Grantville Gazette.Volume VII Page 9

  "Hmm." Chad picked up his silverware again. Leaning forward, his mind worked quickly while he ate. "Hardest part will have to be getting the tin rolled. Well, that and getting enough tin to begin with," he thought aloud, his eyes unfocused. "Don't have the zinc to galvanize at a reasonable price. Ceramics, glass, brass. Could even make them with grooved wood, I guess. Might have a problem with splinters which would tear up the fabric, not to mention fingers. If it's tin, Ulrich can soften the tin and then it's only a question of rolling it to the proper thickness. Crimp the sheet tin between two star-shaped rollers to corrugate it. We'll have to get iron billets from USE Steel, then use either Nat Davis or Dave Marcantonio's shops to make the rollers. The wood is easy. Have to set up a new assembly line."

  Tin was possible and impossible. It'd work but was both expensive and needed wood to back it. Glass was possible but in general too fragile. So it was back to easily worked wood, Chad thought reluctantly. It was too damned easy to copy so he'd have to go for saturation marketing and stress quality. But once he could hot dip galvanize…

  ***

  Four days after Chad and Denny Reilly finished working out the kinks of washboard assembly, Chad began hiring.

  "Easy work." Bernhard Kosberger, the supervisor for the wringer operation looked at the four German men standing around the table. In front of him were five narrow ribbed boards, a thin rectangular board and several sturdy lengths of wood.

  "Watch closely or I'll be done before you know it." Bernhard grabbed one of the two long pieces, fixed it into the bottom of a jig, then in succession began fitting in the other pieces of wood, lightly tapping them together into the groove of the long piece. He next fitted the matching long piece of wood on the opposite side then clamped the entire assembly together, leaving one short length of wood on the table. He flipped the assembly onto its bottom and fitted the short length across the top.

  Bernhard smiled. "Right now, I could take the whole thing apart." He took two short thin nails and lightly tapped each into the top immediately over each leg piece. He flipped the assembly on one side. Taking two short dowels, he dipped them in glue then tapped them into the holes above and below the pieces of ribbed wood. He flipped the assembly over and repeated the process.

  "That's it." He unclamped the finished assembly. "Except for stenciling the name 'Laughing Laundress' on the top panel. Took, what, two minutes? Easy, right?"

  "What's it do?" The man asking wore a slight frown, his arms folded across his chest.

  "It's a washboard. Take a shirt, put it in a bucket with soapy water, rub it against the ribbed wood to loosen dirt and remove any stains. Rinse it and run it through the wringer before hanging it up to finish drying. Much easier than rubbing the cloth between your hands, beating it with a stick or hitting it against a rock. Understood?"

  Another man scowled and looked at the man next to him. "Doesn't seem to be real work to make these. I mean, man's work. Where's the skill, the need for strength? There's no craftsmanship, no pride in your work, just mindless assembly. Well, except for cutting and grooving all the pieces of wood precisely. Now that takes skill."

  Bernhard looked at the two men impassively. "We buy the pieces of wood already cut and grooved. Using a hydraulic press to put the ribs into damp wood is the only woodworking we do here. No reason you have to do assembly if you don't want to. We're not paying for highly skilled work. So if you want to find other work, it won't bother me."

  Ten minutes later, Bernhard walked into Chad's office. " Mein Gott ! This is so stupid. Easy work and all of them say it's too easy, like it's unmanly. The wringers they do because it's at least mechanical and has moving parts."

  Chad leaned back in his chair with a bitter smile. "Would it be better if we hired only women to do the assembly? After all, it's a product made for women." Bernhard's face showed how uncomfortable he was with the idea.

  "I'll have someone else, a woman, as their supervisor. You know, the more I think about women doing the assembly, the better I like it." Chad saw Bernhard relax. Then he gave a quick grunt of laughter. "We'll have word of mouth working for us even before the first washboard is sold."

  Finding women to do the assembly proved to be remarkably easy. In no time the number of washboards sold was twice that of wringers.

