Labor Day weekend reflections on jobs and lessons learned on the farm as a boy and a variety of jobs later in life

If you’re smart — and Lord knows that’s a struggle for me — you get more out of a job than a paycheck.

You get valuable lessons. About work itself. About yourself. About dealing with customers and coworkers.

Looking back on six decades of work, with a wide variety of jobs I’ve held, I know I learned more than a few lessons. Some, it took a bit for the information to get through my thick, stubborn skull. But I think I understand many of them now.

I started working on our family farm when I was 8. My first job was to carry feed and water to about 125 hens we kept. I was a slight kid, always the smallest in my class, so about halfway between the barn and chicken coop, my thin arms would ache and I would set down plastic pails containing oats and water for the chickens.

I later learned Mom used to watch me, proud of my efforts and smiling at the determination I showed in completing the chore. I also had to collect eggs, which Mom and I took to Estelline on Saturday night to sell.

Sometimes, a cranky old hen would peck at my hand. I would pull back, and once or twice retreat to the house. I’ve been attacked!

Mom would smile and tell me to go fetch the eggs. I learned a lesson about courage in the face of a determined chicken — and about the value of accomplishing something for the family.

I moved to the dairy barn when I was 13 and fed, watered and milked the cows. I brought them up from the pasture, and helped pull a few calves when a heifer struggled to give birth. I bottle-fed calves, cleaned the stalls and made sure they survived our harsh winters.

I loved milking, and I was good at it. When I was 17, I obtained a loan and bought six cows. They produced milk I sold, as well as calves. I paid the loan off in less than half the intended time.

I learned about growing and improving, about investing time and money and benefiting from it.

I was offered a multi-million-dollar loan to upgrade our farm, buy better cattle and improve our dairy. Dad was in his mid-50s, and the money was not made available to him.

After wrestling with it, I turned it down to go to college.

Was that a mistake? Would I have gained financial security for my family? I have debated that many times in the last five decades. To their credit, even though they hoped I would take the loan and invest in our farm, my parents never pressured me.

They taught me about making your own decisions, accepting responsibility for our actions and life.

I went to SDSU to become a history teacher and coach. That was a popular tandem for history students in that era.

But I wrote a few stories for the college newspaper, The SDSU Collegian, and fell in love with newspaper work. It was a decision I’ve never regretted, although a lot of other people, including publishers, editors, reporters, mayors, police chiefs and others probably wish I had stuck with the original plan.

That was a lesson I taught myself.  When you find your path in life, stay with it, through the good times and bad.

It is easy to be a reporter or editor when you’re winning praise from others, appreciation from readers and awards from state and national organizations. That’s the fun side of it.

It’s not very pleasant when an editor criticizes you, an angry politician demands the publisher fire you, or a cop threatens you for writing the truth.

All of that happened to me. But I survived. One lesson I learned was, always follow my instincts on what was right, what was fair, what was honest.

That has never betrayed me.

That was especially important when dealing with politicians. You can’t allow them to flatter you, to seem to become your friend or use your work to promote themselves. The reality is, most really don’t care. They’re on a mission with a clear goal — their success and power. Cynical? No, realistic.

I’d advise everyone to learn that.

I have held other jobs over the years, including helping to build a highway bridge between Brookings and Volga — I still remember that summer whenever I drive on or past that span. I worked on house construction, pitched flax straw onto a conveyor belt, tossed bales for neighboring farmers, and sold shoes.

I did that in college and a decade later in Portland. Veteran “shoe dogs,” as the salesmen called themselves, taught me how to sell, how to prevent shoplifting — watch out for people trying to distract you when someone is hovering over an expensive pair of boots by the door — and how to prevent water damage. That ruins more shoes than a bad dancer who steps on your toes.

I worked in casinos in Reno and Las Vegas. I carried change — a demanding, low-paying job — worked briefly in a sportsbook until the 1982 NFL strike hit, and dealt 21 at Harrah’s Reno and the Palace Station in Vegas.

It was fun and slightly glamorous, and I met several interesting characters and had some very memorable experiences in and out of the pit. But it wasn’t fulfilling.

Shuffling cards cleanly, telling a joke that makes the whole table laugh or handing chips well just wasn’t enough for me. It was a good job for a young person, but I couldn’t see making it a career. The people who did, well, some had normal family lives. Others were stuck in permanent adolescence.

That was an important lesson, too.

I also waited tables — good money for damn hard work. After serving food and flipping cards for a living, I became a very good tipper. Those folks earn their money.

I also served as a substitute teacher in Sioux Falls, finally fulfilling my earlier plan. It was a very eye-opening experience. Some kids really wanted to learn and grow. Others wanted to lay on the floor of a bathroom or curl up on a bunk bed that was for some reason in the back of a classroom.

I felt out of place. Schools are far, far different places from what I remembered. I am amazed by the teachers and staffers who do their jobs with all the challenges they face. They are our best.

I also need to thank, or at least acknowledge, the bad bosses I have worked for over the years. Some were bullies, some were drunks and some were just incompetent.

I tried to learn how not to lead a newsroom from those people. I know I made my share of mistakes as an editor, but I remain in contact with several people I hired or worked with. I appreciate the patience they showed and the help they gave to me.

I have had several good bosses, too. They pushed me to work harder, to do better work, to show up in the morning. In Texas, a publisher bought me an alarm clock. I got the message.

But I learned a great deal from wise editors and publishers who were driven to produce the best possible paper. They sweated the small stuff and pushed for big stories. I am forever in their debt. 

So, as Labor Day approaches, I am looking back at what I laughingly call my “career.” It hasn’t been perfect or, at times, even rational.

But it has been very educational. That’s my final lesson for today.

Fourth-generation South Dakotan Tom Lawrence has written for several newspapers and websites in South Dakota and other states for four decades. He has contributed to The New York Times, NPR, The London Telegraph, The Daily Beast and other media outlets. Do not republish without permission.

Photo: public domain, wikimedia commons

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