In The Goodwill Cafeteria

    Continuing with the series of blogs about the two years I spent in the early 1970’s as a Conscientious Objector doing my Alternative Service in the Indianapolis Goodwill Store.  The photo is a one I took at the time of some square in Indy.

            Mrs. Carnes looked at her watch, and told me that the cafeteria was open, and walked me there, telling me that I should go in and have lunch, and she would see me at 8:00 on the following morning.  I thanked her for the tour, said my farewell, and entered into the large and somewhat dingy and dimly lit cafeteria for a lunch.

    I was feeling very self-conscious standing there in the unfamiliar place, not knowing exactly how it worked, but fortunately, just then Mr. Dennson came in and with a smile, directed me over to the side of the room where people had formed a line to get a plateful of the hot prepared food.  I followed his lead as he picked up a tray and silverware, and walked beside the kitchen area where the the heated pans of food were on display.  There, Dennson loudly and easily, joked with members of the odd collection of people who made up the kitchen staff.  We pointed out what food we wanted and they spooned the food onto our plate.  With our plates loaded, we shuffled over to an empty table, sat down, and began to eat.  

    We quizzed each other as we ate.  Dennson was a great joker, his speech was liberally spiced with foul language, and plenty of inappropriate sexual comments about the various women in the room, but he was genuinely welcoming toward me, and I was happy to have his company as I ate in this strange new world where I would be spending the next two years.

    As we talked, I studied the others in the room, and I realized that for all of my education and reading, I had led a very sheltered life.  Surrounding me were people who were horribly deformed, crippled, disfigured, or with cerebral palsy.  Some were in wheel chairs, and others on crutches.  Some were in conversation, others were laughing, but some were sitting alone and in silence.

    One woman with severe cerebral palsy started yelling unintelligible words, waving her arms around, and leaning from side to side in her wheel chair, in a tantrum.  A woman in a nearby table got up from her lunch, went over to her and tried to calm her down.  

    “That’s Jeanne,”  Dennson said.  “Don’t mind her; she just has these temper-tantrums every now and again.”  I watched as the woman quietly began to comfort Jeanne and calm her down.  There was a whole world here that I had never experienced.

    I always admired how Mr. Dennson took me under his wing, and made me a part of the conversations that he had with the other Goodwill employees.  Although he lived in Indianapolis during the week, his home was in Washington, Indiana, 100 miles away.  He struck me as being a “Good Ol’ Boy” from a small town, who liked drinking in the bar, and hanging out with the boys.  I had often found such types to be prejudicial toward other races, and “hippie” types like me, but Dennson was certainly not like that, and he was tremendously and genuinely helpful to novice me, as I entered into the unknown situation of the Goodwill workplace.

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