Job #2, Robin Hood Dell usher

             Robin Hood Dell was an outdoor concert space in Philadelphia’s Fairmount Park. Concerts were free for people who didn’t mind sitting on blankets on the grass. But there were a few thousand permanent folding seats close to the raised stage where the orchestra sat, and these seats were for those who paid for a season. There were also jobs for young people to be ushers (all girls) to take the season ticket holders to their seats, and also to be valets (all boys) to park the cars of the season ticket holders. There were concerts several times a week for a six-week summer season, and ushers who worked three nights a week were paid $5 a week.

            Ushers arrived at the park about an hour before concert time. Most likely no one would need our services so early, but just in case... We brought a piece of cloth to wipe off the seats, which were clean anyway, but just in case... Then three or four of us stood around chatting, about what else we were doing that summer, who was dating whom, where we were going to college in the fall. I became friends with Lois, a friendly, red-haired, slightly plump girl who was starting at Penn (University of Pennsylvania, in Philadelphia, not to be confused with Penn State, out in State College). Lois was dating Barney, one of the valets.

            As couples, or groups, many middle-aged or elderly, arrived, we would approach them with a helpful expression on our faces. This was the hardest part for me. I was intensely shy, didn’t know how to talk to anyone, let alone strangers. But here there was the framework of the job. I would hover near the area where people walked in and try to look friendly. A little smile? The man, and it was usually a man, would hand me the tickets. I would look at the seat numbers, then lead the couple or group to their seats. There, I would fold down the seat, wipe it with my cloth, step back to they could get to their seats, and hand the tickets back. The man would then hand me a coin, for a tip. It was usually a quarter. (The equivalent today of $2.35.) By the end of an evening, I might have accumulated $2 or $3, and could have gotten more if I were more assertive in approaching ticket holders.

            One elderly couple was notable. They were older than most. And after I’d wiped their seats and let them move into their row, the man would hand me a dime with a little smile. I couldn’t tell whether he thought this was a magnanimous amount or the least that I deserved. But a dime? (Less than a dollar today.) Even then, it seemed stingy. I wanted to throw it back at him, but I never did. But I never forgot.