Outliers

In Outliers Malcolm Gladwell presents a unique and practical explanation of success. Unlike the isolated concept of “individual merit” (p. 17) which merely expresses that performance and ability lead to success, Gladwell draws upon community and cultural values to explain history’s truly successful individuals, such as Bill Gates and Albert Einstein. Outliers explores the lives of these successful people before they were successes. Malcolm Gladwell also introduces the essential “10,000-Hour Rule” (p. 35) which indicates that “[p]ractice isn’t the thing you do once you’re good. It’s the thing that makes you good.” (p. 42). Outliers offers a new and important perspective on success that does not simply differentiate between the successful and unsuccessful; it powerfully explains why true outliers are successful and how anyone given the proper circumstances can also become successful.

Gladwell redefines success in Outliers, thereby deemphasizing individual merit while capitalizing upon the influences of society and culture. Instead of looking at successful people as those that have pulled themselves up by their own bootstraps, Malcolm Gladwell explores the opportunities in their lives that brought them success. Consider Bill Joy, one of the creators of the Internet, who learned programming in college: “Because he happened to go to a farsighted school like the University of Michigan, he was able to practice on a time-sharing system…because the Michigan system happened to have a bug in it, he could program all he wanted” (p. 46). By including such telling information about Joy’s beginnings as a software programmer, Outliers convincingly endorses the effect of environment on successful people. Simultaneously Gladwell validates the importance of individuality in success: “Each of us has his or her own distinct personality. But overlaid on top of that are tendencies and assumptions and reflexes handed down to us by the history of the community we grew up in, and those differences are extraordinarily specific.” (p. 204). Outliers traverses the narrow path between individual worth and community involvement by affirming the benefits of both.

My grandfather recently retired as the CEO of a successful concrete company. He worked hard to escape the relative poverty that gripped his family after the death of his father. Through sheer determination and grit he obtained success for himself by which he could support a family of his own. His associates consider him a genius of business and entrepreneurialism, but Malcolm Gladwell would seek further explanation of my grandfather’s success. Gladwell would note that my great-grandfather was a youthful immigrant from Norway who paid his own voyage across the sea to escape the ravages of Nazi-invaded Scandinavia. He then worked in a coal mine to provide for his later family. After his death my great-grandmother worked as a candy maker in Salt Lake City to purchase food for her family. My grandfather learned hard work from his parents, which came in handy when he began working for a concrete company. Years later when the CEO was in financial trouble and the company was floundering, my grandfather took over operations. Through his significant hands-on experience with concrete, he turned the company into the success it is today. Gladwell explains stories similar to that of my grandfather on page 19: “[Outliers] are invariably the beneficiaries of hidden advantages and extraordinary opportunities and cultural legacies that allow them to learn and work hard and make sense of the world in ways others cannot.” In my grandfather’s case, Outliers changes the dynamics of his success to include the contributions of his Norwegian culture and “extraordinary opportunities” in the concrete business.

Outliers explains that “[a]chievement is talent plus preparation.” (p. 38). Gladwell designates that talent is an important factor in success, but he also states that my grandfather’s most “extraordinary opportunity” was his previous work in the concrete business before he became CEO of his company. The concept of practice and experience is not a new one. Countless job applications ask for previous work experience and education. Although hiring agents understand the importance of experience, Gladwell takes the notion one step further. On page 39 he suggests that “once a musician has enough ability to get into a top music school, the thing that distinguishes one performer from another is how hard he or she works.” Simply having experience is important, but Outliers firmly states that taking advantage of that experience and working hard distinguishes successes from failures. Emphasizing hard work and the 10,000-Hour Rule seems to contradict the influence of community and culture in the success of an individual. Instead, it is a strategic method that Gladwell uses to better illustrate his point: the people that have the work ethic to become truly successful learned it from their community and their experiences.

