In the summer of 1962 I was eighteen years old and had just finished my freshman year of college. I was lucky to find a summer job working on a gas company crew putting in services for new residential customers. It was a crew of six: the foreman, a welder, myself and three other summer temps. The crew was created to take advantage of good summer weather and was to be disbanded at the end of the summer. Our truck was the oldest one in the company fleet, and while it didn’t have antique plates, it might have been older than I was. I learned a lot that summer, including the fact that it’s best not to wear a watch while using a jackhammer.

The foreman was a rough, tough, swarthy looking man – what used to be called a man’s man. He had a vocabulary to match, and I learned a lot of new words that summer. Nevertheless, he was a good man and an excellent employee; he was hard working, dependable, and a good heavy equipment driver. Because of these traits he was given this first chance to be a foreman despite one serious weakness – he couldn’t read or write. His desire to succeed affected how he directed us. We were never to be seen leaning on our shovels, and if there was an unscheduled break in the work he had us clean our tools or even wipe down the truck, although it was hard to tell dirt from rust. It didn’t make us happy, but we understood his situation.

On the first day, the welder decided I was to be his helper. This was a very hot, physically demanding job with lots of noxious fumes, both from the welding and from melting tar. The week before, when I was hired, I learned that I was to have a second job. The creation of the crew was explained to me, and I was told that I was to help the foreman with the paper work. The final reports were to be my responsibility.

One day we pulled up in front of a beautiful, large mansion on East Jefferson Street in South Bend, Indiana. This part of Jefferson Street has some of nicest homes I have seen anywhere, and the mansion itself was behind a huge, beautifully manicured bluegrass lawn. The welder came up to me and told me that something was wrong; we didn’t have enough pipe to cover even a fourth of the distance to the house. I might have used a few of the new words that I had learned, but I knew I had to talk with the foreman. It turned out that our job was on East Jefferson in Mishawaka, an adjoining town. The homes there were small modest ones and not mansions. I can’t remember how I approached the foreman, but I do remember that after an initial vocabulary lesson he was fine. At the end of the summer he sincerely wished me well. My biggest lesson that summer was the importance of tact.

It seems that these days being respectful, kind and tactful towards those different than ourselves has become passé. It seems that treating others with dignity has gotten a bad name, almost of four letter status; we call it political correctness. Paul speaks to this and reminds us that our goal is to share the blessings of the Gospel with all. To do this we even have to identify with others who are not like us. Please read 1 Corinthians 9:19-23 where Paul gives a wonderful description of this, and remember: God loves YOU unconditionally.

Jim