Love the Caillebotte! Thank you for the link. As I said on the re-stack this was right up my Street(er) - sorry! My great grandfather was variously a miner, a higgler and a publican. Higgler I had to look up - it means a rural door to seller of bits and bobs often bartered for farm produce which was then in turn sold. How the world changes and how we must learn to change with it. Fascinating and thoughtful as always Jeffrey.
Jeffrey, I was delighted to find the Caillebotte here, a favorite of mine and apt choice for this eye-opening piece. (I ran out of synonyms for “surprising” many posts ago, thanks to your gift for surprising your readers.)
As new jobs appear, familiar ones vanish. When our son was a kid earning marks from so-so to barely passing, we would warn, “At this rate you’ll end up pumping gas for a living.” I don’t know about Japan, but here in North America it’s been eons since you could get paid to pump gas.
I came across this fascinating essay about Caillebotte recently: Tom Crewe · Men Watching Men: Caillebotte’s Gaze https://share.google/wkoweIJxsBXjHZaBs
Iin Japan, there are still petrol pump attendants (as I'd call them). Which reminds me that my mother also did that for a short while, helping out some friends who'd bought a petrol station a few miles from the farm.
What an interesting essay on Caillebotte. The writer presents a more scholarly version of my own take on this artist. After looking at his work for years in many places, I am struck by two things: the vigorous diagonals that structure each work and make it recognizably his; and the tug of homoeroticism. Say all you like about the facts of his life and the social undercurrents of his time. There’s a tactile quality, a sensuality, a kind of love for the male body that recurs in his work, especially the man drying himself but also the floor strippers. An art lover and connoisseur of my acquaintance, from an earlier, homophbic generation, recoils at the floor strippers because they make him so uncomfortable.
I liked this essay (that's British high praise, as you know) and I like the fact that I never know what I am going to get from you. My mother, well ahead of her time, worked as a lobbyist for welfare organisations in Washington, after stopping full time work in the New Deal to look after her children. She said the census taker in 1950 (done in person in those days) didn't know what to do with the word and asked her how to spell it. My own work has been equally difficult to explain to those not inside the business - I worked freelance as a researcher, writer, consultant in the fields of health and social welfare, whatever anyone wanted of me. Sometime, I would tell people "I sell my time". It was as good as any. Also liked the paintings.
I always say it with a smile - and those who don’t know me look twice because, well, a nice woman like me shouldn’t make such an analogy or even know about it.
A finely written and fascinating essay, Jeffrey. The subject is interesting. Here in the states, "occupation" was / perhaps still is (I'm not sure, given our current administration) used for compiling statistics, collected and analyzed in different ways, by staff of the Bureau of Labor Statistics; the data then could be used in determining various levels of government policy, including educational priorities, and had meaning for planning, development, taxes, and retirement. The data were also used by employers themselves.
Well before I retired from the employment law publishing firm I worked for some 25 years, I created a volume on job applications and the terms used for positions. The audience comprised human resources offices of corporations. Terms - how people define themselves and how corporations define the jobs people hold - often contrasted and contradicted themselves. As an assistant managing editor, I participated in interviews with prospective hires. When jobs were listed, we tried to be clear what we needed and wanted, at a time when one had to be cautious given federal and state laws. We'd receive applications from people claiming to be editors having all kinds of experience but who during interviews had to admit that the most they'd done was proofread copy, usually their own. When the company was purchased in 2011 (4 years after I'd retired), managing editors of the divisions all received new position titles - they became directors - and the former CEO or president of the company became something else as well. I found it amusing, because the new titles sounded a bit arrogant and were certainly vague.
Thank you for such a fascinating response, Maureen. "Editors" who'd only proof read their own copy - very creative! I guess some people become very invested in certain kinds of titles, believing that they give them a certain kind of status they seem to crave.
The world of work is a fascinating one for me. I've contemplated for years writing about my work experiences, and your essay is making me revisit that as I wrap up Misfortune Cookie. So much of who we are is defined by our 'job'. It's what Americans ask when first meeting someone new. It's what immigration forms ask for when visiting the country. When I was feeling particularly cheeky during one flight, I filled in 'professional clown' because did anyone ever really look at these?