Anyone desiring to develop an intrinsic understanding of success should consult Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers, which provides a definition of success that sees past individual merit to the benefits of society and “extraordinary opportunities.” Gladwell adds to the concept of individual worth by describing cultural and community inputs that made people like Steve Jobs and Bobby Fletcher geniuses in their respective fields. Rags-to-riches stories, like that of my grandfather, provide Gladwell with a useful resource into which he can delve for other factors that better explain the success of such individuals. For example, without the work ethic my grandfather learned from his parents, he may never have found success in the concrete industry. Outliers asserts that success is an attitude cultivated by society that is supplemented by innate ability. Gladwell’s comprehensive definition of success is an important celebration of both individuality and community: “Outliers are those who have been given opportunities—and who have had the strength and presence of mind to seize them” (p. 267).

The Communist Manifesto: Revolutionary Persuasion?

“Workers of all countries, unite!” (32): the timeless call for the proletariat revolution. Karl Marx and Frederick Engels published the Manifesto of the Communist Party in 1848. The widespread publication of the Communist Manifesto indicates the popularity of the document which was adapted into numerous languages to increase the reader base. Despite the wide array of readers, there was no global communist revolution; however, The Communist Manifesto was effective in kindling the Russian Revolution. The language of the Manifesto polarizes the conditions of the bourgeoisie and the proletariat, making the document popular to the lower working class. Marx also redefined words which gave him implicit control over connotative interpretations. By combining language elements and logical refutations of opposing arguments, Marx created a revolutionary document with the potential to alter the global social order. History shows that The Communist Manifesto didn’t reach that potential.

To instigate a proletariat revolution, Marx had to appeal to working class individuals, “who live only so long as they find work” (8). The harsh realities of the industrialized world made the working class a mere “appendage of the machine” (8). Marx described the dehumanizing and “slavish” (12) conditions of factory work to appeal to his oppressed audience. He acknowledged the suppressed individuality of the workers he addressed. Marx argued that “the work of the proletarians has lost all individual character” (8). By noting that individuality had been removed from capitalist factories, Marx validated a complaint of his working class audience who yearned for “individual character” (8). Although his promotion of individuality was well accepted, Marx stated that the “competition between the workers themselves” (10) was upsetting any possibility of revolution. He was advocating individuality when competition in the working class was preventing unification. The concession of individuality to his audience contradicted the need for the unification and “organization of the proletarians into a class” (10).

Another obstacle that Marx addressed in The Communist Manifesto was the bourgeoisie. Marx had to define his use of the term bourgeoisie before he could unite the proletariat in opposition to it. He did so by comparing the bourgeoisie to “the sorcerer who is no longer able to control the powers of the nether world whom he has called up by his spells” (7). Marx made the upper class susceptible by the use of descriptive language. He indicated that they could not control the power they had obtained as “the product of a long course of development” (4). The proletarians could in fact “wield those weapons…with which the bourgeoisie” (8) rose to power. The use of images refined the effect of The Communist Manifesto. Much like explaining to a child that a top will fall if too much force is exerted on it, Marx used a common sense appeal through language to persuade his audience of the susceptibility of the bourgeoisie.

Central to restructuring the social order was a new perspective on families. The abolition of the family also became central to communist opposition. Marx declared that “the bourgeois sees his wife a mere instrument of production” (17). He argued that communism “desire[d] to introduce, in substitution for a hypocritically concealed, an openly legalized system of free love” (18). Many proletarians may have found reason in Marx’s appeal, but his assertions of free love rankled others. By adopting a system with a “community of women” (18), the proletarians would also be included. Marx argued that the bourgeois “[took]…great[ ] pleasure in seducing each other’s wives” (18); however, the proletariat did not care about the wives of the bourgeoisie. They cared about their own spouses and families. Included in the working class that Marx was addressing were the very women that would be subject to the new social order of free love. The inherent mistake of failing to recognize the female audience was further expanded when Marx stated that “communism deprives no man of the power to appropriate the products of society” (16). Marx argued that the product of free love could not be denied. Communism asserts that when the “antagonism between classes within [a] nation vanishes, the hostility of one nation to another will come to an end” (18). The proletariat revolution would result in the elimination of class antagonism, but a system of free love would create an environment of individual conflict.

