Forty words a minute? Pa-shaw! I had speeds higher than that in high school on old, rackety, clackety typewriters. Surely I could meet the Nevada State Personnel's requirement. But I hadn't used those skills much in 16 years. Reno Business School to the rescue for a short brush-up course. I was still a disaster on a 10-key. No shorthand, either. I hoped it wouldn't matter.
It was late summer. August 1979, in fact. After all my attempts at self-employment and part-time, short-time, day-time, night-time, all-the-darn-time jobs, often keeping more than one going at a time, I applied, tested, interviewed and was hired for a 'real' job with benefits for me and my kids and a regular paycheck! They were looking for a typist. I now had a little white card stating that I could type 80-WPM error free, down some from my 100-WPM in high school, but good enough to get my foot in the door! My starting salary of $4.09/hr. wasn't enough to pay my bills but there was opportunity to advance. I hoped I could keep some part-time work going at night from home, in the meantime. With a couple of weeks left until the school year began for my kids, there was still the worry about them being safe at home alone. So began more than twenty years of employment with the University of Nevada, Reno, the College of Agriculture, the Department of Agricultural and Resource Economics.
Office attire? Good grief. I had none of that. I showed up for work on my first day wearing what I had, a wrap around, crinkle cotton, navy blue (Making Peace with Blue) skirt and a plain white top, a beat up pair of shoes that a good scrubbing in the sink and polish helped some but not much. I washed my clothes out in the bathroom sink every night, ironed them every morning and wore them again, every day until I could justify spending for something more.
The first day was hectic. I was marched down the hall to meet the dean of the College. He greeted me with, "So I hear you can type?" The first of the faculty I met came through the office door, leaned on the divider separating four of the front office work stations and asked, "Well, can she type?" During that week, I had plenty of opportunity to prove that, indeed, I could!
Someone needed data entry done so they sat me down in front of a main-frame computer-center-connected drone thing-a-ma-jig, not quite a free-standing PC but as close as I'd ever been to a computer before. That was pretty monotonous. The Linear word processor was, again, something new to me. There were no PCs yet for department use, mostly Selectric's in the office plus a couple of electronic, limited-memory typewriters. One of the faculty was building the department's first PC in the back room. When that was up and running, it was a shared machine. To aid in the 'sharing', another secretary and I were writing a manual for using Word Star, I think it was called. I finished doing my little bit on the PC one day, stood up and flipped the off switch, as I'd been instructed to do. Behind me, the most awful gasp filled the room! One of our grad students sitting at another data-dog machine, connected it to the same bar plug as me and whoosh...! Two hours of data entry were lost with my one flip of the switch! Like I've always said, "Sharing is highly over-rated!"
Near the end of my first week on the job, my 7-year old called me, hysterical the minute she heard my voice on the phone. Someone was hurt at home. I did just what you don't do in the first week of a new job, unless you're a mom. Rushing the drive home, I wondered if I'd have a job to go back to the next day. Who was hurt? How bad? "How will I pay for a trip to the ER?", talking out loud to myself. Those blessed benefits I had cheered about having were not available, yet. Then the guilt settled in to mess with my mind, for not being at home with my kids. But I had to work. We wanted food served with our meals, right? And a roof over our heads? When I opened the front door, I saw blood spattered on the walls, the ceiling, down the hallway! My son, the ten-year-old, was fixing cold drinks for himself and his sister. He caught his finger in the ice crusher, panicked and ran through the house waving his blood-spurting finger in the air, leaving a spotted path as he went. Several stitches put his finger back together and I had my first class in: Mothers at the Office 101--How to Keep Your Job While Saving Your Child.
The phone rang at my desk. My daughter was calling to report that two strange men had been parked in front of our house for some time. They were throwing empty beer bottles on our lawn. Her brother was out, delivering papers on his route. She was scared. At the risk of having a social worker pay me a visit with questions of why my child, under 12 years old, was at home alone and unsupervised, I called our local police. "We'll check it out." Time passed. Back on the phone with my daughter. No police car. And thankfully, no social worker. As soon as my neighbor came home, she rescued my child. The drunks? They had the wrong house. They had their baseball bat ready and were laying in wait for a guy in the next block--a domestic dispute.
