“All work is good work as long as it is honest work.” That was one of my late mother’s favorite statements. She hated the words used to differentiate and describe working people. There was “blue collar” and “white collar,” and I can’t imagine how she would react to “pink collar.”
The designations referred to the color of the shirt collars of workers. Blue collar was introduced in the 1920s to describe people who were considered manual laborers. The white-collar description followed in the 1930s and referred to office workers, management and professionals. The pink-collar designation arrived in the 1970s and at first described women working in service industries but now covers all service workers.
Mama said the color of your collar wasn’t as important as the green earned for your wallet and your family.
It bothered her that people on the bus she rode home from work would literally turn their noses up and complain about the smell from the garbage man, who just got on the bus after work. She reminded me that trash collectors were keeping diseases at bay.
She never understood the name changes for certain occupations, why garbage collectors became waste management workers and janitors became custodians. She would tell me, “It is not what they call you but what they pay you, Monnie.” And she was paid a lot more when she became a janitor — her choice of words — at the post office in Louisville, Kentucky. It was a union job.
Mama also cleaned other buildings for the company that hired her. She would tell me how some office workers would ignore her, not speak when spoken to. But there were the others who took time to learn about her, her name, her circumstances, her family. A bond was cemented and at times that benefited those employees. I can tell this story now that Mama is dead. This was in the days before shredders. Sometimes the trash held information about upcoming deals, positions and plans. Mama would share that information with her favorites to keep them ahead of the pack.
I learned firsthand the truth of Mama’s words. What I didn’t earn in money as a teenage worker for Top Value Stamps Redemption Center, I earned in experience. They’re lessons I still use today.
Diplomacy and customer service were taught by my manager at the redemption center. Some history: In the 1960s, when you shopped at some grocery stores you were awarded either Top Value Stamps or S&H Green Stamps for the money you spent. Those stamps would be glued into books and those books, once filled, could be redeemed for items at the redemption stores. My job was to check the books to make sure all the pages were filled. I still remember what it was like to tell someone, they didn’t have enough completed books to redeem for their item.
I learned diplomacy at age 16. I remained calm and professional while being cursed out and going to get my manager who was a pro at de-escalating volatile situations. She was respectful while being disrespected. She was concerned, nonjudgmental and empathetic. As the customer‘s voice got louder, her voice got softer. I listened and maintained a safe distance while I learned. I can’t count the times I had to use those de-escalation techniques during my 52 years as a reporter.
What that job didn’t pay in money, it paid in experience. Thanks to my mom, I learned early that no matter the job, you should always do your best and remember you are not just representing the company you work for but also your family.
The late football coach Vince Lombardi said it best: “Every job is a self-portrait of the person who did it. Autograph your work with excellence.” Notice he said every job. He did not differentiate between the different types of careers.
How you do your job can lead to another better paying job, a job with more opportunity for advancement. Mama always said, “You’re not just working a job, you are auditioning for your next job.”
That is how I got my first job in media. I was working as a teller at Liberty National Bank across the street from the Courier-Journal and Louisville Times newspapers. I helped newspaper employees with their banking, from cashing their checks to helping them balance their checkbooks. When there was an opening for a newsroom clerk at the Louisville Times, several newspaper employees recommended me. I applied and got the job, writing obituaries, writing a consumer column called “Lemme Do It” and answering the phone. When Columbia University and the Ford Foundation started the Summer Program for Minority Groups in 1968, after the assassination of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., I was selected for the print program in the summer of 1969 and returned to the newspaper as a full-time reporter.
Some might say that job was my first professional job. But I disagree. I was a professional performing my duties as a representative of Top Value Stamps and my mama, Hattie, was an office-cleaning professional.
Professionalism to me is not about degrees or titles. Professionalism is about always putting your best foot forward in whatever you do for a living. Be the example of a local TV station’s former slogan, as an employee you are “dedicated, determined and dependable.”
On Labor Day, let’s celebrate all the careers that make life livable, because, as Hattie said, “All work is good work as long as it is honest work.”
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