Allen the Dishwasher
(Written 11-8-1998)
Andrews, TX – summer of 1947.
My first full-time job was washing dishes in a cafe. I was 11 years old, and could not get paid until I had a Social Security card at age twelve. When my first pay check came it was a big one. At 35 cents an hour, every forty hour week meant $14. Also, I got two free meals each work day, and the food was very good. Mostly I ate two hamburgers each meal or chili and crackers. My choice!
The cafe was in downtown Andrews. Across the entire length of the builing, in letters a foot tall were the words:
“AMERICAN AND MEXICAN FOOD * NO MEXICANS ALLOWED”
(But, Negroes could eat in the kitchen, as was the local custom.)
My work hours were from 4 P.M. until 2 A.M. But, the owner of the cafe made me stay after 2 A.M. and wash all the pots and pans for free, saying that I had to do that chore before I could go home. I hated washing the pots and pans because they had accumulated all day long and the food in them was dried and hard to scrub out; it was always a 2-hour job! At 4:00 A.M. I walked home.
One night I got sick and needed to go home. The owner wouldn’t let me. I went to the bathroom and threw up several times during my shift, and still had to stay and scrub the pots and pans. I was not only sick, I was angry that he would take advantage of me like that.
The next day, I showed up for work at five minutes before time to go to work. I met the owner at the cash register as I entered the building. Lots of customers were there, mostly drinking their afternoon coffee. I told him that I quit, and that I wanted my pay. He replied, “You can’t quit. You have to go to work in five minutes.” I said, “You should have thought of that before you made me work last night when I was sick. And, I want you to pay me for all the overtime you made me work.” He said that I didn’t have any overtime coming; that was just part of the job.
I replied in my natural slow drawl, “Well, I guess I’ll just go talk to the sheriff then,” and I started out the door. By then, everyone in the whole place was roaring with laughter. The owner was at the front door before I was, and he said, “All right. All right, I’ll pay you.” And he did, including the “overtime.”
I walked home and went into the tent where Bobby, Jimmy and I slept. I sat down on my bed, and was concerned that I no longer had a job.
About an hour later, Mr. Jeffrey (who owned the other downtown cafe) drove up to our tent and wanted to talk to me. He said that the story of my quitting my job was all over town, and that if I wanted to work for him to get in the car and I could go to work right now. I did, and he was always exceptionally nice to me. And, he paid me 40 cents an hour (that’s $2.00 more each week) and he never make me wash the pots and pans except on my regular shift.