To refute the ever-increasing criticisms of communism, Karl Marx defined critical terms and concepts. Because many of the ideas, such as capitalism, free trade, and legal marriage, which The Communist Manifesto critiqued were seen as positive things by the majority of society, Marx had to counter popular connotations and assert his own definitions. Many of the bourgeois had risen to their station through free enterprise, so Marx first defined “free trade” (5), the freedom that “resolved personal worth into exchange value” (5). Again his statement was appealing to the wants and needs of the individual by implying that personal worth does not have a monetary price. Marx then defined communism such that it supported personal worth and individuality: “[communism] point[s] out and bring[s] to the front the common interests of the entire proletariat” (13).

Marx understood correctly the power of a unified body of people. The fallacy of his argument was instead the assertion that proletariat power gained through revolution would remedy the social ills of capitalism. Karl Marx asserted that communism “deprive[s] [man] of the power to subjugate the labor of others by means of…appropriations” (16); however, the power gained through revolution could be used to subjugate labor. The purpose of The Communist Manifesto was to create an incendiary document that would help the proletariat “overthrow…all existing social conditions” (32). Instead the Manifesto provided a mechanism whereby “the proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains” (32). By the logic of Karl Marx, a proletariat revolution frees the people of the working class from their chains in time to see the same shackles clasped around the necks of the bourgeoisie.
 
Works Cited

Marx, Karl and Frederick Engels. Manifesto of the Communist Party. Marx & Engels Internet Archive. Marxists Internet Archive, 2000. Web. 8 March 2010.

Up in Michigan: A Setting of Inner Turmoil

Ernest Hemingway’s Up in Michigan evokes sympathy for and understanding of a young woman’s sexual initiation. The struggle which Liz Coates faces between her sexual attraction to Jim Gilmore and her naïve inexperience is embodied in the gloomy and uninviting setting. “…[I]n many works, the setting is an essential element in establishing the atmosphere of [a] story” (Hamilton, p. 150). In addition to Sharon Hamilton’s statement, the setting can also play an active role as a character in a story. The setting represents the sentiments and emotions that Liz has difficulty expressing, because the setting created these feelings. Liz has to manage the sentiments she has for Jim and her confusion over his sexual violation of her body on the warehouse dock. As the setting would suggest, Liz enters a world of sexuality and love that is like “[a] cold mist…coming up through the woods from the bay” (Hemingway, p. 158). Although Jim “had hurt her” and taken advantage of her, it could be argued that “Liz was…destined to copulate with him, in view of both her ignorance, vulnerability, confusion, and awakening sexuality, as well as Jim’s comparative experience” (Petry, p. 27).

“[Liz] liked Jim very much” (Hemingway, p. 156). “She liked” his mustache, his white teeth, and even his tanned lines. Her infatuation with Jim is certain, but the characteristics Hemingway mentions as being attractive to Liz are entirely superficial. The mystery of Jim’s character is deepened by the opening line of the story: “Jim Gilmore came to Hortons Bay from Canada” (p. 155). Liz has no perception of his personality, but she is irresistibly drawn to his masculinity and obscurity. As the story progresses Liz passes from liking Jim to thinking about him “[a]ll the time…” (p. 156). The description of the ore barges suggests the inevitability of Jim’s seduction of Liz: “[the ore barges] didn’t seem to be moving at all but if she went in and dried some more dishes and then came out again they would be out of sight beyond the point.” She cannot see the movement of the ore barges toward the point, and she cannot recognize herself being moved slowly toward Jim Gilmore by the setting which is synonymous with Jim’s masculinity and obscurity.

