Editor’s note: This is another column in Bill Boyd’s new series, “The Way It Was,” about growing up in Marysville. Bill continues to work with the Union County Historical Society to obtain information for his stories. With Marysville and Union County celebrating Bicentennial anniversaries in 2019 and 2020, respectively, these articles help depict what life was like in those early years.
–––
When I was 13 or 14 years old, I had a friend and fishing partner named Bob Patterson. One day we were cleaning fish in his backyard when his dad told us we both could get a job picking tomatoes the following week. He said several farms near Marysville were growing tomatoes, and they were looking for boys to pick them. All we had to do was show up at the post office at 7 a.m. the following Monday.
We both looked at this as a great opportunity to make some money. So bright and early Monday morning Bob and I showed up at the post office. Our transportation was waiting for us. It was a good size truck, and the bed was full of boys. The driver stopped at one farm and several boys got off. Then he drove to another farm where Bob and I, along with a few other boys, jumped from the truck.
A man in a pickup truck was waiting for us at the edge of a field. He gave each of us a one-peck basket, and he took us to the area where we would work. He said we would be paid by the basket … the more baskets we filled, the more money we would make.
I was surprised to see that all the tomato plants were just spread out on the ground. I had picked tomatoes at home, but they all grew on stakes, so I could pick them standing up.
We all started out picking as fast as we could, and we had visions of getting rich. But halfway through the second basket, our backs started to ache. Was that hard work! Each time a boy filled up a basket, he carried it to the pickup truck where the man loaded it and gave the boy a new basket.
We all broke for lunch some time around noon. Each boy opened his brown paper bag and pulled out a bologna sandwich, or maybe peanut butter and jelly.
After eating, we still had a few minutes left in our lunch break, when some boy let out a yell. Another boy had thrown a tomato at him and it hit him in the head. The boy who was hit was quick to retaliate, but his tomato went wide and it hit Bob right in the chest. Bob picked up two tomatoes and hurled them back at his attacker.
Then the chaos started. Every boy there was throwing tomatoes at someone else. It was like a snowball fight with tomatoes.
Not a single tomato was thrown in anger. It was all just for fun – a tomato free-for-all. Everyone was laughing and having a good time. Well, not everyone. The man in the pickup truck, who was in charge of us, didn’t seem to think it was funny. He yelled and started waving his arms. He tried to stop the whole thing, but he didn’t have a chance. Once a tomato fight starts, it’s pretty hard to stop it.
The man yelled at us a couple times, but that was about it. He didn’t threaten to fire us or anything like that. That wasn’t surprising, because if he fired us, who was going to pick those tomatoes tomorrow?
Bob and I went back for two more days. Then we retired from the tomato-picking business. Neither one of us got rich, but we both had a lot of fun. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t want to do it again.
Those wishing to contact Bill Boyd can e-mail him at bill@davidwboyd.com