Her name is Linda....

You remind me of a WW II story, Letty.

I grew up in Johnstown, PA--yes, the Flood, but also once upon a time a big steel town. Johnstown is in a valley and the iron ore and cole and coke came in by train and the steel went out by train.

With the men off to war, women were hired to keep the train engines clean. Once over lightly with a hose wasn't enough for these gals. They scrubbed every piece of engine that they could reach--and then climbed underneath and scrubbed some more.

Several supervisors tried to explain that fanatic cleanliness was not necessary. The women said clean was clean--and continued scrubbing for the duration.

My word, Noddy. The Johnstown Flood? I read that book an eternity ago. I guess the essence of the message is that we overlook the stern backbone of the American woman. Should I be destitute, and relied on cleaning someone else's home, I would probably fold my tents like the Arabs and silently steal away.

Have you ever read Galsworthy's "Quality"?

My employer hired a woman to do cleaning work. She went at it so industriously, always going the extra mile. Today, instead of cleaning, she is the manager - my boss.

Well,edgar. Slow and steady wins the race? Hey, buddy. Hire yourself out as a swinger of birches. I just was so impressed with that woman. I can't tell you how I admired her. I will cling to her like a wild rose clings to a crumbling portcullis. <smile>

Who cleans your pool, Letty?

Who cleans your pipes, Gus? <smile>

A lovely piece Letty. It reminds me of another such woman I knew as a child. She lived on a farm with a million different animals and a husband whom she loved and took pride in everything she did, even cleaning our house. She would always bring us kiddies homebaked cookies to munch on (though they always had a modicum of hair in them, we were too young to care).

Fortune, kids will eat anything won't they. It seems to me that there is at least one benevolent soul in every neighborhood. I'm just glad that I have someone, FINALLY, who not only earns the money, but is an artist of a different sort.

Her name was Linda, she was a 'show' girl...

Heh! Heh! I know...I know. Clean by day, porn star by night.

I am completely lost...

Well, stuh. What started out as a real and true tribute sorta got side-tracked with the bon mot here. That has never bothered me, however. and don't let it confuse you, my poetic friend.

The Linda of whom I spoke is a real person and a survivor who has never let the trials of life diminish her quality of work. She symbolizes all that is right in America,(and perhaps the world) and abolishes the notion of stereotypical biker gals.

If you have a tribute to the ordinary working class person that you might know, post it here, or create your own. Whichever you choose, it will be good, because it is true.

I'm a little rusty Letty, but here goes:

FATHER FOR A DAY


It was early morning as the young boy gazed out of the hall window. He had heard an unfamiliar sound and upon investigation he discovered that a man was working behind the rental duplex next door. He had tools strewn around and was working with a machine that made a whirling sound as it ran.

The boy?s interest overcame him and demanded that he do more than just watch the man work. In three jumps he cleared the stairs and bounded out the screen door. Around the house he ran. Once he came within speaking distance, he greeted the older man with a cheerful ?Hi!? and as many inquisitive young men do, got swiftly to the point, ?Whatcha doing??

The older man smiled and responded, ?I?m fixing the pipes in this house?

?Can I watch?? the young boy asked.

?Sure? replied the man, without adding the normal demand that he not get in the way.

The boy stood quietly and absorbed all the man?s activities. His father had left long ago and the boy simply liked being around men; especially big men doing work. The man cut several lengths of pipe and carried them into the basement. The boy followed cautiously. The man laid the pipe on the floor and to the young mans astonishment, he asked ?Do you know what a wrench is??

?Yes? the boy replied.

?Well, go get me the big red one on the grounds outside, if you would?

The boy turned and charged out the door. Not only didn?t the man mind if he watched, he had asked him to help. He remembered the empty feeling that he had had when his friend David had said that he and his father had built a tree house one weekend. He smiled as he thought ?Today I?m helping a big man fix the pipes in a house?. He reached down and picked up the wrench and bounded back into the basement.

?Thank you? said the man.

Through out the day, he helped the man pick up and carry pipes. The man showed him how to thread a pipe and had even showed, then allowed, him to cut a section of pipe. When the man stopped for lunch he had allowed the boy to remain and quietly answered all of the boys questions as to where he lived, did he like plumbing, did he have children, etc.

Late in the afternoon, the man began to put his tools away and the boy helped him carry some of then to his truck. When the truck was loaded the big man thanked the boy for his help, smiled and drove away.

The boy sat quietly on the curb thinking, ?We didn?t build a tree house but, I had a father for a day!?

Messed up. Should have posted it as a text file. Can't remember how to edit. ? = "

Messed up, Morganwood? I don't think so. You just made me cry real tears. The title is perfect and your piece was wistful and beautiful.

As for the edit option, look at the top right of your page and you'll see the edit button.

Thank you, my friend, for that lovely creation.

That's a great little story

Thank you for pointing me in this direction, Letty. It is so nice to read you, and Noddy, and morganwood.

<sigh>

I'm going to see if I can't come up with a tribute, too!