My diverse working life commenced at the Commonwealth Employment Service; these days, having been privatised and known, amongst other things, as 'Job Centres'. After an interview, I was directed to a men's clothing store in Eastwood, then known as "Stanbrown's''. (Since gone out of business.)Here was to commence the longest week (or so it seemed, at the time) of my life! I was to find, later on, that I certainly enjoyed dealing with the public. However, at 'Stanbrowns', I spent most of my time down on the floor; cleaning up ingrained dirt, left by the floor polishing machine. I think I might have served five customers in the whole week I was there. Anyway, after that long week, they decided they wanted a senior, instead of a junior person.

I really don't think you could call my next encounter with the workforce too much like employment - but the follow up "job" was a Friday afternoon and the following Saturday morning as a general trolley collector and shelf stacker at a 'Franklins' supermarket at Top Ryde, earning the princely sum of $AU4.13c. This is not much more, these days, than the cost of a packet of Classic Assorted Biscuits (free plug for the [now] non-Aussie Arnotts...definitely "ARE - NOTT" Aussie, no mo' eh!! More on the Tangent subject elsewhere.
 
But, in all fairness, as monetary remuneration goes, in that couple of half days, I have to say that there was the odd "couple o' bob" or 20 to 40 cents in tips from the customers! These usually came as a result of performing "car service" by wheeling the customers' groceries out to their cars, in the trolley. Of course, 20 or 40 cents in those days was worth a lot more than it is today in 2016. My prospects of continued employment at 'Franklins' soon disappeared in amongst all the cartons and boxes.(Franklins was known for having numerous either packed or half packed or empty cartons in the aisles.)
 
With these few dollars, I spent my first Christmas, in 1967 as an ex-student/unemployed person. Sorry, folks, but back in "them days"... there was no such thing as "Unemployment Benefit, or the dole" as it is commonly known. It was but a short time (four years) after this the 'dole' came in: thanks to 'god', I mean...Gough* (*Gough Whitlam the first Labor - Americans read DEMOCRAP Prime Minister in 23 years - long story for someplace else).
 
I should hasten to say here, that at this stage I had attended about twenty interviews for jobs. I was interested in the banks, but they said I was too short...I am now 5'4" which is probably short for some. Maybe I was even shorter then. I think they were only concerned about the staffer's ability to ward off any possible robbers (save the money...too bad for the employee.) I had always been interested in the Railways, but already been told I would not get in there because of eye and ear problems.

I remember, after having made my twentieth attempt for a job, arriving home one afternoon; my (now ex and since deceased) sister-in-law  saying:
"Why aren't you out looking for a job?" You can guess at my reaction to that! I actually burst into tears, and Mum defended me.

After all this hard work at looking for it (work!), in early January 1968, I had an interview with Mr Johnston of "J Stanley Johnston* Pty Ltd." He was an importer & wholesaler/retailer of musical instruments, including electronic organs. I was engaged to work in the musical instruments section and as an electronic organ demonstrator. At that time I had only been conversant with electronic organs, or spinet organs I think they were called, for about three years.
 
While employed at *JSJ I was to meet many famous people. The shop was part of a section of the northern end of the old, pre-renovation, Queen Victoria Building; on one of the dirtiest, dustiest corners of Sydney I have ever known. One of my jobs being - to dust the drums and guitars etc. every day, was made harder by the constant flow of the later extinct Double Deck Government buses, that roared past the front door (and the resultant dust & grime they created!). They disappeared for a while in later years, but truth be told almost 50 years later, Double Deck Buses are returning to some parts of the city.
 
There were many funny situations, I recall, during my time at *JSJ, involving my fellow workers. Every morning, most of the staff would be in their positions for the opening time. However, on most days, a few minutes after the appointed opening time, Fred, the expert on guitars would arrive. He would sneak in through the front door & up the front steps, appearing at the back of the shop, from the storeroom a few minutes later with some guitars in hand.
 
Can't say if he would have claimed to have been upstairs before opening time, getting stock...who knows? It is quite possible he had been seeing students at the shop before opening time, to be fair on Fred. In his favour; he was an accomplished Flamenco guitarist, from whom I learned an expression I have never forgotten. This was in relation to an opinion on someone's musical prowess. He would say...
"So and so is good at (say) the organ; 'too'!" Meaning the person was good at something but not, in his opinion, as good as he might be?
 
Talking about the back steps: There was another man by the name of Bill, who was also a guitar man, and country singer from years long gone by. None other than "Smiling Billy Blinkhorn" of Canadian origin, I am told.
 
My mother knew him as a Country & Western singer. (These days called Country Music) from her younger days, so I guess he was famous in her teen years. I'm pretty sure he saved my life or saved me from a bad accident, one day. The back wooden stairs were very old & worn, as the building we occupied was, also. And you had to watch carefully, coming down them.
 
Well, the accident-prone self (me) was coming down these stairs, when, for some reason, I lost my footing and flew off the step: into the arms of Bill. If he hadn't been there, I know I would have been badly hurt!
 
The gentleman, who was in charge of the musical instruments' part of the store, was Bobby Bell. He was also in charge of me. We got on pretty well, most of the time. I do remember he was quite strong in his outlook on life in general and you certainly respected his view on things...or else!
 