The setting of Hortons Bay sheds some light upon the inexorableness of Liz’s attraction to Jim. This small town “was only five houses on the main road between Boyne City and Charlevoix” (Hemingway, p. 156). In addition to being a small, rural setting, the town is also indicative of a strong masculine influence. This is a town for farmers and dock workers, occupations generally associated with men in the 1920s. Jim Gilmore, as the blacksmith, also represents a strongly male character. Alice Petry states that “…the ore barges appeal to [Liz’s] inarticulate romantic nature…as [does] Jim, who, by virtue of his occupation, is readily associated with ores” (p. 25) Because of the strong masculine components of her environment, Liz is subject to associating men with things she loves, particularly Jim. Just like the ore barges that can surpass the reaches of Hortons Bay, Jim is from Canada, an area entirely separate from the world she knows. Liz’s decision to succumb with only weak resistance to Jim’s advances can be attributed directly to the setting which, to Liz, is home.

Liz is portrayed as a young woman defined by her clean and orderly lifestyle: “[t]he neat girl…[who] wore clean gingham aprons and…[whose] hair was always neat behind” (Hemingway, p. 156). She is the quintessential domestic that dries dishes, serves dinner, and even labors four days to ensure that the men have home cooking while hunting. This also implies “[s]he is sufficiently young and inexperienced to perceive men in an entirely romanticized light” (Petry, p. 25). Liz loves her environment; it is her home. The everyday workings and occupations of life are familiar and comfortable to Liz. When Jim returns it is like the return of a missing puzzle piece to a jigsaw. “All the time Jim was gone on the deer hunting trip Liz thought about him” (Hemingway, p. 157). Liz expects something to happen when Jim returns, but “nothing…happen[s]” (p. 157), that is, nothing happens immediately. As the remote setting would suggest at this crucial conjuncture, Jim does not seduce Liz until she was alone later in the evening. She is uncomfortable and confused by what happens. She doesn’t understand sex, but she is inescapably drawn to Jim. Paul Smith notes that “[t]he significance of the…union of Jim Gilmore and Liz Coates…is…that it happened on the return from a hunt to something like a home” (p. 7). As Petry suggests Liz is still too young to recognize further implications in Jim’s return. She merely sees it as a return of part of her home, a return of man “she liked” (Hemingway, p. 156). Jim’s return completes the setting with which Liz is comfortable; however, when Jim introduces her to the new world of sexuality, the irony of Smith’s statement in Liz’s situation becomes evident.

When Jim invites Liz to go “for a walk” (Hemingway, p. 158) he takes her to the dock. Lisa Tyler argues that “[w]hat Liz Coates experiences on that dock is what we have since come to call date or acquaintance rape” (Tyler, p. 3). Such a secluded location in a lakeside community of “only five houses” (Hemingway, p. 156) can easily signify an attempt on Jim’s part to remove Liz from the town and reduce the risk of discovery. Hemingway creates a gloomy setting with the warehouse and dock perfect for rape or any other crime. The central characteristic of Hortons Bay also becomes the cold and splintery location so essential to Liz’s fist sexual experience. As suggested by Jim’s seeming disinterest in Liz when he returned to Hortons Bay in the company of his counterparts, the remoteness of the setting creates an atmosphere wherein Jim is not willing to reveal any emotion, be it lust or love, until he is alone with Liz. The dock, like Jim, is something well experienced in masculine operations and works. Liz, in her innocence and naivety, is left cold and alone in an empty warehouse to contemplate the violation of her body. The dock is a gateway to a whole new world and Jim is someone from that world. As secure as it appears to Liz, the world by which she was entranced with ore barges and Jim is not as rewarding as she originally thought.

Certain inevitability persists throughout the story, signified by the ore barges mentioned on page 156 or the dialogue found on page 159:

“You mustn’t do it, Jim. You mustn’t.”
“I got to. I’m going to. You know we got to.”
“No we haven’t, Jim. We ain’t got to. Oh, it isn’t right…you can’t…”

The setting provides that Liz has entered a cold new world. Mist is used in the last paragraph of the story. This could represent Liz’s clouded understanding of what happened; however, although she did not fully comprehend what had happened to her, Liz was enshrouded by the reality of the sexual world. This stance is supported by narration: “[t]hen she walked across the dock and up the steep sandy road to go to bed” (Hemingway, p. 159). As much confusion and distress sex may have caused Liz, she was ready to accept it into her life. Instead of prolonging her distress over Jim, she went home to bed. As Liz protects Jim from the cold mist of the bay with her coat, she also reaffirms her fascination with the masculine setting from which he comes and, in small part, he has exposed to her. Conversely, Jim remains in the warehouse asleep and content. In a setting dominated by men, he is completely unaware of any turmoil he may have caused Liz. Liz and Jim represent an example of perfect submission to the remote and masculine setting which they inhabit.


