The Life and Times of Me, My Wife, and My Boys

By Allen Yanity

This book is about jobs I had in my life, tricks and jokes I played, and adventures my wife and sons shared with me as we lived a good life. We were not always rich with money, but we were always rich with memories and love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662480140

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The Life and Times of Me, My Wife, and My Boys

Allen Yanity

Copyright © 2022 Allen Yanity

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-6624-8011-9 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-8014-0 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Introduction

Mechanic

Club Alaska and Making Friends

About the Author

Introduction

I liked to tell stories, and many had said I should write them down and get them printed in a book, and I had always said that maybe one day, I would have the time. Well, there I was, forced to stay at home because of this China flu and then hip replacement, so now was the time.

I had always worked, it seemed, since I was very young. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't forced to work. But if I wanted something, I had to earn it, a lesson that had been omitted from the lives of our children nowadays. There was nothing to add value to something better than sweat equity. Without it, no value! Anyhow, my first job was selling the Detroit Times newspaper door to door at eleven years old.

On second thought, I didn't really know what my first job was. I had always mowed lawns, shoveled snow off sidewalks, or any chore where I could make a few cents by doing it for anyone. Shoveling snow in the winter was usually very profitable. I would watch the newspapers after the first heavy snow, and there was always the article that made my money: Joe Smith, Fifty-One Years Old, Dies Shoveling Snow. I would cut out my article and carry it house to house, finding men in their forties and fifties, who always said, I'll do it myself as soon as I get done with breakfast, or whatever. Out would come the article, and I would say, For 25¢ or 50¢, is it worth it to risk your life?

Sometimes, I would be scolded and turned away. But many times, I would get the job, and I always came back the next snow. A couple of times, resisting husbands were scolded by loving wives. Don't be cheap. Give the kid his money and stay warm. I don't want to see you in the paper. You are not used to doing heavy work, and you even said that snow looks heavy. Sometimes, the wife would even slip me a little extra and tell me, You be sure to come back next snow.

Working at a Young Age and Making Money

Let's go back a few months or years. I wasn't always the most ethical or the most intelligent salesman. While growing up, my friend Bob and I discovered a quick way to get rid of a problem. In Detroit, every year, the cottonwood trees sent out their seeds by riding on a small ball of cotton fluff. The cotton would cover everything and be everywhere. Sometimes, it would be an inch or two thick on the ground. It filled the gutters of the streets. It even filled up past the top of iron grates in drains. A dumb idea popped into our heads. We discovered a quick way to get rid of it quite by accident.

Me & Jean with friends after their wedding

As we walked to school one day, we saw that the cotton had piled up in the gutters along the street and had even filled the storm drain to the top. Throw a match in and see how fast it would burn away. I mean, how could that cause any problem? It was all trapped in the drain, and so it couldn't go anywhere. I mean, as if there could be any bad results. We cleared some away from the drain and threw a match in the cotton-filled drain, and whoosh! The explosion-like sound that came out of the drain and the flames were over in a second or two, but now Bob had to explain his scorched eyebrows and hair to the teachers at school and, of course, to his mom and dad later.

We thought about this new discovery. Knowing we did not want to repeat the experience, we thought of a way we could possibly make some money off this bounty of nature. We started asking homeowners if they would like us to get rid of all the cotton covering their lawns and shrubbery for a small sum. I think we only got one customer, and I don't remember getting paid. The plan was to spray the shrubbery down so it wouldn't burn and then throw a match on the lawn. Poof, the cotton was gone in seconds. No damage was done to the lawn either. It went so fast that the green grass wasn't hurt. But instead of getting rich, we got a lecture, and our new business venture was over. We were probably lucky our parents didn't hear of our business failure.

To sell newspaper subscriptions, I worked on what was called a boy crew. Fred organized and ran the boy crew and would give us boys a pep talk about how we could earn money and also have the chance to be rewarded with a trip, usually to New York or Washington, DC. The stars sparkled and the sun shone brightly with those thoughts. Oh, I almost forgot to say you were supposed to be twelve years old, but I had to lie and say I was even though I was only eleven. Fred didn't really care. A warm body qualified you.

Every day, Fred would pick several of us up after school, and we would deliver free copies of the paper to between fifty and one hundred houses. After a week, we would return to tell the homeowners that they could subscribe and that as a bonus, they would get the first six weeks for free. At the same time, we would tell them that they were helping this poor boy earn a trip to our nation's capital. Wouldn't that be wonderful? we would say. Knowing you helped a young man earn the trip of a lifetime? Never did we tell them it might be a trip to Chicago, and many times, it was. I expected it was much cheaper for the paper to send a bunch of kids to Chicago.

