Packed

A small town kid in the '30's finds himself working the meatpacking plants in Chicago. This story explores how he deals with the change and his unexpected isolation.

Packed

Friday, December 14, 1934

The morning train’s ringing bell sends hundreds of us stampeding towards the Union Stockyard for a full day of meatpacking. When I started in the fall, it all smelt so badly: warehouses filled with sweaty men butchering cattle. Now I’m just as stinking as the rest of them. Morton, where I’d come from, was only two and a half hours south, but Chicago was a frozen mountain of cinderblocks in comparison.

Reaching my spot in the assembly line, I grabbed my cleaver and began carving my assigned cuts beside another packer. I think his name is Herb. We’d worked with each other once or twice, but he, like the rest of them, almost only spoke of the work at hand. Though one time, Herb did bring up baseball,

“Those goddamn Cubs are going to kill me if they don’t win before long.”

“Yeah. They weren’t the best last year, were they?”

            He looked at me oddly and then kept working, “My wife said she’ll kick me out if I keep betting on them… but she won’t complain once the cubbies win it all this year.” Herb looked up, winked, and continued working.

 

            After work most days, I take the train to my apartment in Packing Town. The stairs are crooked, the walls are cracked, and every now and then I can hear neighbors through the walls, but all in all, I’ve enjoyed the place. Most nights, I read to pass the time. When I talked to Ma on Sunday, she reminded me that Aunt Dori had invited me to dinner. Aunt Dori and Uncle Marv moved to the city once Marv found work as an electrician.

The bell rang at six and the warehouse began to bustle. A few fellas whistled and some clapped for the weekend. Friday makes everyone an optimist. I went to the bathroom to wash up a bit for dinner at Dori’s and caught the second train from Halstad. Marv and Dori live about a twenty-minute train ride away in Homewood.

I hopped off the train in Homewood and pulled out the paper where I’d written Dori’s address: 1861 Evergreen Road. Ma had said it was a short walk from the station, but I had no clue which direction. A short, bald man with a gray cap was walking by, so I asked,

“Excuse me, sir-“

“I haven’t got the time, boy,” the man cut me off without looking. Another man, this one taller and with a briefcase, came shortly after, so I stopped him too,

“Excuse me, do you know where Evergreen Road is?”

Still walking, the man glanced disapprovingly at me, and then at his watch, “Nope.” Eventually, I slipped into a small café and asked the woman at the counter, who informed me that Evergreen Road was only five blocks down 183^rd.

Aunt Dori’s white house was stuffed between the two neighboring houses so closely that a baseball couldn’t have been thrown between them. That’s how housing was around Halstad, but I figured the main attraction to living in a place like Homewood was the extra room. I knocked a couple times, and the door opened where Dori greeted me with an excited smile,

“Lester! Come in, come in.” Through the doorway, the smell of pork filled the room.

“Les, can I take your coat for you?”
“Yes, of course, Dori. Thank you so much for having me tonight. It smells delicious already.”

“Oh you’re welcome. You deserve a good meal here and there. I heard those

packing plants work ya hard.”

            “Yeah, it’s been busy. Is Uncle Marv home yet?”

            “Not yet, but he usually gets in around six-thirty. Les, can I grab ya anything to drink? Some water or maybe a beer?”

            I smiled delighted and said, “Water’s fine for me, Dori. Thanks.”

            “Alright.”

I sat down at the kitchen table, crossing my legs, while Aunt Dori handed me a clear glass of water. She tended to the stew she’d been cooking and then turned to say,

“So, Les, how are you liking the city? Have you been meeting any friends or girls that I should know about?”

Dori was generally interested in other people’s lives, and she loved to gossip. She joined me at the table while we waited, and I smiled,

            “You know, Dori, I’ve mostly just been working. The city’s big. I’ve talked with a couple guys at the plant here and there, and my neighbors have stopped over once or twice, but that’s about all.”

            “Oh, it does feel big sometimes. It was tough for Marv and I when we first moved in too, but you get used to it… and the girls? None of interest yet?”

            “I wish I could tell you yes, Dori, but I’ve really only talked to one gal the whole time I’ve been up here.”

            “And?”

