Looking for a gift for someone who isn’t quite sure what they want to be when they grow up? Or for someone who never grew up? Or for someone who might want to re-live the final Grateful Dead performance at the Fillmore West. Or for a student of social history of the 1960s and 1970s. Or for someone who taught themselves to play guitar. Or for someone who attended Kansas University in the late 60s/early 70s. Or for someone who could use a laugh. Take a cue from Santa. Hardly Working might be the answer. If you’re looking for the perfect Christmas gift for yourself, order a copy for yourself.
Roger Bain’s memoir, Hardly Working” How I Found My Career and Kept My Soul, surprises and delights as it answers that thorny question: What do you want to be when you grow up? This coming-of-age tale, filled with a cast of colorful characters, is by turns thought provoking, amusing, and nostalgic as it describes the author’s quest for the American Dream, navigating as many twists and turns as Hulu’s Only Murders in the Building.
In the years immediately after college when most graduates are scrambling to reach the top of the food chain, Bain hatched a plan, “a life map where I would ‘retire’ at the beginning of adulthood. Of course, I would need to work, but as little as possible.” The candid description of the author’s unconventional journey does not disappoint.
Bain rivals participatory journalist George Plimpton in the variety of jobs he has held: golf caddy, drill press operator, Fuller Brush man, waterbed purveyor, itinerant hippie, song writer, store Santa, and cable TV adman, among others. He says: “Throughout my journey, I’ve always sought out that sweet spot: to have just enough without being possessed by my possessions, or by ‘the man,’ and to always have time for my own creative pursuits.” Ultimately, he draws upon his multi-faceted life experiences to establish a successful advertising agency that feeds his creative Muse while also paying the bills. Win-win.
Like other good memoirs, Hardly Working doesn’t simply chronicle the vicissitudes of Bain’s quixotic life; it also offers personal epiphanies: “I had a growing realization that my path was my own decision and to hell with expectations. . .” And “I knew I was lucky. I’d had a comfortable, trouble-free upbringing. But I wanted more from this life. I was on a quest, and the only way to discover what I was looking for was through experience.” And experiences he has had!
Hardly Working is well written and engaging. Unlike the spate of best-selling life stories later proven fraudulent, Bain’s account rings true, amply supplemented by photographs and an amazing level of detail. Fans of Bill Bryson’s The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off will appreciate its nostalgic look at life from the 1950s to the present. Devotees of music from bebop to hip hop will resonate with Bain’s recollections of music culture and his contributions to it. And those seeking to “find” themselves will have an entertaining guidebook of do’s and don’ts.
If you’re looking for a memoir that is both comical and substantive, grab a copy of Hardly Working. Then buckle up for a rollicking ride.
Nancy Walker, PhD, professor of psychology (retired)
Author of The Child Witness, Children’s Rights in the United States, and Lost Opportunities: The Reality of Latinos in the U.S. Criminal Justice System
Author relaxing after a hard afternoon of pondering.
Many years ago, I decided to sketch out what I had done to make money throughout my life. The original motivation was to provide a document for my kids; not a path for them to follow but more an entertainment. These “job sketches” evolved into an autobiography filtered through the lens of work. We each have a story to tell. This is mine.
Question: What was your favorite job?
My very last one. I created it. (You’ll have to read the book to find out.)
Question: Does a career define a life?
Not always. In my case, I would say, yes, it does because my work became my life. In a good way. I shaped my self-created job to my talents. (One might say whims.)
Question: Which jobs most shaped your view of life?
I have come to believe that there is no such thing as a worthless job. Each one contributes to your understanding of the world and how it works. But be careful not to overstay once you grow bored or feel stagnant.
Question: How did you recall the things you did many decades ago?
It is remarkable how memory works. Dwell enough on something and small details return. Not necessarily important details, rather, snapshots from the photo album that is our mind. For the most part, I have written what I remembered. And I have tried to be truthful. But memory and truth are two different things. I confess to augmenting my memory with Google searches from time to time. How else would I have known the number of people employed by the auto industry in the 1960s?
Question: Who are some of the most unforgettable characters you worked with?
Doc, the caddy master, at the Hinsdale Golf Club. The Ace hamburger flipper at Lum’s restaurant in Lawrence, KS. Dishwashing Moses at Grinnell Hall at Southern Illinois University. The Fabulous Johnny A at Sunflower Cablevision. Sherlock the Basset Hound in Minneapolis. Dr. Bingo, the mad pharmacologist.
Question: Who are your most likely readers?
I am of the baby boom generation, but the book provides a social history for any age group. I believe dividing populations into age blocs can miss the point. A better gauge might be dividing people into taste blocs. Here is who might enjoy Hardly Working: young people who are curious to expand their frame of reference, who may be uncertain of their career path. Ex-hippies. Social historians. Corporate dropouts. Wannabe corporate dropouts. Ad industry people. Memoir enthusiasts who wish to absorb a point of view from a regular (not normal!) person. Cable TV alums. It may also serve as a gift for recalcitrant kids or grandkids. The geo-focus of the book includes Chicago and its western suburbs, Lawrence, KS, Minneapolis, Carbondale, IL, San Francisco and the open road.
Question: What do you hope the book can accomplish?
I hope that Hardly Working might serve as a look at the latter half of the twentieth century and the beginning of the twenty-first from the perspective of a non-famous person. I hope the book is provocative in a positive way. About twenty people have read the manuscript as of this writing. Two of them have already changed the direction of their work life.
Question: What was your writing routine?