This was during the time of the Great Recession of the 1950s. People were losing their homes, and many were out of work. But we went on, and some weeks, I could earn a few bucks. Some weeks were not so profitable. On my worst week, I made $0.25; and when I cashed my check, I was charged 10¢. That meant 15¢ for five days after school and all day Saturday. There was not much incentive to carry on, but I stuck it out for over a year till I got my trip. What? Chicago? I had no desire to see the stockyards, so I quit that day.

I had caught the attention of the area's newspaper distributor, who gave me a paper route. I said they gave me a paper route, but really, fifty-two customers meant the cost was $52 which I could pay out of my $8 a week plus tips. I worked hard seven days a week for a couple of years and bought everything my little heart desired within reason, along with a spell when my father was very sick and I bought the groceries. It was a good lesson for a young man and taught me the value of money and hard work.

Jon Destroyed the Dream Car

About this time in my life, as a normal young man, my friends and I all became interested in cars, the key to success in all of life and the all-important girls. None of us could afford one of our own, however. We relied on our dads lending one of us a car for a night.

One of our group of really cool guys—at least, we thought we were—had a father who worked for the research department of General Motors. One of the experimental cars he got ahold of was a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air with a 283-cubic-inch engine and three tri-power, two-barrel carburetors. Many would say there never was a tri-power '57 Chevy, but there was just never any available to the public. Jon couldn't use it very often. His dad was wise enough to realize that it was the fastest thing around and that Jon would be too tempted race it. Jon only got it to run errands once in a long while and never had the chance to pick us all up for a ride.

One fine summer day, we were all sitting around doing nothing when the phone rang. It was Jon, and he needed a ride home. He asked if we could pick him up on Eight Mile Road, near our neighborhood. We went to get him and found that he had pulled out in front of another car and was T-boned. He was lucky he wasn't hurt badly, just bruised and shook up. The passenger side took the hit squarely and was pushed in so hard that it pushed the seat out of the driver's side, taking Jon along with it.

Jon ended up sitting at the base of a fire hydrant, hugging the hydrant. He was shook up but otherwise unhurt. He was lucky this was before the days of seat belts, as he would possibly have been cut in half by the belt as the seat was pushed out. He needed a ride home to face his dad, but before we delivered him, we slapped the crap out of him for ruining the best car around. I did think his dad took our punishment into consideration when dealing with Jon.

One of the Best Jobs I Ever Had as a Young Man

An older friend turned me toward a better job. He said that if I went down to the Detroit Golf Club early on Monday morning, I could apply to be a caddie. Again, that age thing caught up with me, so I said I was fifteen. I almost was, only a couple of months short. By the time the caddie master found out, I was old enough, and they had invested a lot of training in me. I didn't know anything about golf when I started, but I found out that by reading books and magazines, I could fake it well enough. I really enjoyed the game. Though I must confess, I was the worst golfer who ever tried to hit a ball.

Most of the other caddies didn't really care for the rich whom we served, and I mostly didn't care much for them either, and I was sure that generally, the feeling was mutual. However, I found that if I paid attention, did a good job, and added a little ass-kissing, I could make good tips. I was paid $2.50, I think, for carrying a bag for eighteen holes for one golfer and $3.50 for carrying two bags. I soon put on enough muscle to carry two and sometimes three bags.

The average bag full of clubs, balls, gloves, umbrella, spare jacket, and other necessities a wealthy golfer might want would weigh about forty pounds and could go up to sixty-five pounds. To say I gained strength would be an understatement. By the time I was sixteen, I could lift 250 pounds over my head, and I had learned enough about the game that I could pay attention to my member and sometimes give them tips to help their game. The biggest problem was knowing which golfer would be insulted by a lowly caddie giving advice and which one would try. Usually, a caddie could see what a golfer was doing wrong and help; but often, the advice was dismissed with scorn.

Almost all caddies hated to caddie for women. They were slow, usually not very good, and many times not very nice to their caddie, giving only a 25¢ or 50¢ tip. The usual for men was to tip a dollar. I found that by paying attention, remembering names, and saying nice comments for the ladies, I could get good tips. And if I could help their game, I got great tips.

In those days, lessons with the club pro cost the outrageous sum of $35 per hour. Even for the rich, it was a large amount for some, and the pro really didn't want to waste his time on women duffers. I paid attention to my lady golfers, and soon, I was requested by many, to the amazement of the caddie master. This also almost got me fired.

