|
Conversations With Harry
By Ian Kennedy
Last
month, to avoid the rush I usually put myself through, I flew down to San
Francisco the night before I was to meet Harry.
I arrived early at the bar and was on my second beer when Harry arrived. He was
alone this time. He gave me his usual smile, waved to the
bartender for a round, and sat down.
"Well
kid, you're here early." I responded as I returned his smile.
" Came in last night. I hate rushing over right from the
plane."
He
had already finished his beer and called the bartender over.
"Give us a pitcher this time, I'm dry. "Yes sir Mr. Bridges, it's on
its way."
"Well
kid, what's been going on these last two months?" I
thought for a few minutes, "The caucus convenes the first of May.
I think that the new officers will be feeling out the delegates and looking for
direction regarding the '08 contract. I know you're not one to spend time
talking about yourself, but we have a lot of newer members
who don't know much about your background. How about
giving them a little history lesson?" Harry pours the last of the pitcher
into our glasses and holds it up for the bartender. He plays with his
glass, and after a few moments, looks over at me. "You know I don't approve
of anyone writing about me." "Yes," I responded, "But I'm
not looking for anything controversial, just some background." "Like,
before you came to this country."
"Well," he responds, "You know I was born in Australia,
raised in Melbourne. He smiles, "I once told one of my staff, 'Your trouble
is that you don't have a working-class background.' His response was 'Damn you
Harry, I'll match my background against yours any time.' And he was right. My
old man was a realtor and land owner and was certainly well off. "What
about your younger years?" I asked. "I went to school until
I was fourteen. Raised in the church. Hell, I was even an altar boy for four
years." He stops, thinks for a while, and continues, "I worked for the old
man collecting rents." He chuckles, "sometimes I even had to loan money
to the ones who were too poor, I hated taking their money." "What did
you do after that?" I asked. "When my old man gave up on me, he got me
a job clerking in a stationery store. God, that was so dull, I spent my time
reading
adventure stories by Jack London. Then I went to sea.
Again
it was me dad that helped me get the job. I was fifteen then. We
sailed between Melbourne and Tasmania. I heard a lot about strikes and job
actions from my shipmates. They talked about unions, one big union
for everyone. I remember, once, we docked in Melbourne and we all piled off the
ships for a stop-work meeting. There were two or three thousand men and from the
meeting we all marched a couple of miles to an army post where the
government had assembled troops to use against the strikers. We either convinced
the soldiers, or the authorities, that we meant business cause they couldn't
stop us from carrying out a successful demonstration." He finished his beer
and looked around for the bartender. "It was my first big
strike------1917."
He
pored himself another beer, concentrating on the job. He looked up at me,
"I was shipwrecked twice while on that run. The Bass Strait is notoriously
rough."
"You
did that for two years, am I correct?" I asked.
He continued, "I was seventeen when I really went to sea. My
parents had hoped I would have become discouraged by this time and their
disapproval became more apparent with each trip home."
He sat back sipping his beer. I
waited silently, I knew there was more to come.
"I
traveled to places in India and Egypt, saw the slums, how the people
lived. Then I got to London, the land of the dear old Brits my father used to
talk so highly of. It was the filthiest, most unhealthy place I ever
saw.----------These days played a big part in the development of my social
philosophy. I sailed for four years on Australian ships, and it was in April of
1920 we tied up in San Francisco.
I
gathered my seabag and mandolin, paid the $10.00 head tax and
become a resident of the United States. "I waited, "What did you do
next?" I asked.
He sat for a couple of minutes, smiled and drained his glass. "I'd say by
this time, I'd best be gettin on my way." Still smiling, he
raises, turns and says to me, "you've been such a good listener I'll let
you get the tab." And he's out the door.
(There will be more of Harry's early years in future issues.)
|
|