First, what marvelous paintings, none of which I'd ever seen! That Velasquez!
I saw my own birth certificate for the first time a few days ago. Father, occupation: engineer, complete with his employer. Mother, occupation: housewife. I remember when it was commonplace for women, including my mother, to introduce themselves as 'just a housewife,' or say, 'I'm just a housewife, but I know [whatever].' The apologetic admission of second-class citizenship always made me sad for my vibrant, capable, talented mother.
I'm off to check the decibels...(I love this as a label for any not-easily-categorized job).
I'm glad you also like the Velázquez, Elizabeth. It's a whole world, isn't it? I also remember my mother putting herself down. But partly it was a way of staying out of the limelight. She was shy and didn't like to be the subject of attention. She was the matriarch of the family, but didn't relish that role.
This beautifully captures the inadequacy of job titles as summaries of human lives. The image of your mother being reduced to a single word on a death certificate is particularly powerful, because it highlights the gap between official records and lived experience. I was also struck by the railway worker measuring crossing alarms, like the "banana-coloring-man" I think I mentioned during one of our walks.
I must say I don't like the idea that occupations define us. They are useful labels for bureaucracies and historians, but they struggle to contain the complexity, variety, and dignity of a life actually lived.
Jeffrey, I found this such a moving and thought provoking piece. Even in our lifetime the nature of occupations has changed hugely and a find the question, "What do you do?" such an odd one - how to pin down a life?
A really interesting read, that resonates. I recently filed Mum’s death certificate, and the preamble of what to provide and what information would be required had me fearful of committing error about someone I thought I knew very well. But it is the marriage certificate box filling that I remember far more pertinently and the labelling of my father as a ‘turf accountant’. The registrar had enquired as to his occupation and, quite apart from thinking the word ‘occupation’ already somewhat aggrandizing, I offered up, ‘Bookie.’ She replied, ‘I’m sorry?’ I elaborated, ‘He took money from people who wanted to place a bet on the horses.’ ‘Ahh, he was a turf accountant.’ I’d never heard the phrase before. That veneer of respectability that you mention, yes, but at the time one closer to slight abstraction. A few years later, going through some precious bits of Mum’s, we found an old, small, but beautifully preserved black leather book with gold-foil lettering on the front: R. E. Inwood, Turf Accountant: Dad’s betting book that he would have pencilled in his accounts of the day whilst at the racecourse — effectively his register of liabilities for each race meet. Really enjoyed reading this, and the paintings too.
Thank you for sharing that moving experience. It's been a while since I heard the phrase Turf Accountant and as you say, it's a good example of adding a little bit of veneer to a job.
I was having lunch with one of my oldest friends here in the UK the other day and we were joking about the 'careers advice' we received from when we were at school in the 90s. Typically, the advice came in the form of being handed a telephone directory sized book and instructed to look through it. It wasn't particularly inspiring and nor were the jobs offered inside. That said, it felt rather daunting to try and figure out what I was going to do with my life from browsing through a book, and young people now might well feel the same (with the internet)!
My careers advice came from a woman who never made eye contact, looked at my school report and said "You're going to university." The she looked up and said "Next.."
This is an excellent post about how we are identified by our job or our work, (in England on a death certificate) but it doesn't tell anyone much about the person. I like your quote from Joseph Conrad. He was a sailing ship captain who became a successful novelist. His claim that no one knows very much about anyone is so true. So I am glad you told us of your mother and father and a little more about yourself. The difficulty of finding work in the future is horriblyl concerning. And then there is the difficulty of finding work that you enjoy or pursuing that career whilst keeping oneself afloat financially. I think writing is a double blessing for writer and reader because one lets readers know about their work. And also share difficulties of finding jobs that help one experience happiness without one's senses being too dulled. Or being overwhelmed into futile helplessness. Perhaps people's labors are lost to a degree. But what one does in the work of writing can be easily shared if reader wants to know. The noise monitor job you spoke about doesn't seem too demanding yet endlessly repetitious! Writing is a sensible explainatory work around to the occupation field on any certificate. This post is very encouraging because it talks about what one does for a job in a meaningful way. Everyone has challenges but there are awesome moms and dads and siblings who do quite well despite everything and achieve some happiness. I always like the human dimension of your posts. And they have a viewpoint that often seldom appears unless they do with consistent frequency.
