I Used to do That for a Living; Landing and Leaving 108 Jobs Introduction, Chapter 1, Chapter 2 - Page 34

Roger Scott Jackson Poplar Bluff, Missouri, and on the west by Wichita, Kansas, carefully exclusive of any part of Oklahoma. Jack told how his family spent a winter in the 1930s living in one of the big rusty vats at the derelict vinegar works in Wichita. Thirty years later the vinegar works were still standing, though barely, next-door to the Revival Way Mission, which we knew simply as Sister Montgomery’s, one of the crappy-assed little Pentecostal churches we attended more or less interchangeably, depending on whom Jack was on the outs with at a given time. Jack managed to learn to read and write and do sums, which he reckoned was enough for anybody but a show-off. And he, his father, and his Father, all three of ‘em, despised a showoff. Jack’s disdain for formal education continued throughout his life. He did his best to pass it along to my siblings and me. Only three of his five kids completed high school. One went to bible college (like barber college, but without the academics), which was still snooty enough to occasion Jack’s strong disapprobation. I alone graduated from a legitimate university. Fuck yes. And if he had not already been dead, that it was a Catholic school would’ve killed him. Jack met my mother, Hazel Evelyn, an 25