I had been watching the pro give lessons and had seen him correct the swing of one of the younger wives by putting his arms around her and swinging with her. It never dawned on me that it wasn't a practice for use on the older ladies. One lady who had requested me several times had a habit of turning her wrist. I explained to her what she was doing wrong several times with no good results. Finally, I did what I had seen the pro do, and she corrected her swing. She cut several strokes off her game, and I got a $5 tip.

A few days later, while sitting on the bench, waiting for my turn to get a golfer, the caddie master pointed me out to a member who turned out to be the husband of the very appreciative lady golfer. He came over to me and started on me for touching his wife. Very loudly and in no uncertain terms, he told me I was going to get fired. It took only a few seconds for me to realize I had to do something, or I would be out of the best job I had ever had.

I jumped up with all the courage and outrage I could muster and demanded he apologize not only to me but also to his wife. How dare you accuse your wife of such a thing? The very idea that a lady like her would ever let a caddie touch her in the way you are suggesting is an insult to her, and I demand you go to her immediately and apologize! BS and bluster sometimes worked, and the man became embarrassed and left. I was called into the caddie master's office and had to explain what had just happened. I was told to never touch any member again for any reason, and I was placed on probation till he got to the bottom of the matter.

Later that day, the lady once again requested me as her caddie. Out on the course, she thanked me and told me some of the other ladies had told their husbands what had happened. I suspected they were jealous because she was a better golfer than they were, and my help got them beat worse than normal. I always got a good tip from her after that. A few days later, she told me she had played it to the hilt and had become outraged that her husband made a public scene and accused her of having an affair with a caddie. She had chastised him thoroughly for his behavior, and he had to be very nice to gain forgiveness from her. I never used all my skills when helping a lady golfer after that even though some made it quite plain they wanted me to.

When I turned seventeen, I advanced to pro caddie, the highest rating. It didn't pay more, but it was a status, and traveling pros wanted pro caddies. I did caddie for a pro in the Buick Open once, giving me the high point in my caddie career.

I drew a fairly unknown pro who was young, but as I checked everything I could find on him, I thought that just maybe, he could finish high enough to be in the money. Now at that time, a normal tip was 10 percent of the purse. The morning arrived for the start, and I arrived before daybreak and walked the course to be sure I was familiar with every blade of grass so I could give my pro good advice.

Starting time came, and my pro was late. It seemed his plane was delayed, so he only had time to take a quick look, and only at a part of the course. I told him, Don't worry. I know this course like the back of my hand. And by the way, are we going to win? I thought it kind of shocked him, but I insisted that with my help, he had the long drive and that even though his putting was weak, we could come into the money. He gave me a strange look, and I told him I had read everything I could find on him. I knew how to help him, I said, and I asked, By the way, if we do win, is the standard tip going to apply? He liked my confidence, so we started out on the right foot.

The first hole was a birdie; the second, par. The third, birdie, then par again. Now at the fifth hole, at that time considered the toughest par 5 in the United States, I told him we were going to play the hole differently from the rest of the foursome. The others would go down the right side, another shot would be to the front of the green, and then on, then hopefully a good putt. But most likely, if lucky, I said they would get par.

I told him that as I ran the course that morning, I noticed that there had been a lawnmower malfunction on the left side and that the rough was cut short. So since he had a good long drive normally, I wanted him to put it down the left side of the fairway and to not worry if he got a couple of feet into the rough. Well, he hit one of the nicest drives I had ever seen. The announcer started wondering where he was going and such. For those who don't remember, at that time, the announcer carried a microphone, and his assistant carried a heavy large box for the batteries.

When we got to his ball, he requested his 4 wood. I told him, No, sir, and handed him his 8 iron. He said no, but I said yes. Well, it became obvious to the announcer, who was over one hundred yards away, across the fairway, that we were going back and forth, and he said so over the loudspeaker. Well, finally, I told the player, The green is very soft, so I want you to hit the ball high so it will stick. And don't worry about the sand trap between us and the green, because it is very hard, so easy to chip out of if you do get in it.

One more time, we had a back-and-forth. I handed him the 8 iron again and told him, Close it up and hit the f—— out of it. He did, and I thought he damned near hit an airplane because it went so high. No one saw where it landed, and the damned announcer said a few things. My pro took off at a fast walk, reaching the green before me. He then looked back and yelled, Hit the f—— out of it? Come help me find my ball. It's not on the green! I knew then that I was fired. A caddie swearing was immediate termination.