Works Cited

Hamilton, Sharon. Essential Literary Terms: a Brief Norton Guide with Exercises. New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 2007. Print.

Hemingway, Ernest. Up in Michigan. 1938. Literature: A Pocket Anthology. Ed. R. S. Gwynn. 4th ed. San Francisco: Longman, 2008. 155-159. Print.

Petry, Alice Hall. “Coming of Age in Hortons Bay: Hemingway’s ‘Up in Michigan’.” Hemingway Review. Ed. 4.1. 1984. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 18 November 2009.

Smith, Paul. A Reader’s Guide to the Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway. Boston: G. K. Hall and Company, 1989. Print.

Tyler, Lisa. “Ernest Hemingway’s Date Rape Story: Sexual Trauma in ‘Up in Michigan’.” Hemingway Review. Ed. 13.2. 1994. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 18 November 2009.

The Blue Sword

This is the first of many book reviews I hope to publish on my blog. Enjoy!

Robin McKinley’s The Blue Sword was selected as a Newbery Honor Book in 1983. While many fantasy stories have descended into obscurity, The Blue Sword has become a popular fantasy novel that is still widely read today. What elements of this story have made it so admired? Perhaps the simple character descriptions that describe the eyes of Corlath, the Damarian king, as “yellow as gold, the hot liquid gold in the smelter’s fire” (34) make this an unforgettable story. Or maybe “the harsh sand, the hot sun, and the merciless gritty winds” (20) of Damar conjure an unforgiving landscape with which readers can’t help but begin “falling by degrees in love with it” (20).

The real success of The Blue Sword transcends the beauty of its language. The book addresses topics that remain pertinent in the 21st Century as well as in the fantasy world of Damar. Harry Crewe, the “Damalur-sol. Lady Hero” was a “great thing for [the Damarians], and for [their] daughters” (122) just like independent women such as J.K. Rowling and Hillary Clinton have become “lady heroes” of our day. The Blue Sword also indicates the importance of cultural roots and ties. The kelar of Harry that set her apart as a Damarian also represented “the strength of the Damar of old” (102). Cultural traditions—such as Native American storytelling or a Japanese kimono—and beliefs renew the power of past generations and assert identity that can be so easily confused by the melting pots of modern states. Additionally, The Blue Sword iterates the necessity of strong cooperation between people and nations. “In [Harry Crewe] two worlds meet” (179); she acts as a bridge between the native Damarians and the colonial Homelanders. As a lady Homelander discovering her roots in the land of Damar, Harry Crewe becomes the link that McKinley uses to set the stage for a story that is applicable in today’s world where the global community is characterized by the World Trade Organization and the United Nations.

“If he has brought his thousand best men, we shall be terribly short of women, and you know how I dislike an unbalanced table” (19). Lady Amelia so voices Robin McKinley’s feminist passion in the second chapter of The Blue Sword. Beginning with Amelia’s poignant statement at the very beginning of this novel, McKinley emphasizes the necessity of women in society. McKinley also characterizes Harry Crewe, a girl that “suffered from a vague restlessness, a longing for adventure” who “never much cared for beauty, although she was aware that she lacked it” (9) to become the heroine that represents so much more than just a “lady hero” (122). From her description, Harry could have been any Homelander woman. McKinley juxtaposes Harry with the “Misses Peterson…the admitted beauties of the station” (9). Despite their beauty, Cassie and Elizabeth Peterson do not become the bridge between two worlds; that role is left to Harry. McKinley furthers the importance of Harry when Luthe, the oracle, explains to Harry that “[Corlath] needs [her]” (180). The king of the Damarians was unable to protect his people without the assistance of Harry. The influence of Harimad-sol, Harry the lady hero, among the Homelanders and the Damarians alike is voiced by her followers at the end of the novel: “We will come with you, and if he turns you away, we will still come with you…You need not go into exile homeless (251).

