Working

by Studs Terkel

  You know what another problem is today? The upper echelon of the management hasn’t the faintest idea of what’s going on in the business. I report the likes and dislikes of the workers. A lot of ‘em I get along with and I tell ’em, “The guys are right and the system’s no good, it stinks, get rid of it.” When I was workin’ on another gig, it was 106 degrees in the goddamn place and they didn’t have a water fountain. “Are you kiddin’?” I said. “The board of health comes down here, they’ll close your joint up.” All this little trivia, put them all together and it’s no trivia any more. It’s a big thing.

  Are you ever called in on cases involving labor troubles?

  No comment.

  DIANE: Oh, come on.

  I better not talk about it.

  With friends, I say I’m an investigator and don’t go into detail, ’cause you never know who you’re gonna meet. When I go on a job, I suspect everybody and everything. Until they prove by their actions they’re not doing anything, they’re suspect.

  This job has done more for me as far as understanding people is concerned than ever before. Some say, “That guy’s a thief.” I say, “What kind of a thief is he?” There are thieves and there are thieves. Why does a person steal? If a guy steals a loaf of bread because his kid is hungry, you call this man a thief? There’s a thief who’s a junkie and there’s a thief who just for the hell of it wants to see what he can get away with. Funny. My job’s made me less suspicious of people. Constantly listening to conversations, you find that people aren’t that bad, really. Regardless of what you read in the papers, people are pretty good. Everybody’s the same, that’s my discovery. I’m more tolerant of people now, right, Di?

  DIANE: Yeah, you come a long way.

  What do you mean?

  DIANE: He tended to see everything in black and white, no shades. You used to put people in categories, like into boxes. I think you’ve come out of that. Especially when you have to work on surveillance where his partners were colored guys and Puerto Ricans. He loved ’em.

  I’m one of the few white undercover guys in the agency. Most outfits prefer a guy that can speak two languages, particularly Spanish. Give you an idea, I was workin’ for a big company and it was manual labor like I’ve never seen in my life. I used to come home and I was dyin’. There’s a ramp where all the bosses used to walk on top, lookin’ down at you, and you had to throw those boxes . . .

  DIANE: Like a jail.

  That’s exactly what it was. It was me and two other white guys. There was maybe six colored guys and everybody else was Spanish. I didn’t know what the hell they were talkin’ about and I was supposed to be investigatin’. I told my supervisor, “This is for a Spanish UC.” He says, “Stay with it.” I’m breakin’ my ass, I’m dyin’. I never got nothin’ out of there. I didn’t even hear any good dialogue. It was a complete waste.

  Things you pick up regarding narcotics. I was in on a bust. In the course of my work I come across this girl, she’s pushin’ pot, hash, pills. She’s workin’ her way through college. I saw her make sales and everything else. I notified the police. They said: Okay, they’re gonna set up a meeting between me and two narcs. And the narcs bring their informer. They say, “Set up a buy.” They want me to introduce their informant to the girl. At the time of the buy, they’ll bust her. This is supposed to take place the following day.

  In the interim, these guys take it upon themselves to give her a shakedown. They go into the store like gangbusters. She isn’t there. They question manager, everybody, “Where is she? Where is she?” All this bullshit’s goin’ on and I don’t know nothin’ about it. I’m still under the impression I’m gonna set up this buy. The next morning a friend of mine says, “Did you hear what happened to Jilly? Two detectives came yesterday and wanted to bust her.” I called my office, “Hey, Mike, what’s with these two guys? They tried to bust the broad and now I gotta set up a sale. Are you kiddin’ me?” He said, “Stay away from her.” She’s still around.

  People are really stupid. When I was on surveillance during this hijacking case, we’re workin’ for a newspaper. The guys deliverin’ were sellin’ papers on the side. The newspaper was losin’ a fortune. These guys knew they were being tailed and they still continued the same shit. People like that you have no sympathy for, they’re stupid. They deserve everything they get. There were fifty-two indictments and twenty-five convictions.

  I was with a cop, a retired cop, twenty years on the force. We’re sittin’ in a car, surveillance—this newspaper gig. It’s three o’clock in the morning. Just then a truck pulls up. He says, “You got a gun?” I say, “No, ain’t you got a gun, you’re a cop.” He says, “I turned mine in.” I say, “Shit, thanks.” He says, “There’s the truck we’re lookin’ for.” So he throws it into gear. We take off and we’re drivin’ and drivin’. The truck’s goin’ about sixty. We’re right behind. He jams on the brakes and we’re squeakin’. He says, “Let’s get ’em!” I says, “Larry, that’s a hot dog truck.” This is a professional, twenty years on the force. Plus my encounter with those two narcs, you can see I don’t have too much faith in professionals. They leave something to be desired.

  What I’m doin’ now is just like a regular worker. The only thing is listening to conversation, watching certain movements of people. Without thinkin’, people reveal their innermost secrets and plots and everything. I was workin’ with a guy and he’s tellin’ me how they robbed televisions out of a Hilton hotel. They were puttin’ ’em in laundry bags with old clothes. Another guy was workin’ for a drugstore and he was robbin’ very expensive perfume—Chanel and all that. He’s got boric acid, the boxes—and pourin’ the boric acid out and puttin’ the perfume in. And he’s put ’em back on the shelf. He’d go back there at night and buy three or four tins of boric acid. (Laughs.) Forty dollars worth of perfume.