Crime seemed far removed from our middle-class neighborhood, I would say. We lived on a dead-end street newly built in '76. Lots of families. Kids played free and safely outside, rode bikes, skated and were back and forth between houses. We knew the adults who belonged to the kids. Yet. returning from work one day, I was blocked from entering my subdivision by police cars everywhere, a bullet-riddled Volkswagen left parked in the middle of the street just a couple of blocks from my house. Another domestic dispute. Once I was given the go-ahead, I couldn't get in the house fast enough. Everyone was SAFE!
Everyone on campus knew Dr. Champney. He was 'the' advisor for all incoming freshman. He became a lifeline for many at school, a reference after graduation. His office was just a small cubicle. The records he kept had outgrown his storage space. Stacks, some piled as tall as he could reach, filled the room leaving space for a small desk, his chair and one for a student. He knew exactly where to put his finger on every piece of paper, every file. He loved cherry pie. It was always a gamble whether or not I could bake a good one. He'd chuckle, pick up a spoon and say, "Just the way I like it!" when my filling had not set up. Licking his finger, he made sure to get every crumb of crust!
Chauncey, in the office, Dr. Ching to others, was professionally prolific. He was completing a text book when I met him. He was the department chair, taught semester classes and always had a line of students waiting in the front office to talk with him. Faculty submitted work to our supervisor to be prioritized, and shared by the pool. Our supervisor was weary of office tedium and bored so instead of including herself in the work sharing, she distributed it all to the pool. She kept up the social end of things, department, college, and campus-wide. Once Chauncey discovered I could transcribe from tape quickly with accuracy, producing a final copy on the first draft most of the time, I arrived each morning to find his stack of tapes at my desk. I'd complete those plus whatever he produced during the day, and come back to a fresh stack the next morning! I assumed the man never slept!
Dr. Ching invited me and my kids to join his family for dinner and the stage show, "Annie". I had worked hard on a special project. He had no way to compensate me financially via the State system. This was his way of acknowledging my extra effort. I had a dress I'd used to attend a function while working at the flower shop. Awful dress! I'd have to make it do. Jennifer had school dresses. There must have been something there to work with but Todd had only ragged tennis shoes and holey, high-water jeans, at the time. Then the mail came. Jean, my brother's wife, had sent us a care package--a box of returns from Sears shoe department. And miracle of miracle's, there was a size 12 EEE+ pair--a high-top work boot. Close enough! I polished them and had Todd wear his least ragged jeans, pulling them down as far as possible to cover some of the boot. We must have looked like rag-a-muffins or kin of Jed Klampet, out on the town. I was a bundle of nerves. The Chings and I had a good laugh over that night when it was over. I found out that they had been as nervous as I was, hoping we would enjoy their company and have a good time.
Michael was the kind of man who came into the office, shook your hand, looked you in the eyes and spoke to you, then waited for your response, and listened. Not everyone we worked with or for treated secretaries with that kind of respect. Mr. Mooney was an Extension faculty member, whose office was in Las Vegas. He came to our office now and then to work on joint projects with other department faculty. One winter morning, there was a long, white box, I mean BIG, tied with a beautiful red bow sitting on my desk when I walked into the office. No card. It wasn't my birthday. I got quite a surprise when I opened it. There, folded in white tissue wrapping, was a beautiful, shades of gray and stylish, wool winter coat. He had noticed me coming and going in winter weather, without a coat on. I didn't have a coat. Thanks, to that sweet man!
Working in this big office was quite a leap for me--18 professors, not quite a dozen grads on assistantship, a few post graduates--Research Associates, numbers of undergrad student workers, sometimes five or more secretaries and Extension personnel, in the field. It was exposure to the world, for me as well, having many international students on campus, hearing English as a second language and lots of varied handwriting to get use to. I had been a stay-at-home working mom for 14 years. I felt the need for something to hide behind as I acclimated to my new surroundings. Birthday cake seemed like a good idea.
