Creating Your Own Job: Going Over and Above Doing What Has To Be Done.

Make no mistake, these are hard times. The job market is brutal, worse than I can remember.

For me, it has hit close to home.

Like so many others these days, my son Greg, 48, left, has run into a brick-wall job market after getting laid off from his job as a regional manager at Dunkin Donuts.

 "There are no jobs out there, period," he said.  Certainly not the the high-level, well-paid kind that Greg is used to.


He and his wife Kelly, a nurse, live outside Scranton, Pennsylvania in the little rural community of Lake Ariel.  Scranton is one of the most depressed cities in the country.

In fact, it is on its knees. Above is a headline last week from the major Scranton newspaper. My wife Barbara and I and my sister Ruby were in Scranton to help Greg do something about his joblessness.

He has decided to reinvent himself -- and create his own job.

He's going to set up a real estate company, tentative name: Electric Properties. (Scranton is called The Electric City.) With a small inheritance from the recent passing of his mom, Greg bought a rundown, two-apartment building in Scranton to fix up and rent out. When that is bringing in money, he'll go on to the next rental property, then the next, and the next...

That is the plan.

Meanwhile, for this first property, "rundown" is an understatement. The place, vacant for a few years, was a mess inside and out. The plumbing and electrical system needed major work. The roof and back stairs were falling down. The front yard was overgrown.

To neighbors and anybody driving by, it was an eyesore.  But Greg saw in the property something else: potential and opportunity. This takes imagination of the kind  BNY Mellon Wealth Management offers in the illustration below touting its services.





It shows a driver passing a hopelessly rundown property but seeing something quite different: a beautifully restored showcase. The heading says, "Sometimes opportunity isn't obvious."

The former owner of Greg's new property certainly saw no opportunity. He had inherited the place from his uncle and just wanted to get rid of an albatross.

After holding out, and holding out, Greg was able to buy the place at a huge bargain.  The price was more like what you would pay for a used car than for a house.

Another huge money-saver was that Greg planned to do most of the work himself, including plumbing and electrical. Greg is very handy. He is not afraid of hard work and certainly not when he is working for himself. Only for the roof and rebuilding the back stairs would he hire a contractor.

So all of us -- Greg and Kelly, Barbara and I, and Ruby -- went to work. Above is a photo of the crew working on the front. Here Greg saws away at the overgrown tree that was hiding the house. Ruby came up with a creative way to avoid pulling up the stump: covering it with a wooden barrel (bottom partially cut out) and filling it with decorative rock and eventually flowers.

Inside, Kelly and Greg spent long hours working together scraping paint, taping, redoing floors, painting. In the upstairs bath, Greg holds up the source of a leak that he found and fixed.

Me? I took pictures and ate. Just kidding!

Greg asked me to build a stone wall around the front and side of the house. It was a huge job that would take tons of fieldstone.

The good news was that Greg and Kelly had all kinds of rocks on their rural property. The bad news was that the rocks had to be searched out, dug up, hauled to a truck, and transported thirty minutes to the apartment house in Scranton.

Fortunately, Greg managed to get a great buy on a pick-up truck the day before we arrived. Also, Greg and Kelly both pitched in finding and hauling rocks. Below, Kelly is on a rock hunt, Greg pushes a wheelbarrow full of rocks uphill, and I'm lugging a big one.

Now the wall. Here are before and after photos of the side wall. Digging up those bushes was the hardest part and took up almost as much time as building the wall.

Here is the finished wall:

People noticed that the empty, forlorn place on the corner was not only rising from the dead but  bustling with activity.  The next door neighbor was thrilled. So was the owner of a funeral home across the street, who came over and happily introduced himself.

In a tightly populated community, I got all kinds of compliments on the wall from passersby.  Three people asked me about building a wall for them! As I worked, I was talking to people and making friends.

I heard life stories. Matt, 55 and a former fireman, told me that he was recovering from a stroke, couldn't work, and lived with his elderly and ailing mother for whom he was caretaker. When I met him, he had a cigarette in his mouth.

I put my hand on his shoulder and said, "Next time you come by, I don't want to see that cigarette, got that?"

He laughed. "Got it."

The next day he came by with a cigarette in his mouth.

I gave him a look.