Thank you for that reflection, Larry. I agree the sound monitoring job would be repetitive and undemanding. I wouldn’t normally think of such a job for myself, but I was slightly beguiled by the idea of it. Perhaps it’s because I like trains…
You raise some really interesting point’s, Jeffrey. I’m counting back now over all the different jobs I’ve had so far in my life, and I find it so weird to think of having just one of them pinned to me as ‘the thing I did’.
I also find it kind of strange that a persons occupation is even put on their death certificate… (I don’t know if that’s done in Australia, lucky for me I haven’t seen many death certificates.) Personally, I’ve never felt as though what I do has much relevance to who I am, and so, to imagine it on my death certificate feels slightly uncomfortable.
Either way, I really enjoyed this piece. I realised while reading that something else I really enjoy about your work is learning about the topics you choose to write about. They are always fascinating! :)
Thank you for your very considered comment, Michael. The certificates give historians access to lots of data about individuals going back a long way, I guess. But, as you suggest, many of us do many jobs in a lifetime and perhaps none of them get close to defining who we are.
Love the Caillebotte! Thank you for the link. As I said on the re-stack this was right up my Street(er) - sorry! My great grandfather was variously a miner, a higgler and a publican. Higgler I had to look up - it means a rural door to seller of bits and bobs often bartered for farm produce which was then in turn sold. How the world changes and how we must learn to change with it. Fascinating and thoughtful as always Jeffrey.
Higgler is new to me! Sounds like he had quite a life…
Jeffrey, I was delighted to find the Caillebotte here, a favorite of mine and apt choice for this eye-opening piece. (I ran out of synonyms for “surprising” many posts ago, thanks to your gift for surprising your readers.)
As new jobs appear, familiar ones vanish. When our son was a kid earning marks from so-so to barely passing, we would warn, “At this rate you’ll end up pumping gas for a living.” I don’t know about Japan, but here in North America it’s been eons since you could get paid to pump gas.
I came across this fascinating essay about Caillebotte recently: Tom Crewe · Men Watching Men: Caillebotte’s Gaze https://share.google/wkoweIJxsBXjHZaBs
Iin Japan, there are still petrol pump attendants (as I'd call them). Which reminds me that my mother also did that for a short while, helping out some friends who'd bought a petrol station a few miles from the farm.
What an interesting essay on Caillebotte. The writer presents a more scholarly version of my own take on this artist. After looking at his work for years in many places, I am struck by two things: the vigorous diagonals that structure each work and make it recognizably his; and the tug of homoeroticism. Say all you like about the facts of his life and the social undercurrents of his time. There’s a tactile quality, a sensuality, a kind of love for the male body that recurs in his work, especially the man drying himself but also the floor strippers. An art lover and connoisseur of my acquaintance, from an earlier, homophbic generation, recoils at the floor strippers because they make him so uncomfortable.
I enjoyed the essay too. And it's helped me to appreciate his work more.
I liked this essay (that's British high praise, as you know) and I like the fact that I never know what I am going to get from you. My mother, well ahead of her time, worked as a lobbyist for welfare organisations in Washington, after stopping full time work in the New Deal to look after her children. She said the census taker in 1950 (done in person in those days) didn't know what to do with the word and asked her how to spell it. My own work has been equally difficult to explain to those not inside the business - I worked freelance as a researcher, writer, consultant in the fields of health and social welfare, whatever anyone wanted of me. Sometime, I would tell people "I sell my time". It was as good as any. Also liked the paintings.
Thank you, Ann. Selling our time seems like seems like a pretty good description to me.
I always say it with a smile - and those who don’t know me look twice because, well, a nice woman like me shouldn’t make such an analogy or even know about it.