Chauncey was delighted to find out I could bake. He even mentioned it in my evaluation. In full support, he insisted that everyone take a few minutes of their busy day to join together in the conference room, have a slice, and chat. His only rule was: "No shop talk." He suggested these few minutes be used to get to know one another as individuals. Cake? Pie? No one had to be asked twice. And the work still got done. Dr. Garrett asked for recipes. He was a candy maker, himself. Anything chocolate got rave reviews. Homemade ice cream was a real hit in the middle of a work day! Mr. Shane got his boob cake! Yes, you read that correctly! He was having his year-forty life crisis? What else could I do? Folks from the dean's office wandered down if there was pie. The Ag College community seemed to enjoy my commercial-sized from-scratch pound cake with cream cheese frosting and a fruit filling, served at the gathering to say goodbye to Chauncey when he returned to Hawaii.
We came together to celebrate--promotions, graduations, new arrivals, departures. The secretaries hosted themed parties, annually. Faculty played hand-ball and racket ball during lunch. The department formed a baseball team. We got to know their families at our annual 'Back to School' picnic in the fall and at orientation, held for new grads coming in on assistantship. Students came back after graduation to say hello. Dr. Champney kept track of almost everyone and knew where they were on their career paths. I think he and Dr. Garrett flipped burgers for every student function ever held on UNR's campus!
The department was very good to me in those first years. I was often invited to lunch, a real treat for me. Dr. Garrett bought me my first microwave counter top oven, a thank you for all the department baking. I took my first computer class from him in the lab he was instrumental in acquiring for the College. Jenn and I were hostesses running the kitchen for his daughter's wedding. And from Dick, I received one of my most unusual gifts--clogging shoes and classes! It was surprisingly fun!
I worked for six different department chairmen and for the Nevada State Extension Horticultural Specialist during my years on campus. I got along with most and learned to endure others. I sat in every chair and held every position. Typing was no longer the only skill I could list on a resume'.
One stormy morning on my drive to work, I stopped for a red light at an intersection. I usually drove with my car doors locked but I had just let Todd out at school and hadn't re-locked the passenger door. A little old lady in bright blue tennis shoes, waiting on the corner for a bus, flung open my car door and was inside in a flash. I was speechless! The light changed. There was no where to pull over or stop. Cars were sliding off the streets, visibility was poor. As I moved with the traffic, she began talking a mile a minute, telling how she'd once been a wealthy woman living in San Francisco. She said she was just too cold to wait any longer for the bus but when I asked her where she wanted to go, she was vague. She kept telling me that she had a job downtown but as I mentioned the major streets where I could take her, she would just say, "Oh, anywhere, just anywhere," and then go on with her story, more eccentric and mysterious by the minute. It was very cold for this little old woman to be out without gloves and only a light coat, wearing bright blue cloth shoes but finally I let her out on a corner in Reno's casino district. She offered me a quarter for my trouble and went right on with her babbling as she got out of the car. I was late to work but had a good story to tell.
Life-changing events during my stint at UNR? I became single again, got the RA diagnosis (Arthur and Ritis), was an empty nester, then the grandkids moved in, all things that became a part of who I was then and who I have become, now.
There is certainly more to tell about life in the office. There was the time that ... well, I'll save that for later.
The first day was hectic. I was marched down the hall to meet the dean of the College. He greeted me with, "So I hear you can type?" The first of the faculty I met came through the office door, leaned on the divider separating four of the front office work stations and asked, "Well, can she type?" During that week, I had plenty of opportunity to prove that, indeed, I could!
Someone needed data entry done so they sat me down in front of a main-frame computer-center-connected drone thing-a-ma-jig, not quite a free-standing PC but as close as I'd ever been to a computer before. That was pretty monotonous. The Linear word processor was, again, something new to me. There were no PCs yet for department use, mostly Selectric's in the office plus a couple of electronic, limited-memory typewriters. One of the faculty was building the department's first PC in the back room. When that was up and running, it was a shared machine. To aid in the 'sharing', another secretary and I were writing a manual for using Word Star, I think it was called. I finished doing my little bit on the PC one day, stood up and flipped the off switch, as I'd been instructed to do. Behind me, the most awful gasp filled the room! One of our grad students sitting at another data-dog machine, connected it to the same bar plug as me and whoosh...! Two hours of data entry were lost with my one flip of the switch! Like I've always said, "Sharing is highly over-rated!"