  August, 1633

  Chad wished he could go back to bed. After all, being shot in the lower back, even by an almost spent ball from a wheel-lock does not heal in a day or two, no matter how fast it appeared in the old westerns. Chad made a trip to Magdeburg a week after the Croat raid and came back with a lead souvenir. Doc Adams removed it with appropriate derisive comments.

  No sooner was he home from that procedure than Debbie came to him. "There's trouble down at the shop. I received calls yesterday afternoon from Bernhard and Dorothea that the men and the women were yelling at each other. At least that's all they were admitting. Frankly, I think there was some minor pushing and shoving as well." Her lips were tightly pressed. "I thought it was over but Dorothea called here while you were gone, saying nothing had changed."

  Chad gritted his teeth and looked at his watch. "Call up Bernhard and Dorothea. Tell them I want to see them here at eleven o'clock. They're also to tell their crews that I'm shutting down production until we get whatever the problem is resolved. A day or two without pay ought to cool down the hotheads."

  ***

  "Okay, what's the problem?" Chad looked at his two supervisors, Bernhard for the wringer operation and Dorothea Bischoff for the washboard operation. "Dorothea, tell me your side of the argument first."

  Dorothea was a stocky mature woman with a ruddy face whose auburn hair was held in place by a colorful headscarf. "Chad, it's these men. It's bad enough that we women have to work in the same shop with them without them trying to put their hands on us or make suggestive comments all day long. Besides, there's nothing that they do that we women couldn't do at least as quickly." She would have expanded on the theme but Chad held up his palm to stop her comments.

  "Okay, Bernhard, what's the argument that the men have against the women?" Chad was rapidly tiring even if his head was propped up with pillows and the footrest of the recliner was up.

  "It's like this, Chad. Those women, they don't understand mechanics, how things are supposed to go together. But they are always coming over to our end of the shop, making comments about how they could do the entire operation more efficiently. Besides, they refuse to sweep the floor in our area, even though that's part of the written procedure even if we crate the finished washboards."

  "We wouldn't mind doing it if you men would do a decent job of crating the washboards and didn't just throw all your scrap onto the floor rather than in the waste barrels!" Dorothea interjected.

  "Yeah? You women just want us to do the work that you're supposed to be doing!"

  "Stop, stop, stop." Chad held up his hands wearily. "It's clear that the swapping of sweeping and crating duties isn't working. So from now on, the men will sweep their own shop and the women will crate their own washboards."

  Both supervisors looked slightly mollified but Dorothea was still angry. "Tell him that we're decent women, not floozies for their convenience. If they want that kind of women, they can be found elsewhere. Keep your damn hands off us. Understood?"

  Bernhard looked rebellious. "You just keep to your side of the shop," he spat back. "Nobody asked you to come over to our side and tell us you could do just as good a job as we do! Those women who come over to our side are just looking for attention from my guys and then complain because they get it."

  "That doesn't explain your men coming over to where we're working, saying what baby work it is!" Dorothea snarled.

  "Enough!" Chad could barely keep his eyes open. "Debbie! Get me the phone."

  A moment later, Denny Reilly of Denny's Lumber was on the other end. "Denny, this is Chad. Yeah, it is a real pain but better than getting shot in the butt. Reason I called was that I need a wall built right across the middle of the
shop, about eight feet high. I need it done as soon as possible. How much will that cost? Uh-huh. Okay, who does that kind of work? Johann Muelpfort's the master carpenter you recommend? Thanks. Could you contact him and tell him I want to see him as soon as possible? I'll be at home for at least a couple more days. Thanks."

  "Okay, here's the deal." Chad was breathing heavily, his face slightly pale. "First of all, Debbie will meet you back at the shop. She'll draw a chalk line across the middle of the concrete floor dividing it equally. You two discipline your own people, keeping them on their own side of the shop until the wall is finished. Or all of you can spend your time at home without pay until it's done. Clear? Anyone who can't manage to stay on their side of the line will suddenly be switched to that work unit. One of that group will become a member of the other work unit. Also as of today, the men sweep their own shop and the women crate their own washboards.