After asserting the strength and ability of women through Harry Crewe and the Lady Amelia, Robin McKinley acknowledges the importance of culture and tradition. When Corlath encourages Harry to “take a sip” (76) of the Water of Sight, she proves herself to be more than just a captive Homelander when has a vision; “the Water of Sight does not work so on everyone” (79), and only Damarians can use the Seeing Water. McKinley very deliberately made her hero a link between two separate nations. Harry was both Homelander and Damarian. Her important heritage alleviated the issue that Corlath stated early in the story: “We know nothing of each other’s customs” (67). Although the Damarians knew little of the Homelanders, and the colonists knew even less of the Hillfolk, Harry grew to know and love both cultures: “And so diplomatic relations between Outlander and Damarian began” (271).

The diplomatic relations reached by the end of The Blue Sword were difficult to come by, however. In the beginning of the story the Homelanders were “[un]able to make [themselves] understood” (43) to the Hillfolk. When Corlath did not find assistance from the Homelanders, “he would not stay to parley” (45). The gate at the Homelander fort was then closed to Hillfolk, which further decreased friendly ties between the two countries. In attempting to gain the assistance of her fellow Homelanders after assuming the ways of the Damarians, “Harry looked at the fort gate in surprise” (195). She was unaccustomed to the closure of the gate which stood as a barrier between the two nations. The importance of Harry as a bridge between the two societies became evident when she led a band of both Damarians and Homelanders to a Damarian town. McKinley contrasted the cold reception of Harry by the Homelanders with her warm welcome by the Damarians. The local lord of the town stated “they are welcome” (217) when he saw the unity of the band following Harimad-sol. Harry became the link between the two nations that eventually led to “diplomatic relations” (271).

Robin McKinley’s The Blue Sword remains an important work that transcends the sweeping vistas and personalities of Damar. Harry Crewe, the woman that lacked beauty and dreamed of adventure, became the hero of Damarian daughters. Likewise, the heroes of our day can influence our daughters as well. Countless heads of state in the 21st century are women. Margaret Thatcher, Condoleezza Rice, and Michelle Obama all represent the success and necessity of women in the modern day. McKinley also highlighted the importance of cultural ties and traditions. In our world of mixed races and confused identity, a strong self-image is important to both men and women. “Two worlds meet” (179) in Harry Crewe; the same is true for many of us today. More important than either the independence of women or the significance of culture, however, is the necessity of cooperation between people and nations. The conflict against the Northerners was not resolved by Corlath and his army of Damarians. Rather, Harry and her ragtag band of Homelanders and Damarians alone were able to combat the Northern forces. Similarly, the prevalence of terrorism and oppression today require the global unity of people and nations alike.

McKinley, Robin. The Blue Sword. New York: Firebird, 2002.

Just Peachy

I have been told by numerous associates that John Henderson was a green grocer in Nevada. Others are confident he was a farm hand, constantly saving up money so that he could start a farm of his own. Personally, I think John Henderson started all those stories himself to convince his employees he knew something about produce. It was certainly true that he knew how to purchase produce. I don’t know if working as a green grocer or as a farm hand taught him how to use an order form, but the fact that John had an innate ability to order the incorrect amount of produce was inescapable. I can still remember picking the stickers off “fresh” peaches and nectarines. The “California Grown” and “Grown in Mexico” stickers were replaced by John’s impeccably misspelled signs reading “Utah Fresh” and “Local Produce.” John undoubtedly had no qualms about selling his own produce, but why would he go through the trouble if he could sell imported fruit at a fraction of the cost?