He took the cigarette out of his mouth and threw it to the ground. "Sorry, sorry.  I forgot."

For the rest of the time I was there, Matt walked proudly by with no cigarette and we joked and laughed about it. I asked him, "Do you feel better now that I have taken charge of your life?"

"Yes," he said, nodding his head. When Matt and I said goodbye, he spoke seriously for the first time. "I''m never going to forget you. Every time I walk by here, I'm going to think of you."

"A no cigarette zone?"

"Yes."

Amazing.

And then there was the  little old lady who stopped on her way to church. She stopped to tell me how much she liked the wall. "Beautiful," she said. "Where do you get all the rocks?"

I told her. "If you need any more, I got plenty. You can help yourself. I just live down the street."

"Stop by after church and I'll go down with you and have a look."

She did. And as we walked down the hill to her house, I heard her life story. She is 83. Five years ago, she lost her husband of 55 years and now she lives alone.

"Family?"

"None. They all moved away."

Here was a lonely, elderly woman walking down the street talking with a complete stranger about her life and deepest feelings. Not only that, she opened the gate to her yard and invited me in. She was totally trusting -- and vulnerable. 

"Here they are," she said. "Come any time and take what you want."

To hell with the rocks. All I wanted to do was protect her.

"If I need them, I'll come. Thank you."

I left.

Greg began referring to the little old church lady as "my girlfriend."

In between my street socializing and hard work, we took breaks and, believe it or not, had fun and a lot of laughs. Who said that serious hard work has to be all serious and hard?  Here the work crew takes a break and enjoys a hearty laugh.

  

 I work for food, but I didn't have to wear my cardboard "will work for food" sign. I got fed -- and very well. Ruby, who loves to feed people, brought a huge bunch of her homemade meatballs and deliciously tender steaks, Barbara brought a big pasta dish and desserts, and Kelly cooked her specialty pork tenderloin. Yummy!

Here is Kelly with a great meal she prepared for us after a day of hard work. It was soooooo good!

As you read this, Greg and Kelly are working full steam ahead to get the place ready for rental in the next few weeks. They get to the apartment house as early as 7 am and work until they are ready to drop.

To create your own job, that's what you have to do.

I'm glad Barbara, Ruby, and I were able to help.

So long and keep moving.

P.S.  The next big challenge will be finding tenants who will pay the rent and not wreck the place. Ruby, who owns and manages several rental properties, is advising Greg on how to select good tenants. In her many years as a landlady, Ruby has encountered every rental problem -- including the "tenant from hell." With  Ruby's knowledge and experience behind him, Greg can avoid many problems -- and make success all the more reachable.


 NOTE: George Pollock's novel,  State Kid: Hero of Literacy is now available as an E-book on Amazon (Kindle) and Barnes & Noble ( Nook).

Billy Stone was a foster child.

He ran away from abuse.

He went to juvenile prison.

He went up from there.

And he did it his way.

 Through the power of the written word. 

         Amazon E-Books by George Pollock

 "State Kid: Hero of Literacy" is fiction based on his  real-life experiences  growing up in foster homes; "Last Laughs," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "Killers: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison;  "I, Cadaver" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. “A Beautiful Story” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life;  "A Long, Happy, Healthy Life,"  is about how to live the title every day; and "Unlove Story," Writing anonymously as "Elvis," a husband, dumped after 38 years of marriage, lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.

   For the Nook:

A Beautiful Story
A Long, Happy, Healthy Life
I, Cadaver
Killers
State Kid
Unlove Story

Gary on the Job: With Stage 4 Colon Cancer, Gary Olsen Teaches Us How to Work -- and Live.

As a boy,  Gary Olsen, above,  learned to build and fix things from his handyman dad. "He built our house in Sterling (Mass.) himself,"Gary said, "and he did it all from top to bottom. He was Mr. Everything."

Gary watched his dad and soaked it up. At age fourteen, he was doing odd jobs and was on his way to becoming a Mr. Everything himself.  As his father did, he built his own home himself, in Oakham, Mass.

And now, at 52,  he has been in the home repair and enhancement business for himself most of his adult life.  His business card reads:

Gary's Home Enhancements

"From Rooftops To Doorstops"

Decks, Siding, Roofing

Carpentry, Windows, Doors

Painting (Interior & Exterior)

Property Maintenance

Snow Removal

You need it done? Gary Olsen can do it. Over the years, he has done a number of jobs at my place: new roof, new front portico, new steps to the back deck, to name just a few.  It's always a beautiful job.

