Paul Kusuda’s column
RELOCATION CENTER TO CHICAGO
RELOCATION CENTER TO CHICAGO
Part 3
Relocating from the Manzanar Relocation Center in California to the big city in Illinois was an
experience, but it wasn’t too bad. The bus ride and long train ride was bearable though not fun.
The man who sat next to me on the train was not someone I remember; I don’t remember
whether we even conversed.
Job hunting in Chicago was easy since I was looking for work not requiring previous experience
or any kind of training. As reported in my previous articles, the pay was small; however, cost of
living at the time was also not overwhelming. My weekly pay covered housing, transportation,
clothing, and subsistence costs. As in the past, I was poor but not destitute or homeless. My
health was good, and I was okay with my lot in life. I still planned to be a professional social
worker, but my application to the University of Chicago was still pending.
The next job my friend and I got was a dozer. It involved tossing 200-pound sacks of coffee
beans four-high onto wooden skids (pallets) that others hauled away somewhere.
Relocating from the Manzanar Relocation Center in California to the big city in Illinois was an
experience, but it wasn’t too bad. The bus ride and long train ride was bearable though not fun.
The man who sat next to me on the train was not someone I remember; I don’t remember
whether we even conversed.
Job hunting in Chicago was easy since I was looking for work not requiring previous experience
or any kind of training. As reported in my previous articles, the pay was small; however, cost of
living at the time was also not overwhelming. My weekly pay covered housing, transportation,
clothing, and subsistence costs. As in the past, I was poor but not destitute or homeless. My
health was good, and I was okay with my lot in life. I still planned to be a professional social
worker, but my application to the University of Chicago was still pending.
The next job my friend and I got was a dozer. It involved tossing 200-pound sacks of coffee
beans four-high onto wooden skids (pallets) that others hauled away somewhere.
We each weighed about 120 pounds, so lifting the coffee beans was not easy. Heck, it was hard! We managed stacking
sacks three-high, but hoisting them to the fourth level turned out to be too much. So, we got our pay and quit. We also
decided to go our own ways to find jobs. We weren’t successful as a team. Too bad. But, it was good to run into a friend
in Chicago who was a former classmate at the Los Angeles City College.
My next job was at the R.R. Donnelley Co. As usual, I was eager to get working and , of course, get paid. The company
bound telephone books on a seasonal basis. It also bound magazines. I didn’t ask where the printing was done because
my job was after the material was printed and ready to be bound.
At Donnelley’s the magazines were LIFE and TIME. My work involved piling put-together-and-stapled copies on skids
(pallets) in such a way that use of space was maximized and stacks placed in such a way that they would not slip or fall
down. Magazines bundled by the machine that stapled them had to be placed on skids with boards placed between layers
of bundles, the number of layers being determined by the height of bundles. LIFE and TIME bundles, being printed on slick
paper, were heavy, and proper placement on skids required not only endurance but also agility. Sad to say, I was not the
most adept worker, but I wasn’t fired. I just had to work hard.
An efficiency man (wearing a tie and carrying a clipboard) kept track of time, production quantity, machine downtime, and
number of skids hauled away from the machine. He also called break times so we could go to the wash room, smoke,
snack, etc. Those breaks were not often enough for the men on the machines. Once in awhile, a man would “accidentally”
pull a magazine askew on the page assembling/stapling machine on which we worked; that stopped operations, and
someone had to be called to fix the blockage. Presto—break time! The efficiency man really hated to have the stoppage
but felt that accidental paper misfeeds were part of production hazards.
Sometimes, when jobs had to be completed to enable meeting contract requirements for shipping deadlines, workers
were asked to take an extra half-shift, thus meaning a 12-hour work day. Some men had to get home, others had to get to
part-time jobs, others had family plans. Management exerted pressure. Single men could accommodate more easily than
those with wives and children. Since work hours exceeding eight per day meant getting paid time-and-a-half, that incentive
was present in addition to pressure from the foreman.
The downside of production work was that when all shipments were made and contracts other than the ongoing ones with
LIFE and TIME Magazines were not scheduled, workers were not needed, and hours were cut. Continuous scheduling
was not always possible. Long-time workers and those with experience were preferred to new workers. I was among the
expendables, so after a couple of months, I quit to find more stable work.
I heard about unskilled jobs available about a mile away from R.R. Donnelley’s. It was called the Cuneo Press, owned by
John F. Cuneo, a well-known Chicagoan. The pay started at $0.67 ½ per hour, better than my previous pay, and was
raised to $0.72 in two weeks with assurance that further increases were possible. I took the job and worked at Cuneo’s for
years. Fellow employees were friendly and helpful.
Office staff helped me fill out applications. The well-dressed General Manager (Mr. S. Gervase) was cordial and interested
in my plans for going on to school. He said I could plan on working part-time while a student. I felt welcomed. The future
looked much brighter. The work was hard at times, but I felt at ease with my fellow workers. Management was fair and
interested in seeing that workers were satisfied and willing to stay on their jobs.