  "I'm also going to split up the lunch breaks. Bernhard, you've got a taler on you, right? You flip the coin and Dorothea will call it. Winner picks which lunch hour they want this week. Then the following week, the lunch hour will switch between groups. I'm going to keep both crews apart as much as possible until you learn to play together."

  Dorothea won the toss and chose the later time because the week was almost over. Then the following week, her team would go to lunch earlier.

  "Oh, and by the way, if you can't discipline your own people, I'll find someone who can, even if I have to fire you and hire someone else. Is that clear?" Chad fixed his eye on each in turn.

  Both left, each distinctly happier at the other's comeuppance but not unhappy with the result to themselves. The heart of successful diplomacy is schadenfreude, Chad thought.

  "I should have handled the affair, Chad." Debbie assisted him upstairs to bed. "Like boys and girls in the fourth grade, each determined the other has cooties." She smoothed the bed linen over his body and under his arms. "You just get your rest while I go over to the shop. I'll have Christina answer the door when the master carpenter arrives. She'll bring him to you."

  After she left, the middle fingertip of one hand touched its counterpart across Chad's chest. Perhaps I ought to put my hands together in prayer like all the funereal statues of the nobility do. Chad's eyes were closed as his mind drifted.

  He could almost hear the echo of the nasal guide's voice. "And here, ladies and gentlemen, is the crypt and depiction of Charles Hudson Jenkins, Senior, the first von Grantville." Yeah, right. Over my dead body, he snickered before falling asleep.

  Burgers, Fries, And Beer

  By John and Patti Friend

  Julio sat with Odetta and Fenton. The Club was empty. None of the regulars were in and, as usual, Fenton was opening. It was early yet-just past two in the afternoon-and the three had nothing to do.

  Julio Sanabria looked at his two co-workers. "For two bits, I'd get rid of everything and move away from here! Lousy daughter and her kids, stinking mortgage… I should just leave them, and all the rest of this crap."

  Fenton Mase nodded. "Grantville just ain't worth hanging around anymore. Hell, everyone except the regulars either won't talk to me or figures I'm just as big a racist as most of the crowd around here."

  Odetta Thorpe spat tobacco juice into a coffee cup. "Look. It could be worse; you could be like me. Half the down-timers think I'm sick and the other half think I'm a whore. I sure ain't going to try to compete with the likes of Hot Pants Cooper or Angie for the few single men who come in here."

  Julio growled something that nearly made Odetta swallow her wad of tobacco. "Sorry, Julio. I forgot!"

  "Come on, Julio. You have to admit it. Angie has earned her reputation." Fenton snorted. "She has the twins and she has another bun or two in the oven right now. Besides, she was in here last night with Hot Pants before she took off."

  Julio felt like he'd been kicked. It had been busy and he'd been stuck in the back. The regulars had been hollering about how it wasn't right, having all those Krauts on the police force. Then there had been an altercation between Ronnie Murray and someone else-it didn't matter who. Ronnie had been given the old heave ho.

  Somewhere between the fight, his sixth burger and fries order, and washing the skillets again to make more fries, Angie and Hot Pants had left. Connie had, once again, been a no-show, leaving him to pull double duty.

  Being chief cook and bottle washer in the Club 250 was no joke. He'd been stuck watching the fries so they wouldn't burn in the lard. Making French fries was a lot more work now that the cooking oil had either run out or been taken for some other use. Actually, Julio thought the fries had a better flavor, but to hear the regulars bellyache, you'd think they were being forced to eat shit.

  Julio snapped back to reality when he heard the voices of Ape and Monkey Hart. It was time to get into the kitchen. The two jerks would want their standard burgers, fries and beer.

  "Well, that's it." Fenton tapped out his pipe. "Time to earn our dollar."

  Odetta spat her tobacco wad into the cup and handed it to Julio. "Damn it, Odetta! You could at least dump the thing out and rinse it."

  "Got customers, Julio. You wouldn't want Ken to fire me, would you?" Odetta smirked.

  "Forget it, Julio," Fenton said. "The way Ken has been losing waitresses-and I've had to do their work, too-I don't want Odetta fired."

