BEST JOB STARTS WELL, STAYS STRONG, ENDS IN SADNESS

My best job lasted a couple of decades. It was an insight into human nature for what it was.

When I decided to move back to Oregon after a short time away, I decided I wanted to do things only done in Oregon.

I’d already spent a summer sliming fish in Hallmarks Fisheries in Charleston so the fish box was checked.

The summer after my freshman year in college I graded veneer in the Georgia Pacific mill in Bunker Hill. Checked the wood box.

My interest in what made Oregon ‘Oregon’ drew me to museum work.

It was a good fit.

This particular museum was full of characters. One man knew everything about smuggling and native grave robbers.

Another knew the nuts and bolts of museums, the only one with a museum degree.

A third was a great schmoozer and musician who knew how old things worked.

I called them the ABC curators.

The top guy was a fundraising force of nature, his second an administrative grinder. The first was a WWII Marine, the second a Korean War Marine.

With this manly group of leaders, my department head was one of the gayest guys I’d ever met. He was a role model of pride for any gay pride questions and did the job with equal pride.

It was a good department.

My job was all-round cowboy and collection manager. It was the best job with people who cared about doing things the right way.

Work History Of The Best Job

Over the years I moved from one job title to the next without losing focus on why I stuck around.

The cooperation was so good because everyone had a ‘pitch in’ attitude.

I got married during my tenure, had kids, bought a house, graduated from college. It was all very adult and responsible.

The atmosphere changed as the aging leadership was replaced with younger out of state professionals. These mid-career people had different plans.

Friends and spouses got hired. Wives of important professors found new jobs. Doubts and concerns spurred worker activism that turned into union meetings, which created a larger rift.

The new top guy had work history that didn’t prepare him for his new history job.

He solved that problem by hiring administrators who weren’t prepared for the museum world.

The final stroke was the arrival of itinerant museum professionals on the five year plan. That’s how long it takes to find a job, turn it sour, and move on.

Stick The Landing

From one retread after another, a driver finally got his hands on the history wheel.

The bottom line got a boost, staff morale grew with better people on board for a brighter future.

My time had ended before the tide turned. Afterwards I used constructive words to argue for a better future so well that the newest guy invited me to coffee. After criticizing his predecessor for lack of direction and common touch the new man showed up in charge.

The sad part of the best job was the time afterwards. The old guard faded further and further away. I’d see them during festive events and noted how time took its toll.

The powerful men present when I started began using a cane, a walker, a companion to lean on. Partners died, people got divorced, kids grew up. It was the circle of life in real time.

I remember the people, the way they invested in the job and the community. They shared their houses and families to creat an extended family feel.

Museum work was the best of times and the worst of times with the best job part the lasting joy.

It was a job of a lifetime that checked every box on the list for Oregon.