Fun at the American Locomotive Company

I was eighteen when I started work at The American Locomotive Company (Alco) in Schenectady, New York. The year was 1941. I was a typist. My job was located in the shop where steam locomotives and Army tanks were built. I didn't have a car and walked about 1-1/2 miles to work every day.

I was naive but not so much so that I didn't know when someone was having fun with me. I'd be sent to Joe, for example, to pick up a sky hook or to Hank for a bucket of steam. I knew they were joking but enjoyed seeing the looks of amusement when I'd go to one of the fellows and say, "Mr. Brisbane has sent me for a bucket of steam." In all seriousness, the worker would respond, "Go back and ask what kind of steam he means, wet or dry." I'd do that and after a few more rounds of questions and answers, the worker would say, we've run out of that kind. Tell Mr. Brisbane that we'll have more of that kind tomorrow."

Every so often one of the men would tell me a bawdy joke and I'd pretend not to understand it. The joker would say, "Go tell George that one and have him explain it to you." I'd do that but change the punch line with a synonym for a key word and the joke would make no sense. Upon my return, the joker would ask, "What did George say?" I'd reply that he had not understood it. I'd tell him how I had told the joke and the joker would exclaim, "No, no, no, that's the wrong way to tell it. Go back and use the word I said instead of the one you used." The next time I'd use a different synonym and this procedure would result with several round trips. The perpetrators of the joke would eventually realize that it was I having fun with them instead of the other way around.

With time, we got to know and like each other. My job with Alco lasted until I was inducted into the U. S. Army. After a few months I sent them a photo of myself in uniform. I included a little note saying, "I'm a private but I don't know why they call us that. Privacy is one thing we get very little of in the Army."