It varied from one afternoon-a-year to three hours every morning for a month. My library in Arlington Heights, IL, has a monthly writer’s group. Reading aloud chapters and getting immediate feedback gave me some direction. The ensuing discussions often veered into similar jobs that group members had. They recalled tasks that were bureaucratic or time wasting or bosses or co-workers who were wonderful or not. Of special importance seemed to be jobs that are deemed low skill or incidental or low paying. Summer jobs. Starter jobs. Dirty jobs: the jobs that are the binding agents of society. The jobs deemed essential during a pandemic.
Question: Is there a soundtrack?
Yes. I thought you would never ask. Most friends and acquaintances think of me as a songwriter. I have collected some twenty compositions that are mentioned in the book or reflected my circumstances at various stages of the story. https://rogerbainmusic.com/hardly-working
Question: Do you have advice for young people beginning to think about what they want to be when they grow up?
Keep an open mind, don’t be afraid of failure, have fun, don’t settle for the obvious, pay attention to what fulfills you and read many books, hopefully this one, available Feb. 25 on Amazon and (I hope) other fine platforms.
The author holding a plastic inflatable companion as Mary, Ardys and Pete share a laugh prior to a Barking Geckos gig.
If you are a bookstore or book reviewer, I will send you an ARC upon request.
The advertising industry is fueled by seminars, conventions and cocktail parties. At an after-work Holiday cocktail bash sponsored by a now-defunct cable channel, I ran into a friend who worked for MTV. Between sips of punch, we commented on the general lameness of everything in sight, how shallow and full of shit so much of the industry was, especially most of the anointed rising stars. This is what you do when you are not a rising star yourself and are generally skeptical at the power dynamics that have passed you by, even though you wanted to be passed by. That was the goal.
This exercise in mockery eventually
meandered into a discussion of things that we considered to be worthy of our
praise. That’s when we discovered our mutual love of the Rolling Stones. We
settled into animated chat of our favorite Stones tracks. Sway. Spider and the Fly. You Got the Silver, Moonlight Mile. I
relayed my story of speaking to Bill Wyman on the phone while I was in high
school. My cohort had a story about a Mick encounter. Then she dropped the
bombshell: How would I like two passes to the live taping of a Keith Richards
and The Expensive Winos concert that VH-1 was producing locally at WTTW’s soundstage?
And maybe an after-show introduction to Keith! This is why we work. It’s not
just for the money, it’s for the opportunity to meet Rock Gods. If offered the
chance to meet any musician from any era, if Robert Johnson was busy being
chased by a hellhound, I would have chosen Keith.
On the day of the taping, Linda
contracted stomach flu but was going to give it a try anyway. After all, it was
Keith! Sadly, on the way to the show we had to turn the car around and return
Linda home to deal with her gastric misery. This lost opportunity amplified her
illness. She was now both sick and devastated. After dropping her off, I didn’t
have time to think about anything other than threading through expressway
traffic and getting to WTTW on time.
The studio held about 200 standing
fans. A low-key, pre-concert buzz filled the room, emitted by rock fans in the
know, sharing stories of other times they had seen Keith or the Stones or other
famous rockers. We were the chosen ones and we knew it. This wasn’t some stadium
show with 30,000 anybodys in attendance. This was a hyper exclusive event to
witness a legend. I wormed my way to the very front, pressed against the stage.
A small camera tethered to a cable zipped behind me. The director was
practicing a shot that would swoop over the crowd, right up to the Winos. Just
before the band appeared, I heard my name over the studio public address
system. “Bain! Move to the back. Your bald head is in my shot.” I knew the
woman who was directing, and she had recognized me. I moved about twenty feet
back. Still a great spot to see the band smash through Take It So Hard and about ten other tunes including Time Is on My Side, sung by Sara Dash.
The set ended with no encore
because it was a television taping. I headed for the stage door where my MTV
friend had told me to meet her. As I made my way to the backstage door, I said
hello to Winos drummer, Steve Jordan and sax legend, Bobby Keys. “Great set,
guys!” What else could I say? The rock royalty was looking for the room where the
buffet was. Because of the small, private nature of the show there wasn’t much
security. I walked in. Backstage was a non-descript, dark-ish room with drapes
on the walls and a few overhead lights. The gathering was just me, the MTV gal,
the President of VH-1 and a guitar maker with a custom guitar for Keith to
autograph. As we waited for Keith, we were all equals.
I was making small talk with the
VH-1 President when a hush seemed to settle over us, a barely discernable
change in atmosphere like the pressure drop that precedes a tornado. From the
shadows, Keith materialized and noiselessly glided our way. He simply appeared,
as if waved in by an unseen wand. I swear I detected an aura surrounding him.
He seemed in good spirits but how would I know? Had he just smoked hash? Had he
just looked at his bank account? Had he just had a plate of bangers and mash?
In any case, there was no pretense. I could tell that he had done this meet and
greet hundreds of times. It was the retail part of his rock star god job. He
was polite, gracious, at once both all-knowing and oblivious.
What do you say to an icon? I hadn’t rehearsed any questions. I thought that a prepared question would seem hokey. Do stars ever get tired of being told how much we love them? Or how many times we have played their first album? I settled on blurting out, “My wife got sick this morning and she’s going to die because she didn’t get to see the show and meet you.” Without missing a beat, Keith says, “What you want from me mate? To pay for her funeral?” He was busting my balls. “That won’t be necessary,” I replied, “but could you tell her to get well soon?” An assistant who had slipped into the room handed Keith an event invitation postcard and a sharpie and Keith scribbled, “To Linda. Get well soon,” and signed his name. I posed for a quick photo with Keith and the others. For reasons known only to God and Elvis, I never got a copy. It slipped through the cracks of my life. What I most remember was the handshake. Keith’s hands were incredibly soft.