            “Well it’s nothing to be too excited about. Her name’s Laurie, and she works the register at a clothing store just north of Packing Town. I’ve only spoken to her about clothes and the weather so far, but I’ve been buying a lot of socks just to see her.”

            We heard the front door open and close. Dori called,

            “Marvin, is that you?”

            “Yes, yes. I’m here, don’t worry,” I could hear Marv groaning, so I stood up to greet him.

            “Why, if it isn’t Lester! God, you’re looking old nowadays.”

            “Hey, Uncle Marv. How’ve you been?”

            “Ugh, don’t ask, boy. Winter’s a ole wretch who gets meaner with age.”

            “I bet she does.”

            “Yeah, it feels a little colder than Morton, eh? I miss that little town.”

Dori cut in, saying, “Marv, why don’t you grab yourself something to drink and we can get dinner started? Lester must be starving.”

“Well, then he can join the club.”

 

As we sat down to eat, Uncle Marv asked Dori,

“Pork stew? You never make pork stew when it’s just you and I!”

That was the best meal I’d had since moving. Marv complained about work, Dori tried to lighten the mood, and I was quietly content with the food in front of me. Despite Marv’s pessimism, it turned out to be a wonderful evening. I realized how I’d missed talking to someone, and that had me thinking of Laurie for the rest of the weekend.

 

Sunday, December 16^th

            Walking down Michigan Avenue, I saw multiple people that I’d already met: Mr. Johansen from Morton’s gas station, Larry Turner from my father’s co-op, even Martha Maynard from high school. But it wasn’t really any of them. I waved at Mr. Johansen, and a surprisingly unfamiliar glance shot back at me. Larry didn’t turn around when I called his name, and Martha began to walk more quickly once I met her eyes. It was troubling to see all of these people but not actually see any of them.

 

Monday, December 17^th

            The plant was busy and we’d begun like any day. I’d never worked next to the Italian man to my left, but he was polite. In front of us the conveyor system brought cow after cow. While we were cleaving, I began thinking of Laurie again. I couldn’t even picture her face in as vivid of detail as I’d wanted, so I imagined what was missing. Since it was payday, I was planning when to stop into Lancaster’s Clothing Store. As I was slicing the rump from the sirloin, my cleaver directed itself across the lower half of the sirloin. I ripped the cleaver out of the mistake to look at the damage, and I wasn’t the only one who’d seen.

            “Merda,” my partner reacted as he looked across the table.

And, as luck would have it, the foreman was near enough to see our reactions. He stopped the conveyor system and made his way over to see what the fuss was about,

            “What’s the problem, boy?”

            “I was just cutting the rump sir, and um,” I gestured toward the flawed cut with nothing to say that the foreman couldn’t see for himself.

            “Goddammit! That sirloin’s worth more than your day’s wages.”

            “I’m sorry, I-“

            “Just get back to work! If it happens again, it’s coming out of your next paycheck, ya hear?”

 

            After work, we were all given our pay for the week. Placing the money in my hand, the foreman restated his warning. I grabbed my pay, promised to take better care, and got out quickly. It was only five past six, and I knew that Laurie usually worked until six-thirty on weekdays, because her father ran a tight ship at Lancaster’s. I arrived just north of Packing Town by six fifteen.

            Laurie sat at her usual spot in front of the register tapping on the front desk in boredom. Lancaster’s was one of the largest clothing store’s that I’d seen, and it was incredibly organized: men’s clothing on the right and women’s on the left. The further back in the store you went, the more formal clothes were.

            “Hello, Lester. Back for more socks?” She giggled.

            Smiling in reply, I said, “I figured I could use another pair.”

            “You must have at least seven pair from us alone. Are you running through them that quickly?”
            “Yeah, I guess so. They’re so comfortable I just have to get more.”

            She nodded acceptingly and I went back to act like I was there to buy socks. Once I’d picked up and held three or four of the same brown socks, I brought one pair up to the register. She looked at me questioningly, but rung up my purchase anyways.

            “Ten cents as usual.”

I handed her a dime and a smile, “Thanks, and Laurie, what um, what are you doing this weekend?”