John's Fruitstand was a dusty little produce stand along Utah’s Fruit Highway. Beneath a yellow and white striped tent were countless fruits and vegetables. I remember sorting through zucchini, making sure it was crisp and fresh. As the cars raced by on Highway 89, I would break the pliable pieces in half and throw them into a half-bushel basket. I would then carry my basket to the other produce. Into the basket went cantaloupe, tomatoes, peaches, and apples that were no longer fit for anyone but John himself. He would wait for me to help a customer with their selections before he would return the rotting produce to the displays and shelves, hoping that some unsuspecting customer would purchase it by mistake. Despite his efforts I would prevail in my removal of the decaying fruit and throw it into the dumpster across the gravel parking lot.

I worked at John's Fruitstand for about a year after graduating from high school. I can still smell the fermenting peaches and the acidic Roma tomatoes fresh from the fields. Unlike a large amount of the produce we sold, some of the peaches and tomatoes sold in the late summer and early fall were local, homegrown in Box Elder County, Utah. The rest of the season we imported them from the cheapest vendor. Where people thought we were growing fruits like lemons and limes in Brigham City was beyond my comprehension. Some of the customers believed my sincere assurance that the citrus fruits were from Mexico City, Utah, a little known town just south of Corinne. Others felt vague impressions that Mexico City was actually in Mexico, but they didn’t want to argue with an expert. My coworkers stood in amazement as I divulged to our customers from where the produce really came. John found himself somewhere between rage and amusement; he was furious that I would discredit him by discreetly informing customers that our produce was imported, but he found a satiric humor when people failed to take the hint.

John was never satisfied. His undying creed was that employees could always work harder and money would someday grow on his peach trees. My coworkers lived in constant fear of losing their employment, and I could not help but wonder if John Henderson had studied the stockyard employers in Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle. Employees would be terminated on the spot if the value of their labor fell below that of their counterparts. Many workers came and went at the Stand, as I so endearingly called it. Few made the cut, and no one knew how much longer they would last.

When the skies were clear and the temperatures warm, the fruit stand would bustle with activity. Questions and answers would get jumbled together in the fray as employees and customers held lively discussions about the appropriate peaches for canning and baking, the proper potatoes for chowder, and the best apples for pie. I would always work my shifts with Rhonda Keller. When I was busy answering someone’s questions about Hubbard squash, she would be ringing up the charges on an ancient cash register. Her bleach-blonde hair would shine dully in the strange half-light of the tent. Rhonda was like my grandmother. We would sort peaches together and discuss the bipolar mood swings of our employer, John. We both made eight dollars an hour, but we also knew that if John was in the wrong mood that amount would quickly fall to zero.

At the Stand we sold “homegrown” petunias. Rhonda loved those flowers. On a sunny day, we would talk for hours while picking off the dead heads and pruning the stems. It was messy work. A sugary liquid would come out of the petunia flowers when they were squeezed. After working with the flowers for long increments of time, I would find myself covered in a sweet-smelling liquid attractive to insects of all sorts. I often contemplated how lucky the bees were that visited our petunias. Any bee drinking the sweet nectar of a petunia flower all day must have a happy life. Rhonda would always laugh at my comments about the bees. She once remarked that I would make a good bee because my arms were covered in smashed leaves and crumpled petals while hers had stayed surprisingly clean.

However, deadheading petunias wasn’t possible when it rained. Few customers purchased fruit on stormy days. Without a steady stream of customers to haggle, John’s engagements at the Stand were limited. He rarely supervised his business when the weather was poor. Although the fruit stand was entirely covered by the big circus tent, the dumpster was not. I’m sure John smirked with amusement as I looked from my basket of rotting fruit to the dumpster across the muddy pond that was once the parking lot. I would sit behind the counter and watch customers drive up in the mud, their tires spraying the big wooden crates that surrounded the stand. The mud-flecked crates were overflowing with the vibrant petunias, their shades ranging from deep purple to silvery white. Flowers would grow through the small cracks between joists and trail down the sides of the crates, adding an element of beauty to many a murky afternoon.

