Living History

Ken's first job

“Have you asked Uncle George whether I can work in the bookstore yet Mum?”

“You’re too young Ken.”

“No I’m not. Not for Grandpa’s bookstore. Please Mum, ask Uncle George.”

“I don’t think George will agree. What happens if he says no?”

“It’s not fair. Peter is allowed to work at that chain store in town for two weeks before Christmas. I know they won’t allow me to work there but I bet if you asked Uncle George he would say yes.”

“Your brother is 15 and is in high school. Don’t forget he’s four years older than you. There will be plenty of opportunities for you to get a job before Christmas when you go to high school.”

“Oh gee mum that’s years away. Peter gets money for working before Christmas and I get nothing. I’m not too young to work in the bookstore. Uncle George said so.”

“When did he say that Ken?”

“I asked him last Sunday when we went for that family picnic at Cash’s Crossing. He didn’t say I was too young. He just said I’d have to ask you. Please mum, please!”

“Oh all right.”

Mum knew I was a persistent little cuss and was always trying to keep up with my elder brother. When Peter came home proudly bearing his first pay packet I determined that anything he could do I could do. Thus began my quest at age 11 to get a job in Grandpa’s bookstore for two weeks before Christmas 1950.

Persistence paid off and with examinations for my third last year at primary school completed I was allowed to miss the final “break-up” week at school so as to take up my first job. I walked from home to Stafford Road where Uncle George picked me up in his car before going on to Grandpa’s home to collect him. We arrived at Grandpa’s bookstore in central Brisbane well before 8am and I was put to work straight away removing dust covers, tidying-up and being the general messenger boy.

“Where do you want me to sell books Uncle George?” I asked when the store opened for business, hoping I would not have to spend the entire time on menial tasks.

“You can start with Alex in the fiction section,” my uncle replied in haste and to get me out of the way as he dashed away in his usual rush to sort out more pressing problems.

I knew and liked Alex – and he let me get on with the job of selling books under his guidance. My first sale without his help was a milestone I have remembered ever since. Alex had an excellent memory for titles and authors and every now and again stepped in to ensure customers got what they wanted when I was unable to find the books they sought. I recall that “Van Loons Lives” was not on the shelf – but Alex made sure the bookstore made the sale by having me retrieve the only remaining copy from the window display.

By this time Uncle George had all but taken over from my grandfather as proprietor of the business even though Grandpa still worked there 5 and a half days a week. By observation I saw how both managed the shop, looked after the customers and took an interest in the welfare of their employees. The bookshop proved to be every bit the happy workplace and successful business I had always imagined it to be. When things got hectic during the Christmas shopping rush at lunchtimes Grandpa and my uncle augmented the sales staff. There were thus occasions when I was working side by side with my 70 year old grandfather – a matter of great pride to me then and since.

Towards the end of my second week at the bookshop it was pay day. The firm’s accountant walked around dispensing pay envelopes to each employee – but not to me. I asked Alex why I had missed out and he offered the sensible advice that I should pop upstairs and ask the Accountant. When I approached this man with my query he was clearly bemused. Uncle George may have agreed to me having a job in the bookstore – but clearly nothing had been agreed about me being paid for what I did. The look of depression on my face worked wonders however because later that day the Accountant came down from upstairs and handed me a small brown paper packet containing some small monetary recompense for my endeavours. What joy!

I returned to the bookstore for the two weeks before Christmas in 1951 and again in 1952 and enjoyed every minute of the experience. I traipsed around Brisbane to all sorts of other businesses as I ran messages for my uncle; I learned the intricacies of serving artists with sable and other forms of paint brush, oils, watercolours and artists media; I gained a detailed knowledge of the many departments in the bookstore and of the personalities who worked in each; and I learned a lot about how to keep customers happy. Of course I made mistakes – but I learned from them, including that most important lesson of never making the same mistake twice.

My first job was everything I hoped it would be – and more. I learned a lot about people and about life and have profited from this experience ever since.

Ken, New South Wales

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