Near the end of my first week on the job, my 7-year old called me, hysterical the minute she heard my voice on the phone. Someone was hurt at home. I did just what you don't do in the first week of a new job, unless you're a mom. Rushing the drive home, I wondered if I'd have a job to go back to the next day. Who was hurt? How bad? "How will I pay for a trip to the ER?", talking out loud to myself. Those blessed benefits I had cheered about having were not available, yet. Then the guilt settled in to mess with my mind, for not being at home with my kids. But I had to work. We wanted food served with our meals, right? And a roof over our heads? When I opened the front door, I saw blood spattered on the walls, the ceiling, down the hallway! My son, the ten-year-old, was fixing cold drinks for himself and his sister. He caught his finger in the ice crusher, panicked and ran through the house waving his blood-spurting finger in the air, leaving a spotted path as he went. Several stitches put his finger back together and I had my first class in: Mothers at the Office 101--How to Keep Your Job While Saving Your Child.
The phone rang at my desk. My daughter was calling to report that two strange men had been parked in front of our house for some time. They were throwing empty beer bottles on our lawn. Her brother was out, delivering papers on his route. She was scared. At the risk of having a social worker pay me a visit with questions of why my child, under 12 years old, was at home alone and unsupervised, I called our local police. "We'll check it out." Time passed. Back on the phone with my daughter. No police car. And thankfully, no social worker. As soon as my neighbor came home, she rescued my child. The drunks? They had the wrong house. They had their baseball bat ready and were laying in wait for a guy in the next block--a domestic dispute.
Crime seemed far removed from our middle-class neighborhood, I would say. We lived on a dead-end street newly built in '76. Lots of families. Kids played free and safely outside, rode bikes, skated and were back and forth between houses. We knew the adults who belonged to the kids. Yet. returning from work one day, I was blocked from entering my subdivision by police cars everywhere, a bullet-riddled Volkswagen left parked in the middle of the street just a couple of blocks from my house. Another domestic dispute. Once I was given the go-ahead, I couldn't get in the house fast enough. Everyone was SAFE!
Everyone on campus knew Dr. Champney. He was 'the' advisor for all incoming freshman. He became a lifeline for many at school, a reference after graduation. His office was just a small cubicle. The records he kept had outgrown his storage space. Stacks, some piled as tall as he could reach, filled the room leaving space for a small desk, his chair and one for a student. He knew exactly where to put his finger on every piece of paper, every file. He loved cherry pie. It was always a gamble whether or not I could bake a good one. He'd chuckle, pick up a spoon and say, "Just the way I like it!" when my filling had not set up. Licking his finger, he made sure to get every crumb of crust!
Chauncey, in the office, Dr. Ching to others, was professionally prolific. He was completing a text book when I met him. He was the department chair, taught semester classes and always had a line of students waiting in the front office to talk with him. Faculty submitted work to our supervisor to be prioritized, and shared by the pool. Our supervisor was weary of office tedium and bored so instead of including herself in the work sharing, she distributed it all to the pool. She kept up the social end of things, department, college, and campus-wide. Once Chauncey discovered I could transcribe from tape quickly with accuracy, producing a final copy on the first draft most of the time, I arrived each morning to find his stack of tapes at my desk. I'd complete those plus whatever he produced during the day, and come back to a fresh stack the next morning! I assumed the man never slept!
Dr. Ching invited me and my kids to join his family for dinner and the stage show, "Annie". I had worked hard on a special project. He had no way to compensate me financially via the State system. This was his way of acknowledging my extra effort. I had a dress I'd used to attend a function while working at the flower shop. Awful dress! I'd have to make it do. Jennifer had school dresses. There must have been something there to work with but Todd had only ragged tennis shoes and holey, high-water jeans, at the time. Then the mail came. Jean, my brother's wife, had sent us a care package--a box of returns from Sears shoe department. And miracle of miracle's, there was a size 12 EEE+ pair--a high-top work boot. Close enough! I polished them and had Todd wear his least ragged jeans, pulling them down as far as possible to cover some of the boot. We must have looked like rag-a-muffins or kin of Jed Klampet, out on the town. I was a bundle of nerves. The Chings and I had a good laugh over that night when it was over. I found out that they had been as nervous as I was, hoping we would enjoy their company and have a good time.
