What Labor Day Means To Me

Me, ca. 1955 (age 2), putting a saw to some wood. Project unknown?

My father sacked groceries, worked in his brother's tire store, built Douglas A-20 Havoc attack aircraft, joined the Navy and went to war, came home to work for the phone company collecting pay phone coins, finally ascending into management. His father (and mother) was an itinerant preacher who lived hand-to-mouth. My mother worked as a clerk for Procter & Gamble, was a seamstress, and a payroll clerk for the Federal Aviation Administration. Her father was a farmer and carpenter; her mother a seamstress. They lost their farm to a land bank during the Depression; finally saving enough to buy it back.

Because of my college education, I was hired into management; made it up the ladder a couple of rungs before retiring. My wife held the critical “job” of homemaker, raising our three; but she went to work for Hallmark for ten years to help put those boys through college. My wife’s father, also a WWII veteran, came home and started his own lumber business, cutting timber and later building pallets. My wife’s mother managed some rental property and sewed her five children’s clothing. Our parents lived through the Depression.

On trash days, wearing a business suit ready to go to his office, dad was known to help the garbage collectors with our cans. Ask why, he’d reply “There is dignity in all labor“. He and mom always lived below their means. We were the last to have a clothes dryer, a color TV, a microwave oven. I remember using pickle juice as salad dressing; having saltines and milk as an after school snack. I wore homemade clothing until high school. A Schwinn bicycle was my transportation until I was a junior in college. Why? My parents saved to put me through college. My wife’s parents managed similarly for their children. The apple fell close to those trees.

We count ourselves very fortunate. We put three sons through college, help them where and when we can, and are especially grateful now, in a pandemic when so many are financially challenged because of lost employment. We count our blessings…  and honor the example set by our parents: an honest, earnest work ethic that is never afraid of dirty hands or helping others.  (And I couldn’t care less what my neighbors have, wear, or drive.)

The success of American capitalism derives from both labor and management. But which contributes more to our general national prosperity is a “chicken and egg” paradox. That said, in any conversation – social or political – I always have more affinity for the working man and woman… The laborer.

My grandfather, the Rev. Garrett (far left) and one of his very first permanent churches with its congregation.

The farm picture is at my Grandparent Montgomery's farm outside Olathe. That's my dad, mom and me. They're putting in a vegetable garden for my grandparents.

The Garrett Family: Kneeling, left to right, my uncle Clyde, Lloyd, and my father Phillip. Standing (l to r), my uncle Thurman: Grandfather and Grandmother, CJ and Mary Garrett, my uncle Ervin, and aunt Velma. The Labor Day tie-in: Clyde ran a tire store in Abilene, KS where my father joined him for a time. Lloyd was a truck driver. Thurman worked as a fireman at Thule AFB in Oklahoma City; Ervin was a carpenter. Velma ran the small airport in Lebanon, MO. Both my grandparents were Nazarene ministers.

My father and me, 1953 in Hays, KS. Southwestern Bell had just promoted him to management - his first "white collar" job.