  Julio marched into the kitchen. Damn Fenton and Odetta! Like Fenton busted butt behind the bar. And Odetta sure didn't hustle. She spent more time leaning against the bar shooting the breeze with Fenton than serving customers.

  "Hey! Git over here and take a payin' customer's order." Ape Hart yelled across the room.

  It was just another day at the Club. Tonight, he'd have to go home, let the babysitter leave, and supposedly watch Angie's twins, Julie and Juanita. Hell, he was usually so tired he just collapsed. But the poor kids only had the babysitter and him most of the time.

  Damn Angie! Why couldn't she be like her sister, Amy? Now that girl had a future. Angie was pregnant again and didn't even know who this father was. What a surprise.

  Julio checked the temperature of the deep pan of lard. At any moment, Odetta would yell for burgers and fries. He would be glad when Connie started her shift. Then he'd just have to wash the dishes and prep cook if it got busy. Things just kept getting worse at the 250. Since that crap with young Tommy, her brother-in-law, Connie just didn't work as many hours.

  ***

  Julio scraped the charred tobacco from the clay bowl of his pipe. He'd broken two of them since he'd started smoking a pipe. He couldn't buy cigarettes anymore, something about not having decent paper for them. Besides, no one wanted to make them anyway.

  He wouldn't mind if someone did, but he had the feeling that wouldn't happen any time soon. Besides, tobacco wasn't all that cheap and there was only one tobacco shop in Grantville. It was owned by a Dutchman and Spaniard.

  It was break time. Connie Cooper had finally shown up. She watched the kitchen while Fenton had the bar and Odetta worked the tables.

  The more Julio thought about it, the more he realized that he really had to get out of Grantville. It wasn't just Angie, the twins, or even the job. His life had gone to downhill when Juanita had had her accident back in ninety-two. It had been all he could do to cope with her injuries, much less try to raise three kids.

  If his cousin, Sergio, and his wife hadn't helped out, the whole lot probably would have turned out like Angie. But John and Amy were good kids. That was Sergio and Janie's doing more than his.

  The best thing he could do for everyone was to just sell out and leave. Go off somewhere and start over again.

  It would serve Angie right if he dumped her and she had to fend totally for herself. Maybe someone would take the twins and give them a decent home. John and Amy could fend for themselves. They were both pretty self-sufficient as it was. They certainly didn't need him. He didn't have much of a relationship with either of them, anyway.

  "Julio, your break is up! Get back in
here!" Odetta yelled. Ken must have come in and she was warning him before the boss decided he was loafing.

  Hell, he hadn't even started his smoke. He pocketed the pipe and headed back to the kitchen. He saw the back of Odetta's bean-pole shape, skinny butt, and chicken legs as she made for the main floor. Connie was flipping a couple of burgers and a pan of grease was spitting. He was going to have to peel some more potatoes and have them ready and soaking in a bowl for Connie.

  He didn't have any dishes in the sink right now, so he was supposed to make sure she had things on hand for the burgers and fries. That meant slicing the bread, preparing the potatoes and onion slices. All that kind of crap had to be done between washing dishes. There was no lettuce or tomatoes this time of year, which made his job easier.

  Tonight, when he got home, he'd have some of the shine he'd stashed in the pantry-if Angie hadn't found where he'd hidden it. He would give some serious thought about where to go and what to do while he sat back with a big tumbler of hooch.

  ***

  Julio dragged in from the Club. Three thirty-seven in the morning and his house was a pig sty. Angie's babysitter was still here, crashed on the couch with the old crib next to her. The twins were asleep, which was good. If they would only stay that way until he got a few hours of shuteye himself. They were nearly into their terrible twos. He could still remember Angie at that age. She had been the worst of his three kids, but the twins were putting her to shame.

  He felt like kicking Angie right out the door. Damn her staying out all night. If he didn't help pay for the babysitter he didn't know who would take care of her kids. He was too busy working and John and Amy had their own lives. He wouldn't expect either of his two younger kids to help him, and certainly not Angie. It was a good thing Juanita hadn't been able to see what her daughter had become.