  I’m constantly listenin’. We went to an affair, a dinner dance. In the bathroom I heard somethin’ said and I’m listenin’ and listenin’. The guy, he paid an X amount of dollars and the other guy hands him a little brown bag. And I wasn’t workin’, we were socializin’.

  You’re gonna have a lot more security. I think the neighborhoods are gonna instill their own police force, ‘cause as far as cops are concerned, they’re complete failures. Eventually every block association is gonna hire their own police department. I belong to an association and I got two patrolmen on my block, I’m payin’ their salary and I have a voice in what they do and how they do it. More and more people will be under surveillance.

  DIANE: Innocent people will also be under surveillance, is that what you’re trying to get at?

  Who the hell do you think is under surveillance? Criminals aren’t under surveillance. The thefts you get in department stores is usually under ten dollars. They’re not professional thieves. It’s the everyday goodhearted American citizen who owns his own home—these are the people that are causin’ the problem. You get a woman who’s a sales clerk or a cashier and takes a three dollar blouse and sticks it in her pocket, she’s not a criminal. She’s a mother. She figures she can get away with it, so she takes it. So my job doesn’t bother me, ’cause nothin’ ever happens to these people really.

  To write a report up every day about somethin’ and to really tell ’em somethin’ is rough. I’m up to the 178th report where I’m workin’. What the hell can I tell these people that I haven’t told them already? So you gotta look for dialogue and make it sound interesting. You have to have a memory like an IBM machine. I usually use word association. I can remember what’s said and I quote it. If you’re quoting somebody you gotta be accurate, because you may be up on the stand.

  The reason sex is in on this: say the manager’s got a young girl working for him and he’s goin’ out with her. He may let her get away with theft. As far as this guy goin’ out with the girl, the company doesn’t give a shit. They just want to know where their money’s goin’, that’s all.

  Mike, the supervisor, reads all the reports. An
d he’s got about twenty agents workin’ for him. Mike was an agent for the FBI. Artie had his own business as a polygrapher. They’re very savvy people. All you got is young guys as undercover. You’re dealing mostly with young people. The bearded guys are our best agents. Who the hell would suspect ’em? Hair down, dress outrageously. A bunch of flunkies, they’ll tell ’em anything. (Laughs.)

  There’s one thing I look forward to: to be licensed by the state and do it on my own at my own convenience. I would like to have a major concern call me up and say, “We have a problem. We’ll give you X amount of dollars.” And I’d say, “Call me next week, I’m busy this week. I’m goin’ to Miami for the weekend.” To be able to work on my own terms is what I’d like. Any private detective, he has one thing and only one thing —it’s his wits.

  (To his wife) You want to be an agent, Di? I can get you in. (Laughs.)

  DIANE: I couldn’t do it. I can’t lie. When I lie it shows all over my face. I can’t even lie on the phone. When I’m callin’ up sick at work, I can’t even do it. (Laughs.) I make him.

  JILL FREEDMAN

  We’re in a studio flat in Greenwich Village, a steep flight of stairs above a small theater. It’s in a state of some disorder; things are higgledy-piggledy —all save one. Singular care is evident in the matter of photographs, camera equipment, and the darkroom.

  I took my first picture five years ago. I was taking pictures long before I had a camera. I always wanted to sit back and watch things. There are times where if I’d used the hidden camera I’dve had things that I don’t have. But I’d never use it. I hate sneaky photographers. There’s no respect.

  Sometimes it’s hard to get started, ’cause I’m always aware of invading privacy. If there’s someone who doesn’t want me to take their picture, I don’t. When should you shoot and when shouldn’t you? I’ve gotten pictures of cops beating people. Now they didn’t want their pictures taken. (Laughs.) That’s a different thing.

  I hate cheap pictures. I hate pictures that make people look like they’re not worth much, just to prove a photographer’s point. I hate when they take a picture of someone pickin’ their nose or yawning. It’s so cheap. A lot of it is a big ego trip. You use people as props instead of as people. To have people say of the guy, “Oh, isn’t he great?”—that’s easy.

  Weegee took a picture of that woman and daughter crying. The sister had just been burned in a fire. It’s one of the most touching pictures in the world. Yet I know I could never have taken that picture. Especially shooting off the flash in their face at the time. And yet I’m glad he took that picture. But that guy in My Lai—I couldn’t have done it.

  When I think of that guy taking those pictures. He was part of the army, too. He took a picture of those two children gunned down. He took a picture right before they were massacred, instead of running up to those kids. He just stood there and took the pictures. How could he? I don’t think he had any moral problems at all. Just from what he said and those pictures. How is it possible to shoot two children being shot down without doing something?