Aside from being a perfectionist demanding the best work from himself, Gary is something else that is all too rare these days in his business.  He is honest to the core.

When the steps to the back deck he built for me did not come out quite right, no problem. Gary did them over.  No extra charge.

When I offered to pay him for the many additional hours, he wouldn't accept the money. "No," he said. "It wasn't done right and that's my responsibility. "

And what physical strength and energy Gary brought to the job! He could pick up anything. He was a perpetual motion machine, literally racing back and forth to his pick-up for a tool or material.  Paying this guy by the hour, which I did,  was -- I hate to admit it -- a steal.

Of course,  after a while,  Gary had done all that  needed doing on our place. With everything he did holding up wonderfully, we hadn't needed him for the past several years.

With the passage of time and humidity, however, the deck had become covered with an ugly grime. Barbara and I were embarrassed to have anybody out there. We needed to restore the deck to respectability.

It was a job for Mr. Everything the Second.

I called Gary.  But I couldn't reach him with the number I had.

After repeated calls, I decided to stop over at his home one morning after tennis. Gary has lived in the same second-floor apartment for the past 14 years with his wife Wendy, daughter Stacy, 25, and son Jared, 14.    Gary and Wendy also have a son, Brett, 26, living on his own.

Gary lives about a mile away from our home in a very nice neighborhood. I pulled my car up, got out, and was heading for the front door when, by pure chance,  I saw this tall stick figure in the driveway slowly walking up from the back yard.    Head down, face gaunt with sunken cheeks, arms pencil-thin,  this was not the muscled, robust Gary I knew.

"Gary?"

"Hi, George."

Gary quickly explained: "Colon cancer stage four.  Found out a couple of months ago. The pain in my stomach was so bad, I couldn't eat. No energy. Couldn't work.  I went to the doctor.  They did tests and said that the cancer has spread to my lungs.  I'm doing chemo.  They're saying months or, if I'm lucky and they can shrink the tumors, two years."

"Oh, Gary." 

We  stood there in the driveway looking at each other.

I didn't know what to say.  Finally, lamely to be sure,  I just said why I had come: "  I've been calling you and getting no answer, so I decided to stop by.  I have a job for you.  My deck needs to be done.  "

"Sorry, we got rid of our land phone.   I wish I could do the job, but I don't think I can.   I'm too  weak from the chemo.  I can't eat, can't sleep, I'm tired all the time. It wouldn't be fair to you."

"I understand, Gary.  I'm so sorry."

After a little small talk, I left.  "Be talking to you,"  I said. Driving off, I caught a glimpse of Gary, head hanging, walking slowly back down his driveway.

Stage 4 colon cancer, I thought, just like that and the most advanced stage.   Plus it is metastatic, meaning that it has spread to other parts of the body.  In Gary's case, it has spread to his lungs, probably through blood vessels and lymph nodes,  the  usual modes.

His being on chemo was a sure sign that Gary's  cancer was too advanced for surgery; it would be too dangerous. Stage 4 colon cancer is not considered curable but  chemo can shrink the tumors and make it possible for Gary to live for many months, even five years or more.

Knowing Gary's fierce determination, I figured that he was far from done with life and work. Plus I needed my deck done.  I called him at his new cell number and asked him if he could come over and look at the job and at least advise me on it.

"Sure," he said.

So Gary and his wife Wendy, whom he refers to as "my little love," came to our house. The three of us sat out on the grimy deck. One would expect the conversation to be all about cancer and the horror and unfairness of it.  It was not. While we did talk of the cancer, much of the talk was of how horrible looking my deck was and how badly it needed to be done.

"I wish I could do it," Gary said.

"Tell you what," I said on the spur of the moment, "what if you do it, but at your own pace? You work an hour or two hours or three. Sit down and take a break whenever you get tired or just stop and go home.  Instead of getting paid by by the hour, you get paid by the job."

"It wouldn't be fair to you getting paid by the hour."

"So what would be a fair price for the whole job?"

"I don't know.  I always work by the hour."  But he gave me a figure.