It would get cold in the Stand as the cold air got trapped beneath the circus tent during a rainstorm. Pools of water would collect at the edges of tent, making deep depressions that looked fit to burst in the artificial ceiling. To remedy the situation, I would bundle myself up in rainproof clothing and grab an industrial broom I used for just such occasions. I would take the butt-end of the broom and hit it against the underside of the tent. The water would pour down around my feet in a great splash. Specks of mud and debris would dot my worn jeans as I moved toward the next yellow and white depression. When the rain was even heavier, I could run circles around the tent for hours, constantly emptying the bulges of rainwater.

The Stand would also flood as the rain from the mountain began to run down the slope. By the end of an eight hour work day my tennis shoes were soaking wet and my feet were numb. I used the other end of my broom to sweep the water from behind the counter where I stood. The stream of water that gushed into the stand would bring dirt and decayed fruit from the fields above. As I attempted to sweep the water away, I also had to sweep the muddy sludge that came along with it. One customer offered to help, but upon seeing the state of my broom remembered a pressing appointment for which she was late. Instead of selling fruit at these times, I would listen to the pitter-patter of the rain hitting against the tent. The clouds would swirl overhead as the lightning flashed and the thunder roared. Cars rushed by on the busy highway, spraying water onto the gravel and mud into the gutter.

Rhonda and I cleaned when it rained. Since I had few customers to help I could spend time doing the odd jobs that always needed to be done. I sorted through signs and marking utensils, correcting John’s spelling mistakes when I could. I sanitized the counters and scales. Everything smelled of sweet fruits, vegetables, and rainwater, but it seemed that as soon as I got the Patch to a tolerable state of cleanliness, something momentous would happen to throw it back into disarray. One such occasion was Peach Days, a regional holiday celebrated in Brigham City. At John's Fruitstand the event was received with a certain foreboding. The weekend event marked the busiest time of the year for the fruit stand. Hordes of people would flock to the small town from across the country to experience the delectability of fresh peach cobbler a la mode. During Peach Days it is impossible to sort fruit or manage rainwater. The only task expected to be performed is the sale of peaches, and that is exactly what we did.

Well, that is what Rhonda did anyway; I had the flu. The smell of fermenting peaches was particularly nauseating when I was suffering from influenza. A haze of my coworkers’ productivity was my only perception of Peach Days. Customers asked my assistance only to turn around in disgust when they recognized the unpleasant implications of my pale disposition. Although I had the flu, I was still expected at work. I figured the best way to accommodate this unfortunate predicament was to make my presence undesirable to customers, thereby creating a pretense for my early departure. By emphasizing a certain over-attention to my stomach indicative of only one thing, people quickly understood that my assistance was unnecessary. By scaring away potential customers, I correctly assumed the astute exploitation of my illness could not go unnoticed. When John discovered people leaving without having made any purchases, he immediately began searching for the issue. It was unacceptable to allow people to leave without usurping their wallets. When he discovered that I was the culprit, a peculiar look crossed his face. He promised me with great antics that, after I recovered, I would work until I could work no more. His overly pleased expression suggested that he was quite thrilled at the thought of causing me additional pain. The surrounding customers glanced at me pityingly as they made their way to the counter, quarter-bushel baskets of peaches in tow.

As I left the establishment, Rhonda glanced at me with a mischievous smile. Although I was truly afflicted with influenza, John had offered me two guarantees that no employee of John's Fruitstand had succeeded in securing. I was promised a job for the rest of the season, and I was ensured a work schedule that would return a substantial profit. When I spoke to Rhonda next, it was with the assurance that I would be paid for the rest of the season to wield my broom in my fight against rainwater. Rhonda smiled as we sat down to sort through the peaches, our hands and arms covered in baby powder in hopes that the peach fuzz wouldn’t stick. I smiled back as I threw a rotten peach over my shoulder and into the highway, listening for the moment when an unsuspecting car would squash it and spread peach juice across the road.