KILLING TIME KILLING ANTS

I always needed money and I was always out of it. When school dismissed for the summer in May 1940, I was in desperate need of $5 to pay for a week at Camp Tangipahoa with my Boy Scout Troop 123. I was Senior Patrol Leader and I was to be in charge of all the Scouts in my troop. It was imperative for me to go. I had no luck finding a job, but mama's friend at church, Mrs. Eschol Lieb, offered me a temporary one. She was an important administrator at McComb Lumber and Coal Company on South Broadway, across the street from my Grandfather Crittenden's house. The company occupied about 10 acres between the cotton gin to beyond the drainage ditch and between Broadway and the railroad on the east side of the street. My job was to cut the weeds, briars, and high grass that had grown up all over the lot, using a swing blade mostly.

Mrs. Lieb greeted me warmly, introduced me to a lot of folks in the main office and store. This was 7 AM. She said I would be paid $2.00 a day and the day ran from 7 in the morning to 6 in the afternoon, with an hour off for lunch. Already feeling the warmth of the sun from outside and thinking of how hot it was going to be the rest of the day, I managed a weak grin and an even weaker "Thank you, ma'am." She told me to get a new swing blade off the rack and a pair of gloves. As I got the necessities, I was thinking, "Well, bud, you asked for it. Swinging a yo-yo blade for 20 cents an hour in that snake-infested jungle!"

I went to work with a will, first clearing all the unsightly patches around the office and in front, figuring to get off to a good start so the bosses would easily see the fruits of my labor. I took no breaks for several hours, again striving to make a good first impression. When the inevitable blisters began rising on my hands, even under the gloves, I stuffed some rags into the space between my hand and the glove, and kept swinging. By the end of the first day, the area around the main building was well-cleared and looked like "yard of the month." I must have gotten a dozen compliments, and Mrs. Lieb said she was pleased with my work. She looked at my bleeding hands, with their burst blisters looking like raw hamburger meat and said, "Ludie will have to doctor your hands, and you must take it a little easier tomorrow." (Ludie was mama's given name.)

The walk home was about one mile long, and it took all my will power to drag myself there. I had briar scratches all over my arms and legs and though I didn't know it until that night, I was covered in redbugs or "chiggers."

The second day was different. It started off fine. All the top brass made a special point of telling me what a great job I had already done. The yard foreman and the men who worked on the sprawling lumber yard congratulated me and several said, "Don't work so hard. You've got all summer." I though of me and that swing blade and those blisters and that 20 cents an hour and those 10 hour days and thought, "That's what YOU think!" If I could have thought of a decent way to quit RIGHT THEN, I WOULD HAVE GRABBED IT LIKE A PERCH HITTING AN EARTHWORM!

Oops. I felt an urge to visit the little house with the crescent moon on its side. Yes, the company had a privy on the yard for the use of the workers. On the way to the "seat of ease," I remembered that I had not gone even once to the outhouse yesterday. That was possible, I figured, since I sweated so much and plus, I was so determined to make a good impression. The visit was wasted, because it was a false alarm; but I figured that hummm, that took 45 minutes and I made 15 cents.

Back to the briar patch. After a furious attack that lasted 30 or 40 minutes more, my mouth was as dry as the inside of a cotton sack. Mama had told me to drink plenty of water to keep from getting overheated, and so far I had not taken a single drink. Of course, I could have gotten a drink when I went to the restroom because the barrel of iced water with the dipper hanging on its side was nearby, but I forgot. To go to the water barrel, drink my fill, wipe the sweat off my face, and get back to the swing blade, took another 10 cents (or 30 minutes time). hummmmm...

On the third day I had completely cleared the briar patch. The company grounds looked a lot better, and again I was forced to accept compliments for my work. Honest Mrs. Lieb told everybody at church how hard I worked and how good the place was looking. It made me feel guilty about spending a total of FOUR HOURS in the privy, frequent trips for water, sitting and sharpening the blade...I had filed on the swing blade so much, it was getting narrower by the day, but I thought of that full rack of new ones in the store.

The rest of the property was huge but didn't take too long to blade. Meanwhile, I discovered the dry drainage ditch was lined with concrete. A person could sit on its bottom for a long time and remain out of sight, as if he were working behind the sheds or along the tracks. Long streams of ants were going busily to and from wherever ants go in long streams to and fro. I began killing them with my fingers. I must have mashed the life out of 10,o00 on some of the occasions when it was G.I. Billy against "the ants from Mars"!I was engaged in research, really. How long would it take a human finger to kill all the ants that used that particular drainage ditch to go to and fro? I didn't discover the answer, because I never slowed them down or interrupted the lines in the least; the only sign that they even noticed me was a slight curve in the line where my finger dropped the hammer.

On the 5th day, I told Mrs. Lieb I had finished the whole lot, and there was no need for me to keep working, because it would take at least 2 weeks to grow bad again. She thanked me profusely, paid me 10 whole dollars and eent me home. There was no Social Security tax held out of my pay. On the way home I figured out that I had worked about 25 hours and gotten paid 40 cents an hour, or killed 10 ants for a penny.

Either way, I was happy. But killing ants was more fun!