| Family Non-Fiction posted August 13, 2018 |
  |
The first meeting of my parents was not ideal..
When Dad Met Mom
by HarryT
Frank Novak, a fellow worker at the Cracker Jack Company, said to my father in the cafeteria one day, “You gotta see the new tomato in the coating area.”
Harry knew the location well since he washed the mixing vats and was responsible for cleaning the entire area when he was first employed at the company. The next day, on his morning break, he decided to amble over to see the new girl for himself.
Mary Ann, my mother, loved to tell the story of how my dad charged into her life.
“He tried to be my white knight,” she said to her children. “I was tending two lines, a popcorn feeder line and the red peanut line. I was in charge of the amount of freshly popped corn that flowed from one conveyor belt into glass funnels and then I added red peanuts from another line. My job was to control the amount of popcorn and nuts that went into a large calibrated, glass funnel in exact proportions of nine-tenths popcorn and one tenth nuts which was clearly marked. After I filled the funnel in correct amounts, I pushed a button on a control board that moved the funnel over a large vat that contained the supposed Cracker Jack secret formula of a bath of butter, brown sugar, corn syrup, and molasses. I pushed a second button that released the popcorn and peanuts into the vat. Then the combination was slowly stirred, strained and transferred to another line to dry and harden.”
Mom would continue the story with a smirk on her face. “Well, everything was fine until one day after filling the glass funnel with the popcorn and peanuts, I swung it over the coating slowly churning in vat. I pressed the button to dump the popcorn and nuts, but nothing happened. I just heard the motor grind. I pressed the button repeatedly, but the grinding sound continued, the funnel didn’t dump. I got nervous and forgot to stop the conveyor belts, popcorn and nuts kept falling off the line like two waterfalls flowing onto the floor and among the equipment. I kept pressing the button not knowing what else to do. That’s when your father appeared.”
A droll smile crossed her face. “I was panicked. Popcorn and nuts poured off the belts. Your dad reached over and hit the glass funnel with his hand, but it wouldn’t budge. He slapped at it a few times. It shook, but it didn’t dump. The gears kept grinding. Popcorn and nuts continued to roll off the line forming flowing white hills on the floor. Your dad swore a couple of times and grabbed a broom. He banged the gears, hoping the funnel would release. No luck. The nut filled popcorn hills grew higher and higher. I kept screaming, ‘Turn it off, turn it off.’ Then your father reared back like Babe Ruth and swung the broom. He missed the gears, and hit the glass funnel. The funnel exploded. Bits of glass went flying into the vat, into the gears and on the floor. I felt a sting on my neck. I touched the spot and pulled a sliver from my neck. My fingers were covered with blood. I screamed.”
Mr. Johnson, the shift supervisor, came running and turned off the power shutting down the conveyor lines. I can still hear him yell, ‘For Christ sake! What the hell happened here?’ He pointed at your dad who was still holding the broom. ‘Get your dumb ass out of here. Now!’
Mr. Johnson told me to go to the company nurse. The entire plant except for the marshmallow division, which was in a different wing shut down. The sanitary crew cleaned the vats, conveyor lines three times. The entire production area was power washed twice and wiped down to assure no bits of glass remained. Mountains of popcorn and nuts were discarded into an open railroad car on the rail spur behind the plant. Mr. Johnson told me if it happened again, I would be fired and to keep my boyfriend the hell away from the area. I told him he was not my boyfriend that I didn’t even know the guy and didn’t want to.”
Attaining a date with the damsel in distress wasn’t an easy task. Mary Ann wasn’t one to be swept off her feet. She danced at the 1933-34 World’s Fair on Chicago’s lakefront and later at a club called The Ship. Her stage name was Mary Ann Pearl, and she enjoyed playing coy with the boys. Nevertheless, Harry’s persistence paid off, in spite of the bizarre beginning, the two remained soul mates for sixty-eight years.
Non-Fiction Writing Contest contest entry
Frank Novak, a fellow worker at the Cracker Jack Company, said to my father in the cafeteria one day, “You gotta see the new tomato in the coating area.”
Harry knew the location well since he washed the mixing vats and was responsible for cleaning the entire area when he was first employed at the company. The next day, on his morning break, he decided to amble over to see the new girl for himself.
Mary Ann, my mother, loved to tell the story of how my dad charged into her life.
“He tried to be my white knight,” she said to her children. “I was tending two lines, a popcorn feeder line and the red peanut line. I was in charge of the amount of freshly popped corn that flowed from one conveyor belt into glass funnels and then I added red peanuts from another line. My job was to control the amount of popcorn and nuts that went into a large calibrated, glass funnel in exact proportions of nine-tenths popcorn and one tenth nuts which was clearly marked. After I filled the funnel in correct amounts, I pushed a button on a control board that moved the funnel over a large vat that contained the supposed Cracker Jack secret formula of a bath of butter, brown sugar, corn syrup, and molasses. I pushed a second button that released the popcorn and peanuts into the vat. Then the combination was slowly stirred, strained and transferred to another line to dry and harden.”
Mom would continue the story with a smirk on her face. “Well, everything was fine until one day after filling the glass funnel with the popcorn and peanuts, I swung it over the coating slowly churning in vat. I pressed the button to dump the popcorn and nuts, but nothing happened. I just heard the motor grind. I pressed the button repeatedly, but the grinding sound continued, the funnel didn’t dump. I got nervous and forgot to stop the conveyor belts, popcorn and nuts kept falling off the line like two waterfalls flowing onto the floor and among the equipment. I kept pressing the button not knowing what else to do. That’s when your father appeared.”
