Unemployed or Underemployed?

I took a voluntary buyout 15 months ago from a job that had been my life for 32 years. I believed that God would provide whether I stayed there or whether I left. The most exciting and challenging option was the uncertain one, so I took two years' salary and hit the door. I was physically, spiritually, and mentally in better health than I'd ever been. I'm still physically and spiritually fit, but my mind has been through a blender. The trail has been lined with new experiences, but the future is still a fog.

I am a writer by trade. That's what my eighth-grade English teacher, Joyce Berry, suggested in 1965, and that's been my journey ever since. I spent three decades as a journalist at The Anniston Star, The Hickory Daily Record, The Tuscaloosa News, and The Huntsville Times. At 58 years old, though, I was ready for a new challenge.

A temporary technical writing job with SAIC gave me a taste of a new career. It was more strict and limiting than journalism, but a challenge. It was only temporary, so I never felt that I was part of the company. Job hunting was a slow process for the next few months, and I went to work for $9.20 an hour at Home Depot as a seasonal worker. They have since made me officially a part-time employee. The paychecks can hardly cover a house payment, yet I can't be considered unemployed. I guess I'm just underemployed.

You know what is most troubling about having no full-time job? I miss the feeling that I belong to a group or a company. I miss being part of an operation that claims me as an employee. The paychecks injure my pride, but the lack of camaraderie job security is devastating to my psyche.

Center Theater's "Colored" Balcony

Movie-goers entered downtown Hickory's Center Theater through two entrances. One was for whites and the other for blacks. The box office had windows on two sides, and posted prices were 35 cents for regular seats and 25 cents for the "colored" balcony.

The discrepancy always confused me, and I thought it was unfair. I would much rather have sat in the balcony, and the 10-cent discount was an added bonus. I never remember seeing anyone entering the theater on the opposite side of the box office, which led to a stairway. In fact, I never remember seeing or hearing anyone overhead during a movie. Obviously, the customers who sat there were well-behaved. I can truly appreciate that today.

1950s Segregation in Downtown Hickory, NC

I never knew the words segregation nor discrimination until well into high school, although my family had been immersed in the practice of both for generations. My parents were particular who they allowed to care for their young children, and one of the trusted souls was my aunt Pauline Mitchell. She had a son my age: in fact, Pete and I were born in the same hospital two days apart, shared the same nursery there and many hours and days as we grew up. Neither of us could even pronounce the word segregation. But I have a vivid memory of my first scrape with it during a trip to Sears Department Store in downtown Hickory with my aunt's family during the late 1950s.

Pete and I were thirsty. We rushed to the two water fountains at the back of the store. He began drinking from one and I from the other. Suddenly, everyone began to laugh at me. I looked up at a sign that read "Colored." I was shocked at myself, embarrassed, and afraid for my health. Did the water taste any different from Sears' "White" fountain? I didn't think so. Was I going to be taken to jail or to the hospital? It didn't seem so. Everyone chuckled, and we went on our way -- to the Center Theater, Woolworth's, Murphy's or the corner drug store.

I've thought about that day for many years. I've wondered whether anyone else ever noticed my mistake. The water was clear; it was cold; it was refreshing. The memory is refreshing still. And now I can share it with all.