“I didn’t think you were in here for socks,” she said enjoying my anticipation, “and I’m not doing anything this weekend, Lester. Except for working the register on Sunday.”

“Well, could I take you for dinner? Maybe Friday evening?”

“Sure. I haven’t been treated to dinner in a while. Where would you like to go?”

I hadn’t the slightest idea. I’d gone to a total of two restaurants since moving to Chicago and the first was with my parents.

            “What about that Italian place on 35^th and Ashland? I think its called Bellisima’s.”

            “Oh, I don’t really like that place much. I saw a cockroach in there once… What if we went to this place downtown? It’s called The Berghoff. We ate there for my nineteenth birthday, and it was delicious.”

 

            I was to meet Laurie at her house on Friday night at six. As excited as I was, I was a little worried about The Berghoff. I’d only saved up about fifteen dollars since coming to the city, but I would’ve paid hundreds for some company.

 

 

 

Friday, December 21^st

            “I think Daddy liked you, Lester.”

            “Well, good. He’s funny, even if he was a bit grumpy tonight.”

            “Oh, that was a good mood for him. He usually doesn’t speak when Death Valley Days is broadcasting.”

 

            The whole walk from the train station, Laurie commented on the people and shops we passed. While she noted the new corner stores, I was trying not to be dumbstruck by the hovering buildings, some of which must have had at least thirty floors.

“Oh, Lester! That’s the restaurant, right over there.”

The Berghoff looked magnificent, greeting visitors and passersby with shining neon lights. A man wearing a pressed suit like a train conductor’s opened the door for us. We made our way to the greeter’s counter, and a large, blonde woman asked if we had a reservation. Luckily, Laurie had warned me that we would need one if we were going downtown and I’d called ahead of time.

“Yes, it should be under Kennell… Lester,” I replied

“Right this way, please.”

The restaurant was split: one side a crowded bar and the larger side could have been mistaken for a ballroom. Large circular tables filled the very center with ivory tablecloths, and a soft recording of a piano played in the background. Golden chandeliers were strategically spaced and dimmed to calm the room that already felt noble. We were seated by the window at the front of the room.

“Isn’t this place lovely, Lester?” Laurie asked, excitedly. All I could do was nod. Everything was so lavish. Other tables ordered appetizers, deserts, wine, and champagne.

 

“Hello, my name is Fritz. I’ll be serving you this evening. Could I get you started off with some drinks? We just received a new shipment of Italian wines, which would be my recommendation.”

Laurie replied immediately, “I’ll have a gin and tonic please, and a glass of water too.”

They both looked at me and I stalled, “Um… well…”
            Laurie tried to help, “Their whiskey drinks are usually pretty good here, I think.”

“Alright,” I said, unsurely, “I’ll have um…  an old-fashioned please.”

“Wonderful,” the waiter said unimpressed. “Here are some menus for you. Our special tonight is the rotisserie duck with cranberry seasoned rice and asparagus, and I will be right back with your drinks.”

 

The rest of the meal Laurie did the entertaining. She told stories about how she’d visited New York City with her father and all the extravagant dining they’d done. They went there often to get a sense of developing women’s fashion and to meet with clothing suppliers. She continued saying how much she wished she could do those kinds of things more often, but her job at her father’s store was the best that she could get for now.

While Laurie daydreamed and the meal neared its end, I was estimating the total cost of our meal. The check came and I accepted it from the waiter with a thin smile of false thanks. Our meal cost two dollars and sixty-seven cents. I sadly laid the money in the waiter’s pad when I heard Laurie say,

“Oh, Lester, look over there. That’s that new bar that opened last week. I think its called Louie’s. It’s supposed to have great jazz music.”

“This must be the happening part of town,” I replied worriedly.

“Can we stop in, Lester? We don’t really to be back anytime soon.”

“Eh… Of course. We can take a peek.”

She smiled in reply, temporarily easing the pain in my frugal mind.

 

We crossed the corner of Adams and State streets where I could see more neon lights, “Louie’s: Always Playing the Blues.” The smell of cigarettes led us down to a room much smaller than The Berghoff’s. There was a purple and blue-lit stage occupied by three negros: one playing saxophone, one on piano, and the third on bass guitar. Small tables lined the stage and extended near the entrance. Laurie glowed and said,

            “Ooo, this place is the snazzy. Do you want to have a drink, Lester?”