Michael was the kind of man who came into the office, shook your hand, looked you in the eyes and spoke to you, then waited for your response, and listened. Not everyone we worked with or for treated secretaries with that kind of respect. Mr. Mooney was an Extension faculty member, whose office was in Las Vegas. He came to our office now and then to work on joint projects with other department faculty. One winter morning, there was a long, white box, I mean BIG, tied with a beautiful red bow sitting on my desk when I walked into the office. No card. It wasn't my birthday. I got quite a surprise when I opened it. There, folded in white tissue wrapping, was a beautiful, shades of gray and stylish, wool winter coat. He had noticed me coming and going in winter weather, without a coat on. I didn't have a coat. Thanks, to that sweet man!
Working in this big office was quite a leap for me--18 professors, not quite a dozen grads on assistantship, a few post graduates--Research Associates, numbers of undergrad student workers, sometimes five or more secretaries and Extension personnel, in the field. It was exposure to the world, for me as well, having many international students on campus, hearing English as a second language and lots of varied handwriting to get use to. I had been a stay-at-home working mom for 14 years. I felt the need for something to hide behind as I acclimated to my new surroundings. Birthday cake seemed like a good idea.
Chauncey was delighted to find out I could bake. He even mentioned it in my evaluation. In full support, he insisted that everyone take a few minutes of their busy day to join together in the conference room, have a slice, and chat. His only rule was: "No shop talk." He suggested these few minutes be used to get to know one another as individuals. Cake? Pie? No one had to be asked twice. And the work still got done. Dr. Garrett asked for recipes. He was a candy maker, himself. Anything chocolate got rave reviews. Homemade ice cream was a real hit in the middle of a work day! Mr. Shane got his boob cake! Yes, you read that correctly! He was having his year-forty life crisis? What else could I do? Folks from the dean's office wandered down if there was pie. The Ag College community seemed to enjoy my commercial-sized from-scratch pound cake with cream cheese frosting and a fruit filling, served at the gathering to say goodbye to Chauncey when he returned to Hawaii.
We came together to celebrate--promotions, graduations, new arrivals, departures. The secretaries hosted themed parties, annually. Faculty played hand-ball and racket ball during lunch. The department formed a baseball team. We got to know their families at our annual 'Back to School' picnic in the fall and at orientation, held for new grads coming in on assistantship. Students came back after graduation to say hello. Dr. Champney kept track of almost everyone and knew where they were on their career paths. I think he and Dr. Garrett flipped burgers for every student function ever held on UNR's campus!
The department was very good to me in those first years. I was often invited to lunch, a real treat for me. Dr. Garrett bought me my first microwave counter top oven, a thank you for all the department baking. I took my first computer class from him in the lab he was instrumental in acquiring for the College. Jenn and I were hostesses running the kitchen for his daughter's wedding. And from Dick, I received one of my most unusual gifts--clogging shoes and classes! It was surprisingly fun!
I worked for six different department chairmen and for the Nevada State Extension Horticultural Specialist during my years on campus. I got along with most and learned to endure others. I sat in every chair and held every position. Typing was no longer the only skill I could list on a resume'.
One stormy morning on my drive to work, I stopped for a red light at an intersection. I usually drove with my car doors locked but I had just let Todd out at school and hadn't re-locked the passenger door. A little old lady in bright blue tennis shoes, waiting on the corner for a bus, flung open my car door and was inside in a flash. I was speechless! The light changed. There was no where to pull over or stop. Cars were sliding off the streets, visibility was poor. As I moved with the traffic, she began talking a mile a minute, telling how she'd once been a wealthy woman living in San Francisco. She said she was just too cold to wait any longer for the bus but when I asked her where she wanted to go, she was vague. She kept telling me that she had a job downtown but as I mentioned the major streets where I could take her, she would just say, "Oh, anywhere, just anywhere," and then go on with her story, more eccentric and mysterious by the minute. It was very cold for this little old woman to be out without gloves and only a light coat, wearing bright blue cloth shoes but finally I let her out on a corner in Reno's casino district. She offered me a quarter for my trouble and went right on with her babbling as she got out of the car. I was late to work but had a good story to tell.
Life-changing events during my stint at UNR? I became single again, got the RA diagnosis (Arthur and Ritis), was an empty nester, then the grandkids moved in, all things that became a part of who I was then and who I have become, now.
There is certainly more to tell about life in the office. There was the time that ... well, I'll save that for later.
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