News, analysis and commentary from the black left

Those Laboring Days In the 1980s and 90s, even a klutz like me could find work as a manual laborer. I painted houses, washed windows and cleaned apartments and offices. At my first house painting job, I propped a ladder upside down against the wall, don’t laugh, and was not let go. Once I was so hungover, I had to climb down from the ladder five or six times to throw up, and still wasn’t fired. My boss, Joe LeBlanc, just laughed it off. In fact, he even paid me a full day’s wage, and told me to go home. Joe was a Canadian who had gone South to join the US Army. Like us all, Joe had his rough spots, but he was a very good man, I’m convinced, because he treated his workers well, and was willing to hire goofs or even fuckups. Any man who’s willing to be boss to such a lame roster is OK in my book, but like I said, times were good then, and everyone could find work. Now, Joe wasn’t running a charity, but a regular business, and we didn’t loaf and do drugs on the job. “Well, you’re here!” “No, no.