A droll smile crossed her face. “I was panicked. Popcorn and nuts poured off the belts. Your dad reached over and hit the glass funnel with his hand, but it wouldn’t budge. He slapped at it a few times. It shook, but it didn’t dump. The gears kept grinding. Popcorn and nuts continued to roll off the line forming flowing white hills on the floor. Your dad swore a couple of times and grabbed a broom. He banged the gears, hoping the funnel would release. No luck. The nut filled popcorn hills grew higher and higher. I kept screaming, ‘Turn it off, turn it off.’ Then your father reared back like Babe Ruth and swung the broom. He missed the gears, and hit the glass funnel. The funnel exploded. Bits of glass went flying into the vat, into the gears and on the floor. I felt a sting on my neck. I touched the spot and pulled a sliver from my neck. My fingers were covered with blood. I screamed.”
Mr. Johnson, the shift supervisor, came running and turned off the power shutting down the conveyor lines. I can still hear him yell, ‘For Christ sake! What the hell happened here?’ He pointed at your dad who was still holding the broom. ‘Get your dumb ass out of here. Now!’
Mr. Johnson told me to go to the company nurse. The entire plant except for the marshmallow division, which was in a different wing shut down. The sanitary crew cleaned the vats, conveyor lines three times. The entire production area was power washed twice and wiped down to assure no bits of glass remained. Mountains of popcorn and nuts were discarded into an open railroad car on the rail spur behind the plant. Mr. Johnson told me if it happened again, I would be fired and to keep my boyfriend the hell away from the area. I told him he was not my boyfriend that I didn’t even know the guy and didn’t want to.”
Attaining a date with the damsel in distress wasn’t an easy task. Mary Ann wasn’t one to be swept off her feet. She danced at the 1933-34 World’s Fair on Chicago’s lakefront and later at a club called The Ship. Her stage name was Mary Ann Pearl, and she enjoyed playing coy with the boys. Nevertheless, Harry’s persistence paid off, in spite of the bizarre beginning, the two remained soul mates for sixty-eight years.
Harry knew the location well since he washed the mixing vats and was responsible for cleaning the entire area when he was first employed at the company. The next day, on his morning break, he decided to amble over to see the new girl for himself.
Mary Ann, my mother, loved to tell the story of how my dad charged into her life.
“He tried to be my white knight,” she said to her children. “I was tending two lines, a popcorn feeder line and the red peanut line. I was in charge of the amount of freshly popped corn that flowed from one conveyor belt into glass funnels and then I added red peanuts from another line. My job was to control the amount of popcorn and nuts that went into a large calibrated, glass funnel in exact proportions of nine-tenths popcorn and one tenth nuts which was clearly marked. After I filled the funnel in correct amounts, I pushed a button on a control board that moved the funnel over a large vat that contained the supposed Cracker Jack secret formula of a bath of butter, brown sugar, corn syrup, and molasses. I pushed a second button that released the popcorn and peanuts into the vat. Then the combination was slowly stirred, strained and transferred to another line to dry and harden.”
Mom would continue the story with a smirk on her face. “Well, everything was fine until one day after filling the glass funnel with the popcorn and peanuts, I swung it over the coating slowly churning in vat. I pressed the button to dump the popcorn and nuts, but nothing happened. I just heard the motor grind. I pressed the button repeatedly, but the grinding sound continued, the funnel didn’t dump. I got nervous and forgot to stop the conveyor belts, popcorn and nuts kept falling off the line like two waterfalls flowing onto the floor and among the equipment. I kept pressing the button not knowing what else to do. That’s when your father appeared.”
A droll smile crossed her face. “I was panicked. Popcorn and nuts poured off the belts. Your dad reached over and hit the glass funnel with his hand, but it wouldn’t budge. He slapped at it a few times. It shook, but it didn’t dump. The gears kept grinding. Popcorn and nuts continued to roll off the line forming flowing white hills on the floor. Your dad swore a couple of times and grabbed a broom. He banged the gears, hoping the funnel would release. No luck. The nut filled popcorn hills grew higher and higher. I kept screaming, ‘Turn it off, turn it off.’ Then your father reared back like Babe Ruth and swung the broom. He missed the gears, and hit the glass funnel. The funnel exploded. Bits of glass went flying into the vat, into the gears and on the floor. I felt a sting on my neck. I touched the spot and pulled a sliver from my neck. My fingers were covered with blood. I screamed.”
Mr. Johnson, the shift supervisor, came running and turned off the power shutting down the conveyor lines. I can still hear him yell, ‘For Christ sake! What the hell happened here?’ He pointed at your dad who was still holding the broom. ‘Get your dumb ass out of here. Now!’
Mr. Johnson told me to go to the company nurse. The entire plant except for the marshmallow division, which was in a different wing shut down. The sanitary crew cleaned the vats, conveyor lines three times. The entire production area was power washed twice and wiped down to assure no bits of glass remained. Mountains of popcorn and nuts were discarded into an open railroad car on the rail spur behind the plant. Mr. Johnson told me if it happened again, I would be fired and to keep my boyfriend the hell away from the area. I told him he was not my boyfriend that I didn’t even know the guy and didn’t want to.”
Attaining a date with the damsel in distress wasn’t an easy task. Mary Ann wasn’t one to be swept off her feet. She danced at the 1933-34 World’s Fair on Chicago’s lakefront and later at a club called The Ship. Her stage name was Mary Ann Pearl, and she enjoyed playing coy with the boys. Nevertheless, Harry’s persistence paid off, in spite of the bizarre beginning, the two remained soul mates for sixty-eight years.
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. HarryT All rights reserved.
HarryT has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