  There was a time when I was at this stock car race. With a bunch of motorcycle guys there. They were drinkin’ and they were doin’ that whole phony, masculine, tough guy shit. There were these two kids came by in a Corvair. They took these kids and stomped that car and they beat ‘em up so bad. People were standing around lookin’. I was there with my camera. I had been shooting these motorcycle guys up till then. It was cool. But when they were beating up these guys, I found myself running up to the biggest guy, who was doing the punching. I grabbed his arm—one of the kids who was being beaten up had a little camera and it was smashed to the ground. I grabbed his arm and I was hollerin’, “Stop it! Stop it!” That’s what I was doing. I was up all night mad at myself that I didn’t take that picture. Because that’s where it’s at: a picture of people beating up on other people.

  I was so mad. Why didn’t I take the picture and then grab the guy’s arm? Because that picture is one of the reasons I take pictures. To show: Look at this. (Sighs.) But I didn’t. I would like to if it happens again. (A pause.) I don’t know what I’d do. I hope I can take it.

  PAULINE KAEL

  She is the film critic of The New Yorker.

  Work is rarely treated in films. It’s one of the peculiarities of the movies. You hardly see a person at work. There was a scene in Kitty Foyle, with Ginger Rogers. It wasn’t really well done, but it was so startling that people talked about it. Any kind of work scene that has any quality at all becomes memorable. The automat sequence in Easy Living, the Preston Sturges film. It was done many years ago, yet people still talk about it. It’s amazing how rarely work life gets on the screen.

  Television now offers us this incredible fantasy on hospital work. In the movie The Hospital you really saw how a hospital worked. (Laughs.) The audience recognized the difference. They started laughing right from the very first frames of that film. Because we all know the truth: Hospitals are chaotic, disorganized places where no one really knows what he’s doing. This pleased the audience as a counterview of the television hospital’s cleanliness and order.

  Just think of Marcus Welby. All those poor, sad people are going to this father figure for advice. You know actually that you go to a doctor, he tells you nothing. You’re sent to another doctor. The screen doesn’t show how we actually feel about doctors—the resentment because of the money they make, the little help they give us.

  Movies set up these glamorized occupations. When people find they are waitresses, they feel degraded. No kid says I want to be a waiter, I want to run a cleaning establishment. There is a tendency in movies to degrade people if they don’t have white-collar professions. So people form a low self-image of themselves, because their lives can never match the way Americans live—on the screen.

  I consider myself one of the lucky ones because I really enjoy what I do. I love my occupation. But I’ve spent most of my life working at jobs I hated. I’ve worked at boring office jobs. I never felt they were demeaning, but they exhausted my energy and spirit. I do think most people work at jobs that mechanize them and depersonalize them.

  The occasional satisfaction in work is never shown on the screen, say, of the actor or the writer. The people doing drudge jobs enjoy these others because they think they make a lot of money. What they should envy them for is that they take pleasure in their work. Society plays that down. I think enormous harm has been done by the television commercial telling ghetto children they should go to school because their earning capacity would be higher.32 They never suggest that if you’re educated you may go into fields where your work is satisfying, where you may be useful, where you can really do something that can help other people.

  When I worked at drudge jobs to support the family I used to have headaches all the time, feeling rotten at the end of the day. I don’t think I’ve taken an aspirin or a pill in the last twenty years. The one thing that disturbs me on television is the housewife, who’s always in need of a headache remedy from tension and strain. This is an incredible image of the American woman. Something terrible must be going on inside her if she’s in that shape. Of course, she’s become a compulsive maniac about scrubbing and polishing and cleaning—in that commercial.

  Housewives in the movies and on television are mindless. Now it takes a lot of intelligence to handle children and it’s a fascinating process watching kids grow up. Being involved with kids may be much more creative than what their husbands do at drudge jobs.

  To show accurate pictures, you’re going to outrage industry. In the news recently we’ve learned of the closing of industrial plants—and the men, who’ve worked for twenty years, losing out on their pensions. Are you going to see this in a movie? It’s going to have to be a very tough muckraking film maker to show us how industry discards people. Are you going to have a movie that shows us how stewardesses are discarded at a certain age? And violate the beautiful pact that the airlines have with the movie companies, where they joi
ntly advertise one another?

  We now have conglomerate ownership of the movie industry. Are they going to show us how these industries really dehumanize their workers? Muckraking was possible when the movie companies were independent of big industry. Now that Gulf & Western, AVCA, Trans-America, these people own the movie companies, this is very tough. Are you going to do muckraking about the record industry, when the record from the movie grosses more than the film itself?

  It’s a long time since we’ve had a movie about a strike, isn’t it? You get something about the Molly Maguires, which is set in the past, but you don’t see how the working relationship is now. I’d be interested in seeing a film on Lordstown.

  BOOK FOUR

  THE DEMON LOVER

  What banks, what banks before us now

  As white as any snow?

  It’s the banks of Heaven, my love, she replied

  Where all good people go.

  What banks, what banks before us now

  As black as any crow?

  It’s the banks of Hell, my love, he replied

  Where you and I must go.

  —“The Daemon Lover”

  Child Ballad #35

  The Making

  PHIL STALLINGS

  He is a spot-welder at the Ford assembly plant on the far South Side of Chicago. He is twenty-seven years old; recently married. He works the third shift: 3:30 P.M. to midnight.