Make a generous leap

It was 1973, I was a sophomore in college, and I needed a summer job. Jobs were tough to find in my small Kansas hometown, so I decided to look for a job in Chicago. My college friend had previously worked summers at a Chicago lakefront snack shop. Okay, so maybe it was a generous leap to think I could find a job in Chicago. On a fun weekend trip with friends to Chicago that included pizza, I met my friend’s sister, Sharon, who lived in Chicago’s LakeView neighborhood. She invited me to stay with her family for the summer. I accepted.

Early June, I arrived in Chicago, and moved into Sharon’s apartment. I unpacked and arranged my stuff in the spare bedroom which actually was a closet under the stairs. I had a macaroni and cheese for dinner with my new summer family.

In the morning, I started “looking” for my new summer job. I walked to nearby Lincoln Avenue and headed south to a busy six corner intersection where I knew there were dozens of shops lining the streets. As I walked in the harsh shadows of the early morning sun, I squinted my eyes to peer through the store windows lining Lincoln Avenue. Should I go inside this store and ask the store manager for a summer job? I don’t remember how many times I actually went inside and asked, but I kept walking. Then, I set my eyes upon Woolworths with its shiny, bright, red doors and prominent and flashy entrance, and I was beckoned inside. Here was my summer job.

I entered Woolworths and was immediately met with a blast of cold air. Air conditioning! This would be a great place to work. On the side of the store, behind a partition, I noticed a busy lunch counter and red booths. Digging deep for courage, I looked around for an employee badge. I was eventually directed to a supervisor, who after looking me over and asking a few questions promptly gave me some paperwork to complete. Before lunch, I had my own clean uniform and a job as a sandwich girl in the kitchen. I had no kitchen experience, and I had never been to a Woolworth's restaurant.

Every weekday morning that summer, I put on my uniform, and I walked a mile up the diagonal Lincoln Avenue to Woolworths. I started the day cleaning and preparing my sandwich board for the lunchtime rush. I filled rows of metal bins with cottage cheese, pickles, mayonnaise, and tuna fish. I stocked the mini-refrigerator underneath my sandwich board. I sliced turkey. I baked bacon in the hot industrial oven using giant gloves to take out the trays. The temperature of the kitchen was rising by the hour, with cooks preparing for lunch.

My sandwich board was immaculate and well-stocked and I was ready for the busy lunch hour. I made dozens of sandwiches every day, including the ever popular turkey club. Three slices of bread, mayonnaise, bacon, turkey and a tomato, cut in thirds with toothpicks holding it together. I added a pickle and a handful of chips.

From my sandwich board, I had a limited view of the restaurant. I could only see the hands and partial faces of the waitresses as they added orders to my window. I later learned that the waitresses liked me because my sandwiches were well-made and I made them quickly. This meant more tips for the waitresses. And, they liked me because I didn’t yell at them!

A diverse group of women worked in the restaurant. This Mennonite girl became acquainted with an Irish supervisor, a Cuban cook, a very young woman probably from Appalachia who worked the grill next to me, and an African American waitress, and others. The kitchen was a true Chicago melting pot.

I learned a lot that summer. I learned that I could tolerate a hot kitchen if I got used to it gradually. I learned that I was pretty good at multitasking. I learned that a kitchen job could be routine and sometimes boring, but still a rich experience. I learned that making a generous leap to look for a job in Chicago paid off.

Writing this, I was remembering the sit-in protest that took place at a Woolworth’s lunch counter in the south. After rereading about this nonviolent sit-in, I learned that it took place from February until July in 1960 in Greensboro, North Carolina, and resulted in Woolworth changing its segregation policies in its southern stores. I was surprised to learn that this sit-in happened in 1960, only 13 years prior to my summer job at Woolworth.

Take it or leave it suggestion #18: Take generous leaps of faith

Lincoln Ave. and School Street, photo taken June, 2024

in 1973, this building was a Woolworth. The entrance has changed drastically, because It is now a condo building. No more red doors.

Here is a link to a historical photo of the store on the LakeView Historical Facebook page.

https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=1122046797924824&set=a.215431155253064

The summer of 1973, on Saturdays, I took the train downtown and explored.