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Sounds like the old Jack the Ripper movies were inspirational to some folks at an early age.

It was never intended to be that way. When my dad wanted to build a suburban home in Menomonee Falls, a rural area where rich folks installed their kids, I wound up being instantly shoved into classes where a "Milwaukee dialect" was akin to speaking German. Fortunately I met my upcoming best friend, a handsome lad all the girls liked but didn't know he only cared about the TV series, "Whirlybirds."

Odd as this might sound, I keyed into this TV series to find out what it was about, and it turned out my dad liked the series, as well. I did not know at the time that I would soon learn how to move dangerous punch-presses and careless work-mates.

But the Milwaukee area was not to let me go. My dad worked for The Master Lock Company and they needed all of "the dumb kids" they could find. These kids were known as "truckers," a slang term for kids who still had they backs and no hernias, but were too stupid to realize that padlocks on tall skids were just shy of one ton. Fortunately, I was stupid too and the wheels of skids just fell into the youngsters jobs older guys demanded. Six summers, I was a trucker for six miserable summers.

On the somewhat brighter side, I still have the muscles I grew at the lock company. I never told anyone that my dad was one of the executives, and the blue collars guys were almost identical to the bikers I knew. Then again, I never had a day off, as I also worked at "31 Flavors" and "The North Hills Country Club." Laugh if you want, but even then Harleys were expensive...
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