I thought I would research the history of Labor Day and share that with you today. Unfortunately, my internet search showed some discrepancies. I formed my own opinions with that information and decided that I just did not want to go there on my blog. You really do not want to hear about my political beliefs.
So, to keep from starting a controversy, I will simply share what Labor Day means to me.
My dad worked there for 30 years, back when it was still Owens-Illinois. When I was a kid, that paper mill was the very life blood of my hometown. The parents of most of my friends worked there. The whole town, even five miles out into the country where I lived, smelled on warm summer days of sulfar thanks to that mill. For me, it wasn’t a bad smell, it was a smell that meant new clothes at Christmas and a bike on my birthday.
One time there was no supervisor available for a job Dad and his crew were doing. Management wanted Dad to be the supervisor just for that day. It wouldn’t mean any change of his duties or pay, it would be a token title. Dad still refused. He was there to work and not to supervise. That’s who my Dad was. A laborer.
(For more views of the paper mill, click on the "Creating My Blog" link above.)