            I couldn’t refuse. We grabbed drinks that cost another twenty cents. Trying not to wince, I paid and we sat down to listen. The bass player strummed and sang a slow few verses while the sax broke in between lyrics,

“Those streets were special…

That place was lovely…

I swore I’d stay there…

But that city ain’t done no good for me!”

 

The saxophone player dug into his notes, and I loved every second. We kept the drinks coming. The night filled me with a livelihood I hadn’t felt in months. I told Laurie about how I’d come to Chicago because my older brother had taken over our father’s diner in Morton, and how I’d never really needed any of those socks that I bought at Lancaster’s.

 Laurie laughed, “After the third pair, Les, I assumed as much.”

“I just couldn’t stay away from that pretty face behind the counter.”

“Oh, please.” She turned away with her drink, smiling from embarrassment.

“Would you like another?”

“Alright, Les, one more then we ought to head home.”

 

            I felt a difficulty in walking, and if someone saw they might have thought I was dancing. As I ordered drinks, the band finished a song and I clapped loudly. At the same time, I saw a man joining Laurie. Unfortunately, I don’t remember what happened entirely, but once I’d gotten our drinks, Laurie smiled upon my arrival and the man’s conceited face didn’t. I set the drinks down, and held out my hand,

            “How ya doin? I’m Les.”

He gave a smug look and said to Laurie,

“You’re here with this bumpkin?”

Laurie tried to defend me, but I drunkenly yelled,

            “Who the hell are you calling a bumpkin, Palooka?”

            The man jumped up and pushed me. Pushing him back, I regained my balance only long enough to see him hit me across my face. Laurie yelled, and I took the man to the ground. I jabbed him once or twice in the ribs, and he tried to push me off of him. Two workers who’d been standing near the door quickly separated us, and told us both to leave. I cursed at the man who seemed much more worried than he had before. While I grabbed my coat and Laurie’s, the other man hurriedly made his way up the stairs and out the door.

Walking to the station that night, Laurie apologized to me repeatedly. I kept checking my nose for blood and soothing my aching eye. At the train station, my rage began to cool, and she told me what a wonderful time she’d had.

“I had a great time too, Laurie. I’m sorry ‘bout all that back there.”

I walked her back to her house from the station, and felt comforted that she’d stayed with me. Then, standing on Laurie’s doorstep, she kissed my cheek and I went home.

 

 

 

Saturday, December 22^nd

            The morning was miserable. Aching and moaning took up most of the time I’d hoped I would be sleeping. I drank water, but couldn’t think about food without gagging. I began remembering the previous night: Laurie, the fight, the drinks, the music, the food, and the money.

I ran to my pants that were folded over a chair and reached for my wallet. I’d taken out six dollars, and I only had three nickels and a dime left. And Laurie: I wasn’t sure if my wallet or my body could afford to take the woman out again. Perhaps, I’d just visit her at the store after the next payday.

            My head pounded until ten when I finally convinced myself to get up. I leaned over the sink to rest before a shower. An enormous black eye stared back at me through the mirror. It was not proving to be one of my better days.

 

            After a shower, I’d finally stirred up some hunger. I looked in my small icebox to see that I was out of meat for sandwiches. The only slices of bread left were the butts, and I would need more butter. If I was going to eat this week, I needed a trip to the store.

            I trudged in the cold with my eyes down. I recalled the fight my brother and I had gotten into in grade school and how everyone in town had found out about it. I smiled when I realized that no one in the city knew or cared who I was or what had happened to me last night. As I bought butter, noodles, and bologna, the old cashier said,

            “Let me guess: I shoulda seen the other guy, eh?” He laughed while bagging my groceries and I laughed along, glad that I wouldn’t have to see him again.

 

 

Author's Note

-What was good?
-What could be better?
-Are there any parts that are cliche, too slow, or skip important information?

Reviews

[Dana Stevens]

This story is extremely captivating. Short, straightforward, compelling, historical......old in a time that was many years ago. But somehow fresh and original, and relatable. I don't think it could be improve. Then how good this is right now.