Later, I found that some of the workers had been there for 20 and more years. There was no union; there was no push for
one. Interesting, but what the heck! It was the late l940s and early 1950s. Management and workers were in equilibrium. I
was comfortable as were my fellow workers. On hindsight, I’d say that Cuneo’s was run as a paternalistic organization. It
was fair and demonstrated equal opportunity — the day foreperson was a woman, Ms. Nell Kennelly (sharp-tongued,
watched us workers like a hawk, and called each of us “Boy” even though she knew our names — like Henry, Arthur, Milan,
and me. The night foreman was Mr. Schwartz, a patient and understanding man who was nursing a stomach ulcer and
worried more about drinking coffee than slow-moving workers.
sacks three-high, but hoisting them to the fourth level turned out to be too much. So, we got our pay and quit. We also
decided to go our own ways to find jobs. We weren’t successful as a team. Too bad. But, it was good to run into a friend
in Chicago who was a former classmate at the Los Angeles City College.
My next job was at the R.R. Donnelley Co. As usual, I was eager to get working and , of course, get paid. The company
bound telephone books on a seasonal basis. It also bound magazines. I didn’t ask where the printing was done because
my job was after the material was printed and ready to be bound.
At Donnelley’s the magazines were LIFE and TIME. My work involved piling put-together-and-stapled copies on skids
(pallets) in such a way that use of space was maximized and stacks placed in such a way that they would not slip or fall
down. Magazines bundled by the machine that stapled them had to be placed on skids with boards placed between layers
of bundles, the number of layers being determined by the height of bundles. LIFE and TIME bundles, being printed on slick
paper, were heavy, and proper placement on skids required not only endurance but also agility. Sad to say, I was not the
most adept worker, but I wasn’t fired. I just had to work hard.
An efficiency man (wearing a tie and carrying a clipboard) kept track of time, production quantity, machine downtime, and
number of skids hauled away from the machine. He also called break times so we could go to the wash room, smoke,
snack, etc. Those breaks were not often enough for the men on the machines. Once in awhile, a man would “accidentally”
pull a magazine askew on the page assembling/stapling machine on which we worked; that stopped operations, and
someone had to be called to fix the blockage. Presto—break time! The efficiency man really hated to have the stoppage
but felt that accidental paper misfeeds were part of production hazards.
Sometimes, when jobs had to be completed to enable meeting contract requirements for shipping deadlines, workers
were asked to take an extra half-shift, thus meaning a 12-hour work day. Some men had to get home, others had to get to
part-time jobs, others had family plans. Management exerted pressure. Single men could accommodate more easily than
those with wives and children. Since work hours exceeding eight per day meant getting paid time-and-a-half, that incentive
was present in addition to pressure from the foreman.
The downside of production work was that when all shipments were made and contracts other than the ongoing ones with
LIFE and TIME Magazines were not scheduled, workers were not needed, and hours were cut. Continuous scheduling
was not always possible. Long-time workers and those with experience were preferred to new workers. I was among the
expendables, so after a couple of months, I quit to find more stable work.
I heard about unskilled jobs available about a mile away from R.R. Donnelley’s. It was called the Cuneo Press, owned by
John F. Cuneo, a well-known Chicagoan. The pay started at $0.67 ½ per hour, better than my previous pay, and was
raised to $0.72 in two weeks with assurance that further increases were possible. I took the job and worked at Cuneo’s for
years. Fellow employees were friendly and helpful.
Office staff helped me fill out applications. The well-dressed General Manager (Mr. S. Gervase) was cordial and interested
in my plans for going on to school. He said I could plan on working part-time while a student. I felt welcomed. The future
looked much brighter. The work was hard at times, but I felt at ease with my fellow workers. Management was fair and
interested in seeing that workers were satisfied and willing to stay on their jobs.
Later, I found that some of the workers had been there for 20 and more years. There was no union; there was no push for
one. Interesting, but what the heck! It was the late l940s and early 1950s. Management and workers were in equilibrium. I
was comfortable as were my fellow workers. On hindsight, I’d say that Cuneo’s was run as a paternalistic organization. It
was fair and demonstrated equal opportunity — the day foreperson was a woman, Ms. Nell Kennelly (sharp-tongued,
watched us workers like a hawk, and called each of us “Boy” even though she knew our names — like Henry, Arthur, Milan,
and me. The night foreman was Mr. Schwartz, a patient and understanding man who was nursing a stomach ulcer and
worried more about drinking coffee than slow-moving workers.
AND we were in the middle of World War II.
Without the Wartime Relocation experience, I’
d never have had the opportunity to travel to
Chicago. Not only did I make a switch in
geographic location, I also made a switch in
occupational plans from the profession of
engineer to that of social work. Further, I met
the woman whom I married after receiving my
graduate degree from the University of
Chicago. Living has its downs and ups. And
my life was in equilibrium. Quite satisfying!