A finely written and fascinating essay, Jeffrey. The subject is interesting. Here in the states, "occupation" was / perhaps still is (I'm not sure, given our current administration) used for compiling statistics, collected and analyzed in different ways, by staff of the Bureau of Labor Statistics; the data then could be used in determining various levels of government policy, including educational priorities, and had meaning for planning, development, taxes, and retirement. The data were also used by employers themselves.
Well before I retired from the employment law publishing firm I worked for some 25 years, I created a volume on job applications and the terms used for positions. The audience comprised human resources offices of corporations. Terms - how people define themselves and how corporations define the jobs people hold - often contrasted and contradicted themselves. As an assistant managing editor, I participated in interviews with prospective hires. When jobs were listed, we tried to be clear what we needed and wanted, at a time when one had to be cautious given federal and state laws. We'd receive applications from people claiming to be editors having all kinds of experience but who during interviews had to admit that the most they'd done was proofread copy, usually their own. When the company was purchased in 2011 (4 years after I'd retired), managing editors of the divisions all received new position titles - they became directors - and the former CEO or president of the company became something else as well. I found it amusing, because the new titles sounded a bit arrogant and were certainly vague.
Thank you for such a fascinating response, Maureen. "Editors" who'd only proof read their own copy - very creative! I guess some people become very invested in certain kinds of titles, believing that they give them a certain kind of status they seem to crave.
Those are gorgeous paintings! I really liked the Hopper.
The world of work is a fascinating one for me. I've contemplated for years writing about my work experiences, and your essay is making me revisit that as I wrap up Misfortune Cookie. So much of who we are is defined by our 'job'. It's what Americans ask when first meeting someone new. It's what immigration forms ask for when visiting the country. When I was feeling particularly cheeky during one flight, I filled in 'professional clown' because did anyone ever really look at these?
Ha ha, Professional Clown is good. We need to slip the leash of Bureaucracy at times...
First, what marvelous paintings, none of which I'd ever seen! That Velasquez!
I saw my own birth certificate for the first time a few days ago. Father, occupation: engineer, complete with his employer. Mother, occupation: housewife. I remember when it was commonplace for women, including my mother, to introduce themselves as 'just a housewife,' or say, 'I'm just a housewife, but I know [whatever].' The apologetic admission of second-class citizenship always made me sad for my vibrant, capable, talented mother.
I'm off to check the decibels...(I love this as a label for any not-easily-categorized job).
I'm glad you also like the Velázquez, Elizabeth. It's a whole world, isn't it? I also remember my mother putting herself down. But partly it was a way of staying out of the limelight. She was shy and didn't like to be the subject of attention. She was the matriarch of the family, but didn't relish that role.
This beautifully captures the inadequacy of job titles as summaries of human lives. The image of your mother being reduced to a single word on a death certificate is particularly powerful, because it highlights the gap between official records and lived experience. I was also struck by the railway worker measuring crossing alarms, like the "banana-coloring-man" I think I mentioned during one of our walks.
I must say I don't like the idea that occupations define us. They are useful labels for bureaucracies and historians, but they struggle to contain the complexity, variety, and dignity of a life actually lived.
Your mum sounds extraordinary and quite lovely. Thank you for this lyrical post that offered so much to think about.
Thank you for your kind words, Sue!
Jeffrey, I found this such a moving and thought provoking piece. Even in our lifetime the nature of occupations has changed hugely and a find the question, "What do you do?" such an odd one - how to pin down a life?
Indeed, how to pin down a life? I should add that your accounts of artists’ lives in your Substack to a wonderful, nuanced job of that!
Thank you, Jeffrey!
