Shoe Column: I was a security guard

By Tim “Shoe” Sullivan

I once was a security guard. The years 1982 to 1985 seem just about right.

I had answered an ad in the local newspaper. It had offered a job.

The position was for a security guard at Joerns, a very respected, long-time local furniture plant. The building was very big, and the plant employed hundreds of workers. Laborers and front-office types.

I interviewed for the position and got the job. I was to become one of the three full-time security guards at Joerns. Now, us guards didn’t actually work for Joerns. We worked at Joerns.

Let’s just call our company “G.” We were employed by G. Our company gave us nice new uniforms with the shirt, striped pants, and official cap.

Our uniforms made us official guards and looked very professional. Like we meant business. We weren’t to be trifled with.

I wore my uniform on the first day and never had it on again in the three years I was a guard.

My two other co-guards, both older gents, and I “worked” eight-hour shifts. We would replace each other.
Joerns had a guard on duty every minute of every day.

We were not issued weapons or anything like guns. What would we do with a gun? Stop someone from walking off with a big bed?

To tell you the truth, I didn’t really know what my actual duties were, but I must’ve been good at it.
I lasted three years before moving on.

Our biggest responsibility seemed to be “working the clocks.” You see, there were at least 20 time clocks on the walls all over the place. We had a key, and every hour, we had to insert our official key into those clocks. That proved we were in those areas of the plant. And all was good.

We also had to walk outside somewhere around there and check the “kiln.” I still don’t know exactly what a kiln did, but we were to make sure that it was still there. I’m pretty sure nobody ever walked away with it.

All of the Joerns folks went home for the weekend on Saturday, so I had the entire place to myself.
I guess I was needed in case a semi-driver pulled up with a load and had to be let in. This might’ve happened once in the three years I was there. A good-looking female driver knocked on the door. I let her in.

She handed me some papers. I asked: “So what is this?”

She answered: “It’s your bills of lading.”

I said: “Oh. What’s a bill of lading?”

She said: “Just take it and put it somewhere.”

So I put it under my hot plate in the boiler room.

The rough-mill foreman and I smuggled a hot plate into the boiler room way out by the kiln. Nothing fancy, but it was great for heating up a can of soup or warming up a burger. Now, it wasn’t two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, and onions on a sesame-seed bun, but our burgers were still tasty.

A guard can get really hungry after doing nothing for eight hours day after day.

The biggest problem with doing those clock “tours” every hour was that the guard on duty had to do those clock tours every hour. That sometimes posed a big problem.

You see, on one of my walking tours, I discovered the carpeted basement in the plant. It was close to our guard office, which was actually the shipping office that we shared with the shipping department. And in that basement were brand-new beds. Like samples.

And those beds were really comfy. The problem was that I could only sleep in one for maybe an hour. Then I had to get up from my nap and go do the dang clocks again.

I loved my job and was darn good at doing nothing.

The Joerns people themselves were all wonderful. The president, Ray Nass, was a super guy. He would swing by our “office” (shipping) and chat for a spell. So down-to-earth. So was John Lau from the front office. A great guy. And Clarence Glodowski. Salt of the earth.

My parents bought me a small black & white TV to have at Joerns. The reception out there was terrible.
However, Don Paque from the rough mill hooked up a bunch of wires and empty Pepsi cans, and somehow, we were able to watch basketball games on the TV. Don was a great foreman.

Us guards kinda liked to walk around and look important (Well, at least the other two did). They would have their walkie-talkies and talk into them like something was actually a big deal.

Not me. The most communication I did with the outside world was ordering a pizza to be delivered by Bills.

Although I did not work FOR Joerns, I was invited to all of their holiday parties and always attended.
At a few of them, Ray Nass would actually introduce me to some of the people who worked there.

He would say: “And here is one of our security guards.”

The other guy would ask me: “Oh, nice to meet you! So what do you do?”

I’d say: “Well, I guard the place.”

And I’d always get a nod. And a “Keep doing a fine job.”

Whatever THAT was.

Bottom line is, I loved working there.

Or, to be more accurate, NOT working there.

I only answered their phone once. Someone called me up with a question during Trivia.

Other than that, I did the hourly clock tours… heated up soup… saw that the kiln was still there… checked out their bed samples (very comfy)… golfed on the loading docks… had an old chair fixed like it was brand new… watched basketball games on TV… read many books… made hot dogs… went over football lineups with John Lau… took in one (1) bill of lading… walked ten minutes every hour… and everything else is just a blur.

Best job I ever had.

Left it to go into mail-order.

Didn’t know what I was supposed to do there, either.