It was 1973. As my social status had recently changed to single parent of two young ones, I began my search for an occupation.
At the top of my list was a teller for Altadena (Calif.) Federal Savings.
I was hired on the spot, as my qualifications were zero. That was important to head teller Glenna, who had found that training from scratch was preferable to deprogramming a new employee.
It was a great experience in developing a persona in an industry that respectable. My knack for remembering names and trivia was an asset in this community of senior citizens.
I was privileged to be transferred to a newly opened branch office of what eventually became Republic Federal Savings and Loan in the mall next to Santa Anita racetrack, where eventually I met my future husband. The bank’s auditor paid me a visit to proudly announce I was their worst teller, and I handed over my cash drawer. But because I seemed to be a natural at finding mistakes the other tellers made, he promoted me to head teller.
As a newly married woman, I was hired by Home Savings and Loan in downtown Pasadena. I worked with 10 other gals in the accounts department. This office had more than its share of characters — from homeless to movie actors and very wealthy people who were frequent regulars, taking advantage of the 18 percent interest rates of the 1970s. We also served a number of Depression-era clients who would keep large amounts of money in passbook savings and frequently withdraw small amounts for everyday needs.
One frequent new accounts customer was feared by reps because of his angry outbursts and rude behavior. This time was my turn. As I helped this older gent into his chair, I simply asked the question: “Why are you always upset when you come to our office?”
He actually relaxed back into his chair and began telling me about his visits to the nursing home where his wife lay helpless from the ravages of aging. After bringing him a fresh cup of coffee we spent a little time visiting.
A couple of weeks later he was back, signing in at the podium. I gladly approached him and escorted him back to my desk where he proudly reached in his pocket and gave me two box seat tickets for the races at Santa Anita racetrack! The box seats belonged to his son-in-law Vince Edwards, the movie actor and 1960s TV heartthrob of “Ben Casey.” This thank-you gesture was a big treat for us, and we met Vince at the racktrack that day!
This experience has been an encouraging reminder to take the time to get to know one another.
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