A really interesting read, that resonates. I recently filed Mum’s death certificate, and the preamble of what to provide and what information would be required had me fearful of committing error about someone I thought I knew very well. But it is the marriage certificate box filling that I remember far more pertinently and the labelling of my father as a ‘turf accountant’. The registrar had enquired as to his occupation and, quite apart from thinking the word ‘occupation’ already somewhat aggrandizing, I offered up, ‘Bookie.’ She replied, ‘I’m sorry?’ I elaborated, ‘He took money from people who wanted to place a bet on the horses.’ ‘Ahh, he was a turf accountant.’ I’d never heard the phrase before. That veneer of respectability that you mention, yes, but at the time one closer to slight abstraction. A few years later, going through some precious bits of Mum’s, we found an old, small, but beautifully preserved black leather book with gold-foil lettering on the front: R. E. Inwood, Turf Accountant: Dad’s betting book that he would have pencilled in his accounts of the day whilst at the racecourse — effectively his register of liabilities for each race meet. Really enjoyed reading this, and the paintings too.
I'm sorry for your loss, Matt.
Thank you for sharing that moving experience. It's been a while since I heard the phrase Turf Accountant and as you say, it's a good example of adding a little bit of veneer to a job.
I enjoyed this Jeffrey, thank you.
I was having lunch with one of my oldest friends here in the UK the other day and we were joking about the 'careers advice' we received from when we were at school in the 90s. Typically, the advice came in the form of being handed a telephone directory sized book and instructed to look through it. It wasn't particularly inspiring and nor were the jobs offered inside. That said, it felt rather daunting to try and figure out what I was going to do with my life from browsing through a book, and young people now might well feel the same (with the internet)!
Yes, plus ça change.... 😊
My careers advice came from a woman who never made eye contact, looked at my school report and said "You're going to university." The she looked up and said "Next.."
She wasn’t wrong!
This is an excellent post about how we are identified by our job or our work, (in England on a death certificate) but it doesn't tell anyone much about the person. I like your quote from Joseph Conrad. He was a sailing ship captain who became a successful novelist. His claim that no one knows very much about anyone is so true. So I am glad you told us of your mother and father and a little more about yourself. The difficulty of finding work in the future is horriblyl concerning. And then there is the difficulty of finding work that you enjoy or pursuing that career whilst keeping oneself afloat financially. I think writing is a double blessing for writer and reader because one lets readers know about their work. And also share difficulties of finding jobs that help one experience happiness without one's senses being too dulled. Or being overwhelmed into futile helplessness. Perhaps people's labors are lost to a degree. But what one does in the work of writing can be easily shared if reader wants to know. The noise monitor job you spoke about doesn't seem too demanding yet endlessly repetitious! Writing is a sensible explainatory work around to the occupation field on any certificate. This post is very encouraging because it talks about what one does for a job in a meaningful way. Everyone has challenges but there are awesome moms and dads and siblings who do quite well despite everything and achieve some happiness. I always like the human dimension of your posts. And they have a viewpoint that often seldom appears unless they do with consistent frequency.
Thank you for that reflection, Larry. I agree the sound monitoring job would be repetitive and undemanding. I wouldn’t normally think of such a job for myself, but I was slightly beguiled by the idea of it. Perhaps it’s because I like trains…
Trains are likeable. Anything you can associate with that makes one happy is worth it.
Love this pondering, Jeffrey. We all contain multitudes, don’t we?
Indeed! And I guess bureaucratic systems struggle with that…
They certainly do.
Whenever the time comes Jeff, what about: Cultural Adventurer and Elegant Essayist
That's a very kind thought, Richard!
You raise some really interesting point’s, Jeffrey. I’m counting back now over all the different jobs I’ve had so far in my life, and I find it so weird to think of having just one of them pinned to me as ‘the thing I did’.
I also find it kind of strange that a persons occupation is even put on their death certificate… (I don’t know if that’s done in Australia, lucky for me I haven’t seen many death certificates.) Personally, I’ve never felt as though what I do has much relevance to who I am, and so, to imagine it on my death certificate feels slightly uncomfortable.
Either way, I really enjoyed this piece. I realised while reading that something else I really enjoy about your work is learning about the topics you choose to write about. They are always fascinating! :)
Thank you for your very considered comment, Michael. The certificates give historians access to lots of data about individuals going back a long way, I guess. But, as you suggest, many of us do many jobs in a lifetime and perhaps none of them get close to defining who we are.
Yeah, I did think after posting this comment that it’s probably for censuses type data things. Thanks Jeffrey :)