"Sounds fair.  But, you know, Gary, the best part is that it will be like old times.  And I know you'll do a beautiful job as always."

Gary gave a searching look to Wendy.  The look said, "What do you think?" Besides being Gary's wife, she is also his protector. She nodded approvingly.

They left on the understanding that we would give it a try.

But when days went by and I did not hear from Gary, I decided to stop by again one morning to see how he was doing.  I knocked on the door, once, twice. Getting no response and finding the door unlocked, I opened it and went upstairs.

Gary was in the living room sitting on the couch.

"George," he said. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."

"Oh sure, you don't show up and I decide to do a surprise inspection and what do I find?   On a work day, you sitting on your ass on the couch!"

"Sorry, I've been so tired, sorry."

We chatted awhile and I left with Gary's promise that when he felt better, he would come.  

A few days later, he did. And he came to work. But after walking up the stairs to the deck, he was out of breath and had to sit and rest.  "The chemo is killing me," he said.

"Sorry, Gary," I said. "Tell you what. What if you tell me what to do and I  work right with you? What if I do all the heavy lifting and running around?  What if I'm your bitch?"

He looked at me as if I had lost my mind.  "You heard right," I said. "We could give it a shot. With  me working right with you and doing all the fetching, I bet we could  get this job done."

Gary let this sink in. Then -- with a little too much enthusiasm, I thought -- he started  ordering me around like some  new-found personal bitch -- get this, go there, do that, no not that way, this way. We put in a solid couple of hours prepping, hauling stuff,  rolling on cleaning compound  in preparation for power washing and  staining.

But even with  my help, Gary was exhausted after a couple of hours and had to leave.  He rested up for a day and then showed up saying he felt  better.

The two of us put in a solid 4 1/2 hours. We were on a roll. At one point, no lying, Gary stood on the deck railing and power-washed green mold from the back of the house.  A guy who a few days before had trouble walking up the stairs was balancing himself on a railing while blasting away with the power washer.

I wish I had gotten that picture.  But by the time I thought to go for my camera, Gary was off the railing.  Here is a photo of him power-washing the back of the house.

Moments before, honest to God, he was working  standing on the railing at right.  Sorry, Wendy, he got up there so fast I couldn't stop him.

Power-washing the house wasn't even part of the job.  To Gary's way of thinking, however,  it had to be done.  He couldn't have my friends and family sitting on a beautiful finished deck and looking up at green mold.

As work on the deck progressed, Gary also talked about wanting to put the finish on the front portico, which I had power-washed. That was also extra work not in the deal.

So was getting his bitch up to speed.  In addition to all the basics (eg. rail outsides first, deck surface last) he explained finer points (eg. amount of pressure on the roller, squeezing paint from the brush, avoiding drips, etc.).

The last time I was so talked down to  was in the 8th grade. But, you know what? Gary knows his stuff and he is a good teacher.  I now know how to prep, power-wash, and stain a deck.

And, surprise of surprises, I got a lot of work done. In the photo at left, I am rolling stain on the railings.  I did all the railings around the deck, inside and out. 

And so it went.  On days that Gary did not feel up to working, I was out there. When Gary had to stay away for a full six days after chemo, I power-washed,   and rolled on the cleaning mixture (a combination of equal parts TSP liquid, bleach, and water), and stained on my own. 

When Gary saw what I had done, he said, "You've just done the hardest, most time-consuming part. Thank you. A beautiful thing."

My work was certainly not up to his lofty standards. He could not help pointing out, gently, how I had fallen short, such as little places  I had missed. Nevertheless, with what I had accomplished, the pressure was off him. The end was in sight. 

Though we had to take a few days off when we ran out of stain and had to order more, we got the job done.  We did it together., thumbing our noses at his cancer as we worked. It was just like old times.  With each little accomplishment, he would say, "It's a beautiful thing, a beautiful thing."

Thanks to Gary Olsen,  I got tuition-free instruction from a master in the finer points of deck restoration and today I have a clean, beautiful deck to enjoy for years.

What did Gary get?  Well, for one, he got paid his full price.  When I handed him the check, I told him that, just for the heck of it,  I had kept track of his actual hours worked.  "Guess what," I said, "you are getting your usual hourly rate. Is that amazing or what?"

Smiling, Gary reached for my hand. "Thank you, George."