I think we were in agreement on politics, fortunately. He taught me a lot about mouthpieces for brass instruments and reeds for woodwind, also about valve oil for trumpets. He used to often crack jokes; and one day I laughed so loudly at one of them, it wafted up to Mr Johnston, who was in his office. 

Perhaps you might wonder at the volume of my laugh? Well, I was about seventeen years of age. Also being a late bloomer; however you want to say it. I'm not certain at that stage whether my voice had broken or not. So how did he hear me laughing? I have to confess my voice has always carried. People have often remarked how they would hear me before they saw me. Probably because of my hearing problems and raising my voice, even to hear myself, perhaps?
 
The shop, as outlined earlier, was on a few different levels. The office was upstairs and the downstairs part, because of the difference in the levels of George Street at the front of the store, and York Street outside the back, sloped up from the front to the back. At the front of the store, the upper level, containing offices and the cashier's station was of mezzanine design, skirting the interior, leaving high ceiling space...providing excellent acoustics, of course. Good for selling organs because that's where the organs were located on the ground floor, directly under the open space.
 
So: To the result of my vibrant laughing.
 
Mr Johnston came to the fence bordering the upstairs balcony.  Then looking down in our direction, with stern face barked...
"Mr Bell!! Mr Bell!! Who is that laughing? TELL WHOEVER THAT IS TO STOP LAUGHING!!!" I wish I could remember what the joke was, now, but alas! I can't. Anyhow, I, after recovering from the thought that I was probably going to lose my very first permanent job, together with the other staff was nearly bursting with laughter again, as a result of Mr J's reprimand.
 
I can still picture him, now: arms by his side; fists clenching and opening and him rising up and down on his shoe tips.  I can’t say for sure why I did not get sacked on the spot. However, it could have been that Mr J. liked my organ playing when I would practise in the afternoons. Or, if the incident was after a possible sale I nearly had, of an organ, that impressed him.

His other favourite expression when there was that possibility of a major item sale would be...
"What's the story, what's the story?" There was a time when Mr Tuckwell, the Organ Manager was on leave and I, as organ demonstrator, was keeping an eye on the area. A couple of people from the country were looking at the organs and I had my first opportunity to make a sale.
 
Mr Johnston was very encouraging to me; I had demonstrated the instrument to the prospective clients and between them and Mr J, I was negotiating the price. I should say, here, that at this time in 1968, most of the basic, but good quality organ models were equal in price to a small, new car. Around $AUD 2,000.00. The average adult wage at the time was probably $AUD45 per week.
 
This is to illustrate the importance of this sale...especially involving a seventeen-year-old boy! A few days after these folks had been in the store, Mr J allowed me to use his 'personal phone' in his office, to call the interested people long distance, to follow up their inquiry. After the call he asked me the question he always asked the senior sales staff on such an occasion; now altogether everyone...
"What's the story? What's the story?!"
 
Even though the sale didn't eventuate, he was very understanding and viewed my efforts favourably. You can imagine the lift that gave me.
 
He used to move between the shop and the warehouse at St Leonard's on the North Shore in his lovely Rolls Royce. I know he always drove himself around in it, too. A pity, it was that he never invited us to go for a ride.
 
Lunchtimes or even sometimes at Morning tea, seeing I often missed breakfast, I would visit the local milk bar for a (hot) meat pie and a milkshake. I know (meat) pies like we have them here, are non-existent in America and while they do exist in England things go in reverse to Australia. Here it is Hot Pies and Cold Beer. In England, it is usually COLD Pork Pies and warm beer. In America, you can forget the pies. Lovely Hot Meat Pies.
 
One day, I decided to get a hamburger and a milkshake from the corner Milk Bar. I commenced consumption of the hamburger when I came across some 'foreign bodies' in it... namely broken glass!  Guessing the bowl they were mixing the mince and ‘hamburger helper’ or whatever they used back then, got dropped. Strange how they rescued the minced meat still from what kind of floor?? Oh me! Lucky for the Milk Bar it was 1968 and not 2013, or the Health Department would have been called in for sure.

I suppose the only reason I continued going there was: 1. There wasn’t much else apart from some of the dreary places coming up for a mention, ahead. Or: 2. They made the best milkshakes on earth as far as I was concerned. Definitely, of the “Non-Accountant and Non-Smoker” variety* I loved the particular flavouring they used in ‘em too!
 
There were, in the dear old, ancient Queen Victoria Building, a number of other interesting stores. I patronised a lot of them including Reuben F Scarf menswear. Another place along the way, which I don't think I ever did patronise, was the "True Health Aids" store. Man alive! Most of the patrons in that place looked very much like they had already died and maybe it was a 'reincarnation' of their former self, sitting at the tables with their carrot juice or their celery, carrot and whatever combination of "potions". Now back to JSJ.
 
Even though my tenure was relatively short at JSJ, it was a good introduction to the working world of Sydney, at that time. I was there for 18 months and I was fortunate to have had a good group of people with which to work. I had heard a rumour that the shop would eventually close down. (As far as I can tell...the reason for this was that Mr Johnston's son, Mr L. J. we called him, was not willing to keep the music business going after Mr J's retirement).
 
As I think about it, now, I'm not sure my fellow workers weren't trying to frighten me into moving on. Maybe, because I was a young musician, up and coming in the world; they might have considered me a threat to their livelihood (ha! ha!).