I walked straight across the green. Normally, a caddie never set foot on the green unless he was tending the pin, but what did I have to lose? As I passed the hole, I looked down, and there was his ball in the cup. He was yelling for me to come help him find the ball, and I yelled, Your ball, sir, as I popped the pin out. He had just scored the only double eagle ever on the toughest par 5 in the US and was now far in the lead of one of the most prestigious golf tournaments there was.

The next hole was a double bogey. For the hole after that, we were working on a triple bogey when he said, I have made several holes in one but never even dreamed of a shot like that, and it shook me so bad I can't play. So let's go see if I can save your job, and I want a drink. By the time I had taken care of his clubs and had turned them in, the word had spread, so I knew I was done.

The caddie master had me come into his office and made me close the door. You are fired, he said, and I started to leave. But he said, No, come back. Here is your pay for today—full pay for eighteen holes and a $25 tip.

Then he said, Before you say anything, your pro says you never swore, that only he did. Now PGA will fine him. He said if I fire you, he will take you with him as his personal caddie, so I am going to keep you and watch you like a hawk. No more touching women, and no swearing! After that, I was requested even more, and I made good money that summer, over $3,000. The average Ford factory worker only made around $1,500 per year.

I normally went to the course before daylight and didn't get home till after dark. My dad once asked why and how I was working such hours. I satisfied him when I explained that if I was there at sunup when a member or two would come to play a quick game before work, they would have to take me as their caddie. That was the rule. No golfer could use the course without a caddie unless there was none available. These early golfers usually damned near ran the course, so in a little more than an hour, I could make $3.50 plus tip.

By the time I finished, I would still get a spot near the front of the line, in front of the other caddies, who would be just showing up. My second loop of the day would usually be done before noon, and I would go into the back of the caddie shack and catch some sleep. I would do this in the late morning and early afternoon unless one of my regulars requested me. I would then take another golfer in the late afternoon to finish the day.

One week, I hadn't been able to get to the bank, and I knew my dad was usually paid on Fridays, so I asked him if he would deposit some money for me when he did his own banking. I never thought he would get as upset as he did when I counted out $250 for him to deposit. What the hell are you doing carrying around that much money, and why did you put $20 back in your wallet? Why do you need that much on you?

I explained that I hadn't been able to get to the bank that week. I didn't want to take time off making money just to go deposit money. It didn't calm him. Instead, he questioned what a boy still wet behind the ears was doing making more than he did. Dad, that is why I leave so early in the morning and get home so late. In the winter, I won't have a job when the course is snow covered. I explained that the $20 was in case a good card game got started in the back of the caddie shack. That got me another lecture. He took the $20 and gave me $1 in case I needed to get something to eat. It didn't make either of us happy, but we didn't discuss it any further.

I Supply Dad with Watches

One of the things I bought with my big money was a name-brand 21-jewel watch. I had always admired the rich kids at school who had expensive watches, and the girls noticed also. The only thing wrong with watches was me. I could not keep one running. I had tried everything. I knew the issue had to be with the cheap watches. My expensive $56 watch would do the trick I was sure. It did not, even after several trips back to the factory. If I would stop wearing any one of them, they would usually start working again in a few days. It had something to do with magnetism I was told. I could never keep a watch running until the electric watch was invented, and then even the cheapest worked on me.

My dad found I had a supply of watches that had quit on me in my drawer. Whenever he needed a new watch, he would come to me, and I would give him one that had started running again. Normally, they would work for a year or so for him. Then he would come get another from me. Finally, I gave him the 21-jewel watch, never saying how much it cost. He used it for several years.

Long after I was married, he came to me once again, asking if I had another watch for him. I asked what had happened to the one I had last given him. He said he threw it away when it quit. I should have kept my mouth shut, but I had to ask why he would throw away a 21-jewel watch instead of sending it in. It had a lifetime guarantee. He had thought it was a fake, a knock-off, a junk. What the hell was a kid doing buying an expensive watch like that? I tried reminding him of the time he went to the bank for me, but all he could say was, A fool and his money are soon parted.

My Friend Mike

In my first year of public high school, my sophomore year, I was in excellent physical shape. I had been working as caddie all summer, carrying golf bags from dawn till dark. I had never been in such good physical shape, never been fitter or stronger. I didn't know just how strong I was, but I did know I weighed 135 pounds and stood six feet tall. I could put 250 pounds over my head, and I could curl more than 125 pounds with either arm. I did not think it was all that special,