Gary also got a chance to do what he loves to do, which is work.  When I called him, he had not worked for weeks. "People are not calling me any more," he said.  But I called him, paid his asking price,  got my money's worth  and much, much more.

Gary reminded me that nothing in life is more important than family. On Father's day, Gary and Wendy had all three kids with them. "We were all there as a family," he said. "It was a wonderful day,  a beautiful thing. I feel so blessed."

As we worked together, Gary, who starts off every day with a prayer, regularly spoke of how "blessed" he feels.  His main worry is not himself or the cancer, but how Wendy and the kids are going to get on when he is gone.

Their only income is what Wendy makes cleaning houses. With both hips replaced and one again acting up, she still manages a full work schedule. "My little love is hurting," Gary said, "but she still gets out there and works all she can." He wishes she didn't have to.

The Olsens are struggling to pay their rent.  (Years before, in a divorce, he had lost the house he had built himself.) Though the landlord has made it clear that he wants his  money, Gary has nothing  but kind words about him.  He says the landlord is doing everything he can to help them. From her modest pay,  Stacy has begun helping with the rent.

Gary has applied for Social Security Disability, but is finding that the process takes forever. "They are telling me that I can't get payments until November,'" he said. "What are we supposed to do in the meantime?" Still, Gary says that the woman at Social Security working with him  is a "very kind and caring person and is doing her best."

With his remarkable positive attitude,  courage, and devotion to family while dealing with a terminal disease and serious  financial stress, Gary teaches us all what is really important in this life.

Thank you, Gary, for that -- and for my beautiful new deck.

P.S. Gary, I do NOT want to catch you again sitting on your ass on that couch on a work day. Understand?  Listen, I was wondering, could you pop over and advise me on painting the front portico?

So long and keep moving.

Update, Feb. 21, 2013: In an unannounced visit, Gary's wife Wendy opens the door at the bottom of the stairs and greets me with a warm smile.  As we walk up the stairs to their apartment, she says, "He's having  trouble breathing. He's on oxygen but he's doing good."

"I'll give him some crap."

"He'll be glad to see you," Wendy said. 


Entering the living room, I said, "So, on the couch sitting on your ass on a work day. What about that paint job at my place?  Huh? Huh?"

Gary got up with a big smile on his face, clasped my hand, and said, "Thank you for coming, George,  I appreciate it."

We chatted and  joked around for about 15 minutes. If not for his thin face and frame and the oxygen tubes, you would never guess that Gary was dying. Here was a man thinking more about his family than  himself and, hard to believe, enjoying life.

His Social Security Disability benefits came through.

"I'm living every day," he said.

Update, April 13, 2013: When Gary's wife Wendy went to wake Gary up early in the morning, he was still. He had died in his sleep. "It was a peaceful death," Wendy said. She was grateful for that. "And he did not die alone," she added.  "We were there for him 24-7."  There is to be a wake, followed by cremation. 

***

 Comments welcome. Send to: pollock.george@gmail.com. For info on my background and books, click here.

NOTE: Something Tells Her, my new e-book, is now available on Amazon.  

Jane is abandoned as a baby and raised in multiple horrific foster homes. After her latest abuse, a sexual advance from her latest foster parent, she screams "NO!" and runs out the door Twelve years old, on the street, alone, no family, nobody, no money, how can she possibly survive? She can't -- except that Jane  is no ordinary foster kid. She doesn't understand "can't." Read excerpts.

                        Amazon E-Books by George Pollock

 "State Kid: Hero of Literacy" is fiction based on his  real-life experiences  growing up in foster homes; "Last Laughs," is the true story of how five foster kids (he and four younger siblings) found their way in life and each other. "Killers: Surprises in a Maximum Security Prison," is the story of his being locked up for 23 hours with killers in a maximum security prison;  "I, Cadaver" is about his postmortem adventures and mischief in the anatomy lab at UMass Medical School. “A Beautiful Story” demonstrates the art and process of creative writing as a 16-year-old boy goes all out to write a story that literally saves his life;  "A Long, Happy, Healthy Life,"  is about how to live the title every day; and "Unlove Story," Writing anonymously as "Elvis," a husband, dumped after 38 years of marriage, lets it all out on love, marriage, life, everything. A guy doing this? It's unheard of.