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Our family lived on a wonderful winding street with something of a hill...
It wasn't a high hill, but had enough slope for a bicycle to pick up a little speed
as it was steered down it... at whatever speed a young kid pleased.
It was a great summer pastime for all the kids on the street.
We'd pump our way up... do a smooth, easy U-turn... give it one good pump...
and glide effortlessly all the way down... maybe doing a little fancy driving on the way.
We were doing just that... one summer afternoon...
when we heard the whining and banging of the garbage truck...
heard the screech of the brakes... the roar of the grabber in its back end...
and we all cleared the street as it made its way down the hill.
We all knew not to bother the garbage men as they worked their way along...
and so we put our bikes away.
It was a hot day that day. Usually the truck would come much earlier.
I watched from our driveway... thinking how they must have been at this
since early in the morning... as sometimes I had heard the truck before dawn.
The two men on the back hanged on to big sidebars and stepped on to a side step
as the truck eased from one driveway to another...
a short acceleration and dieseling... then a screeching brake at the next house.
The two men would hop off... lift the steel garbage cans at the edge of the driveways...
carry them the ten feet or more to the back of the truck... dump each one...
sometimes there were two... sometimes there were boxes, as well.
The bins got lifted... dumped... and returned to the spot at the edge of the driveway.
No time was wasted... very efficient process... and the two black men walked back
to their spot... pulled themselves onto their stoop... and the truck roared and whined
as it traveled the fifty feet or so... to the next pair of driveways.
I stood on my driveway out of the way... watching as the truck wound down the street.
The men working the cans were large and muscular black men.
I never saw them flinch at their task. I had to admire them completely.
In a matter of minutes the truck arrived at our driveway.
I wanted to say something nice... even though I had always been instructed
to not bother them in their work... or interrupt them with talk.
I'd just never watched this done... and it was such a hot day.
The large man seemed such a nice man... I would say he looked jovial...
and I... wanted to say something nice... so I did.
"Gee Mister, that's hard work, isn't it."
The man seemed shy... but replied...
"yes it is, missy, hard work it is."
The men hopped onto their stoop and I watched as the truck made its way
down the street and around the bend... until I could no longer see it.
I wondered how many times that the truck screeched and stopped...
how many cans those kind-looking men lifted...
and how many hours they had to work to finish their route.
It must have been hundreds of cans...
hundreds of driveways... hundreds of ups and downs on their stoops...
all the while breathing the stench in the truck.
Respect... I learned a real respect for these hard-working men.
It was a gruesome job... at bad wages.
Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. took up their cause...
to get them better than minimum wage...
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