Like most Irish men my age, college educated or not, I did my fair share of menial jobs, usually involving physical labour. There were no part-time jobs in Ireland back in the 80's, in fact there were no jobs of any sort. It was the standard for students to leave Ireland during the summer, and work in Boston, New York, London, or Munich. If I ever wrote a book, and the publisher stuck one of those little biographical blurbs on the inside cover, mine would read:
"John is married with two children, lives in San Franisco and prior to writing his first novel, had worked as a barman in London, a dishwasher in Munich, cleaned airplanes, painted motels, worked as a chamber maid, and landscaped in Cape Cod, and dug up gas pipes during the renovation of the Tudor hotel on 42nd street in New York."
When I first moved to the U.S., (as opposed to my student summers spend in NY and Cape Cod), I landed in Rhode Island, bought a seven hundred dollar 1980 Chevy Monte Carlo, made my way to the Cape, and spent the summer landscaping. Landscaping can be a draining job, with long, hard days in the blazing sun. A week spent mowing lawns, building walls, cutting and planting trees and pruning shrubs wipes you out. We worked for the super-rich; everyday we saw how life was lived by those at the top. Beach houses with pools, Jaguars and Mercedes in every driveway, gated communities backing up to private golf courses, and the leisure time to enjoy it all. Everything had to be perfect. Lawns had to be mowed in exactly parallel patterns, (a technique I still use in my own tiny back yard), flowers planted in precise rows, and hedges trimmed within an inch of their lives. At the time, I really felt like I was at the bottom of the pile, and the top was an uimpossibly steep climb. Me, with my degree and postgrad, and my middle class life in Ireland to return to - should all fail. I worked with people who did not have these options. Several of them commuted from
New Bedford every morning. We started at 6:30 which meant they were on the road by 5am. The younger guys were always sullen, almost unfriendly. You could spend a day working with them, and not pass more than a few words. It pissed me off, but I could understand the resentment. For me, this was a short detour on the way to the rest of my life. Mine was a life that offered choice, and it was up to me to either make something of it, or fuck it up. This was their whole life, landscaping during the summer, welfare for the winter. It was a good lesson in what life can be like if you feel that you have no other options than to work at low-paying jobs, with your daily life governed by petty mundanities.
The guys I worked with belied the idea of America as classless. Although they didn't live in trailers and were from Massachussets, they could still be labeled as "White Trash." I understand why people like them could feel pissed off, misunderstood and reactionary. If you are an educated, urban, coastal dweller in these here United States of America and whether you be liberal, conservative, or, of non-commodifiable political beliefs, you should read dissidentvoice.com, which has some pretty radical views, much I don't agree with, but this particular article is thought-provoking.
A Guide to the White Trash Planet for Urban Liberals
