Like all kids, I was dirt poor when I was 10, but I dreamed of riches. There were so many things that money could buy: a ten-speed bike, a chemistry set with real beakers and stuff that would blow up, a model of a Peterbilt truck, a large thin-crust Pizza Hut pizza with sausage and extra cheese.
But there were so few opportunities to acquire vast wealth. Sometimes we could make a buck or two picking strawberries at this little farm near Afton, and in the summer we’d sell beans and tomatoes to neighbors, but it was all chump change.
Moop always told us not to focus on money. Whatever we wanted, we could build it in the garage, she said. “But mom, I want one of those 8-track tape players so I can listen to music in my own room,” I said. “You’ll just have to get more creative,” she said.
Anyway, my prayers for embarrassing riches were answered one morning when Mrs. Mollendorf, a friend of Moop’s who lived down the street, called and said she needed someone to tackle a big project at her house, and had set aside money to pay for help.
The term “set aside money” caught my attention immediately. That didn’t sound like chump change. If an adult had to set money aside for a big project, it had to be a lot of money. I told Moop whatever the project was, I’d do it, and I would even cancel all of my previous appointments for the day and get started immediately.
Mrs. Mollendorf was delighted to see me show up at her door three minutes later. She led me around to the back of the house and pointed to an enormous mountain of bricks. “We’re building a walkway,” she said, “and we need to have all these bricks moved into place. So they need to be sorted by color, hauled to the front yard, and laid out so the workmen know which ones go where.”
I was overjoyed. There had to be at least a thousand bricks. This was going to take all day. The cash register bells were ringing in my mind. This project had to be worth thirty—no!—forty dollars at least. Maybe even fifty! I could buy that chemistry set and even some nitro glycerin and sulfuric acid and cool stuff like that! I could go to school and pull out a roll of five-dollar bills and buy ice cream for everyone in the cafeteria! This was the best day ever!
So I started working, and it was very hard work. I could only carry two bricks at a time because they were heavy. It was about a hundred yards from the back yard to the front, so every trip took a long time. A lot of the bricks were broken so I had to create a separate pile for those, and I had to haul them to the front yard too. After a few hours my arms were really sore and my fingers were scraped and bleeding.
But the thought of huge piles of cold hard cash drove me on. Through the afternoon I continued hauling the bricks, two at a time. Jim Crouch stopped by and asked if he could help. I told him to get lost, this was my job, beat it.
At about six o’clock I finished the job. I could barely stand, let alone walk. I never wanted to see another brick for the rest of my life. I rang the front doorbell and left a bloody smear on the button. Mrs. Mollendorf answered the door and I told her I was done. She came out to inspect my work.
“You did an excellent job!” she said. “Now let me get my purse.” The visions of large bills danced in my head as she went to retrieve my wages. I could see her counting bills in her hand as she walked back toward me a few moments later.
“Let’s see,” she said, “I haven’t really thought about how much to pay you. Do you think three dollars is fair? I know it was a lot of work.”
My jaw dropped and I had no idea what to say. And because I was raised in Wisconsin, where it is customary to accept whatever people offer you—even if you ordered eggs for breakfast and the waitress brings you pancakes—I said nothing. I simply nodded and accepted the three dollars and went home.
