Roughneck Read Free Page A

investment of several hundred dollars. I suspect that many of the important executives who received me thought that I was either a majority stockholder in the company or wished to become one. Most of them were brusque and some were pointedly unpleasant when they discovered the true and humble purpose of my call. Just why did I think they would want to hire me? What did I have to offer, an ex-bellboy, ex-oil field worker, et cetera, with a few months' newspaper experience and a few unimportant manuscript sales? They could get better men than me for nothing. There were college graduates here in Lincoln—men with graduate degrees in journalism—who were glad to work without salary, solely for the practical experience it gave them.
           I left some of these interviews cringing and more than a little shamed. Hell, I was actually sick, for my twenty-two-year-old hide had worn thin, instead of toughening, from the almost incessant onslaught of an outrageous fortune. I winced at each new blow to my pride, and the blows fell hard and fast.
           Being very stubborn—and, no doubt, stupid—I persisted in my patently hopeless quest. And, finally, at the last place I expected to, I met with seeming success.
           It was at a farm magazine. The two young editors looked me over fondly, ascertaining that I was entering the university, and, after a significant glance at one another, took me into firmly courteous custody...So I was from Texas, eh? (Here an awed look into the lining of my forty-dollar Borsalino.) And I wanted a job, eh? (A glance at label of imported tweed topcoat.) Well, they could understand that. It gave a man a certain independence, helping his standing on the campus. Now, of course—'naturally—'I had enrolled in the College of Agriculture?
           "My God, no!" I said, and then, seeing the pained looks on their faces, "Why would I want to do that? I'm in Fine Arts."
           They shook their heads. I had made a terrible mistake, they said. No one enrolled in Fine Arts, absolutely no one. The degree was worthless, you know; one might as well have a diploma from a barber college. The thing to do—and they would take immediate steps to arrange it—was to switch to the College of Agriculture. I could take journalism there, also as much English as I liked; and with a B.Sc.A., I would be fixed for life. It was practically as good as an M.D.
           Now, I was to become very cross with these young men in ensuing months, but I will say—although I say it grudgingly—that I believe they were sincere. A man with a Bachelor of Science degree in agriculture 'can' invariably get a job, and usually at a very handsome beginning salary. He can and he should, for he's damned well earned it. To begin with, he needs to have been raised on a farm and to have taken an active part in 4-H work. He will also find it helpful if he attends a vocational high school specializing in agriculture. Then he goes to an agricultural college—Nebraska is one of the three or four best in the world—and he enrolls for a heavy science curriculum, 'plus.' He doesn't take just physics, which is plenty tough in itself, but 'agricultural' physics. Not just botany, but 'agricultural' botany. And so on down the line. Practically every subject is a laboratory course. When he isn't peering through a microscope or working a slide rule, he will probably be wielding a surgical knife—dissecting the diseased and malodorous innards of some animal.
           Well, I had less than no business in such a college; even less, say, than I would have had in a theological seminary. So, of course, I enrolled in it. Or, rather, the two editors enrolled me. And I suspect that they came to regret it as much as I. They were also on the "rush" committee of an ag college fraternity, and they regarded me as a highly solvent, and hence desirable, prospect. They invited me to their "house" for dinner, and the next thing I knew I was