I had dreamed of a sunny home among the trees and flowers with 

 thousands of interesting, growing, beautiful things all around. Now I 

 was swallowed alive with all the individuality I ever had ironed out 

 of me. 



I walked the streets with an aching heart. What could I do to earn 

 my keep? I tried to get a position as bookkeeper, thinking that would 

 be a genteel life for a college boy. But no, they had no time to teach a 

 schoolboy without experience. I tried to get a place clerking in the 

 stores, but had no references and less experience. I looked at the list 

 of work offered by the employment offices, but nothing but heavy 

 muscular labor was wanted. I came near shipping to the western corn 

 fields in answer to a demand for corn huskers. I had once been a capable 

 hand in the field, but college days had softened my hands as well as 

 determination. I was in desperation. No one wanted a college boy. 

 I should be able to do things, not read about other people's thoughts 

 and think I could do things. The futility of all my labor in college 

 came over me like a flash. I must put my hand to the wheel and learn 

 to do things. 



What one thing had I learned in college that would help me out in 

 my present dilemma? Oh, yes! I had waited on table and learned to 

 serve. It was Dewey day in Chicago and the streets were crowded. 

 The restaurants were crowded. Now was my chance. I walked into a 

 lunch counter eating house and applied for a job. The proprietor 

 looked me over, smiled to his wife on the side, gave me an apron. 

 I shall never forget the confusion of that first day in that restaurant. 

 It was a circus for all who .saw me try to fill orders. 



I tried to do as I saw the other waiters doing. I would take an 

 order, rush out into the kitchen and perchance forget it before I could 

 deliver it to the cook. The cooks laughed and roared. The waiters 

 winked at each other and shoved me aside. I could not carry dishes 

 on my arm and many went upside down to the floor. The whole house 

 was in a roar. 



A college boy's first introduction to the cruel, cruel world. I 

 thought my heart would break. But I was hungry and had to eat. 

 The proprietor looked at me with a red face and seemed amused that 

 I should attempt to wait on table with so little experience. I overheard 

 him say to his wife that he was not going to fire me, but was just going 

 to see if I could learn to use myself. He saw my earnestness. This 

 gave me courage and I finished that first day. The next day there was 

 not so much of a rush and I had time to study the bill of fare and learn 

 how to order the dishes, and one waiter gave me pointers how to stack 

 the dishes on my arm. I must say that the mental drill I received in 

 the seven weeks that I "slung hash" excelled all the vaunted courses 

 that had ever been handed me at college. My mind soon became wide 

 awake, alert to all around, and took a delight in this new activity. 

 But, oh! the bad air, and hard floor, and weary limbs! The perspiration 

 stood out on my forehead and all my clothes were damp. Still there 

 was a new satisfaction in service and being able to do things. In this 

 little cheap hash house on State Street I began my first work away 

 from home out in the wide world. In conversing with the waiters I 

 learned that if one became proficient as a waiter in a first-class place 

 he could earn a fair salary. I applied at once for a place as "bus boy" 



18 



