Summer Jobs

By Nonna Linda Hoeschler

My first real “9-to-5” jobs (or sometimes 8 to 4!) began the summer just before college (1962) and lasted through the summer of 1965. These summer jobs were at the Macy-Westchester Newspapers (a chain of 8 dailies and 1 weekly) where my father was an officer and Vice President. Yes, I got my jobs because of my father’s job. But, because of the “connection” I worked doubly hard to prove myself. This was better employment than I could have gotten on my own, and I knew I was lucky.

The first two summers, 1962 and 1963, I worked in the advertising layout department of the Yonkers Herald Statesman. I would take the New York Central train from the Tarrytown depot south along the magnificent Hudson River to Yonkers, then walk from the train station to the newspaper offices. The offices were not air-conditioned and held a lot of heavy, heat-producing equipment like printing presses. Our department was on one of the top floors, so it was very stuffy and hot. Heat really does rise!

This was a time of transition in newspaper production. To go back a bit, starting about 1885, newspapers’ print was no longer set by hand, letter by metal letter, but by operators of linotype machines. Operators (whom I can remember seeing as a child when I’d go to work with my Dad) would literally type out lines of print in hot metal. (Hence the name “line of type” or linotype.)

When I worked at the newspapers, those noisy, hot linotype machines were being replaced by another technique that involved full news pages typed out, laid out, then photographed and etched into metal printing plates. Operators would type out the news copy in the proper type style and size; their output was printed on glossy photographic paper. These articles and their headlines were then sliced out, run through a machine that waxed the back side, then stuck down onto newspaper-sized sheets of paper. When a page was complete, an image of the dummied page was etched onto a metal printing plate for the rotary presses.

Still complicated, but quicker than linotype, as unbelievable as that sounds.

Advertisements were similarly produced for pasting down—the cutting and pasting down was my job, messy and tedious. Newspaper advertisers (professional advertising agents or, perhaps, a store manager) would sketch out a “display” ad. Sometimes the advertiser specified type face and style; other times not. Sometimes artwork came in the package. Each ad’s materials were kept in a manilla envelope.

A couple of people higher on the “food chain” from us layout “artists” decided what type to use which they would then “set” and develop. We would get sheets of type on photographic paper plus any illustrations. We’d run all these through a waxing machine, then sitting at a draftsman desk, we’d use exacto knives to cut out the type and illustrations. Using our best judgement, we would lay/press the typing and drawings on big sheets of drafting paper to approximate the ad sketch we’d been given; we also used thin adhesive black tape for lines.

I remember that the Lord and Taylor department store ad exec would always have us rework his ads several times, changing his mind. But his ads always looked stylish and artistic.

The real lessons I learned were from my co-workers. They were intelligent, but because they hadn’t gone to college, this repetitive, dull work was the best job they could get. They were all women and probably hired for their dexterity and attention to detail, but also because the wage was low. Most were pleasant and intelligent but not particularly well read. I remember Muriel, who looked hunched, washed out and had stringy blonde/gray hair; she seemed ancient but was probably no more than 50! She would order an “egg cream” beverage every day from the nearby drug store and would brag about her son, whom, I believe, was going to medical school. She shocked me one day when she told me she never wore underpants in order to stay cool.

My second summer there, 1963, I met a cute short gal, Terry Russo, whose father had a trucking company, one of the paper’s subcontractors hired by my father (who ran the circulation department for the chain). She invited me numerous times to visit her family in their home; I was a bit surprised when she showed me photos of her Yonkers house which appeared much grander than our Tarrytown custom ranch house.

But my father always said no to my visiting Terry and discouraged any friendship. Terry wasn’t that interesting and seemed to have no higher ambition than getting married, so I didn’t care about nurturing a friendship. But I told my father that I thought he was anti-Italian for not letting me go to her house. But “no” was “no”, so I dropped it.

Several months later my mother showed me a clipping about Terry’s father. He had been murdered and dumped in a river. Turns out, he was part of a “mob” of Italian gangsters. My father had known about Mr. Russo’s mob connections, but didn’t want to risk my safety by going to Terry’s house.

My summer newspaper work in 1964 and 1965 provided fabulous training for school and for life. I was asked to be an editorial trainee for the Macy-Westchester newspaper chain, working out of the headquarters located in the White Plains Reporter Dispatch building. Since my father also worked in this building we often rode together to work, unless I had to go out on assignment.

The main component of my job was to write “feature stories.” I would choose (or be assigned) someone to interview, would do background research, then meet and speak with the person. I usually had a photographer take photos for the story, then wrote up the article. I would try to make it as lively and interesting as possible. The first summer I wrote, for instance, about cooking on boats, maintaining a backyard wildlife sanctuary, and writing music for planetarium shows.

I worked hard and proved my worth, much to the relief of the “real” writers on staff (as they later told me!). Moreover, my editor and boss, Elinor Ney, taught me to write clearly and concisely, a gift without parallel. In those days we would write our stories on newsprint paper (cheap) with a carbon between two sheets (to make a copy). Ms. Ney, who had also taught at Columbia School of Journalism, would sit beside me and mark up my story with a red crayon pencil, contracting phrases and substituting stronger words. She would explain her actions when needed, but mostly she was clear: I soon realized I was too wordy. I learned more from her than I had in most of my English classes; Ms. Ney made me a much better writer and a good editor of others.

Thank you, Ms. Ney!

As with my Yonkers job, I learned a lot from my co-workers at the same time. One of the most memorable women I met was Margaret (Peggy) Anderson who wrote several columns on things like etiquette (good manners!), interpersonal relations, and household tips. People would often call her on the phone to answer their questions. She had a lovely, deep, authoritative voice so seemed perfect for the job.

Peggy was a large woman, and often wore lovely black dresses, substantial eye and face makeup and gave a dramatic appearance. The first week of work she offered me some “to-mah-toh” juice which I gladly accepted on a warm morning. It was spicier than I expected, but I drank it, feeling a bit dizzy.

The second week of work, Miss Anderson (although she was a Mrs., every woman was called “Miss” as a professional nod) asked me to lunch. We went to a lovely dark restaurant and she asked what I wanted to drink. I suggested a limeade or lemonade, and she said “Oh, you’ll love a Gimlet.” She ordered me a Gimlet and then a second one. When we