son that he won't acknowledge. It was such a joy to connect with him. He even visited me in person (from Texas) and introduced me to his sweet wife and their three lovely daughters. What makes Mike such a good Father is growing up knowing how it feels to not have one in his life. Love you Mike!!

Some things I will never understand and sometimes I feel ashamed that my last name is Jamieson.