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Image Credit: Photograph By Bruno Karklis - Used Under CC 3.0 - Adapted
The Secret Of Success
One day in huckleberry time, when little Johnny Flails
And half a dozen other boys were starting with their pails
To gather berries, Johnny’s pa, in talking with him, said
That he could tell him how to pick so he’d come out ahead.
“First find your bush,” said Johnny’s pa, “and then stick to it till
You’ve picked it clean. Let those go chasing all about who will
In search of better bushes, but it’s picking tells, my son.
To look at fifty bushes doesn’t count like picking one.”
And Johnny did as he was told, and sure enough he found
By sticking to his bush while all the others chased around
In search of better picking, ‘twas as his father said;
For while the others looked he worked, and so came out ahead.
And Johnny recollected this when he became a man.
And first of all he laid him out a well-determined plan.
So while the brilliant triflers failed with all their brains and push,
Wise steady-going Johnny won by “sticking to his bush.”
By Nixon Waterman
Nixon Waterman was born on 12 November 1859 in Newark, Kendall County, Illinois, United States of America, as the son of Lyman Waterman and Elizabeth Waterman. He lived on a farm until he was 20 years of age, teaching school during the winter months, and began his newspaper career at 21 years of age in the mechanical department of a country weekly in Creston, Iowa. Mr. Waterman was married on 14 March 1883 to Nellie Haskins of Menasha, Wisconsin. Weary of being a press operator, he tried his hand at other branches of the business, and made rapid progress. He first won flattering recognition as a newspaper editorial writer in Omaha, Nebraska. He moved to Chicago in October 1889, where he supplied the editorial page of the Chicago “Herald” with witty and catchy rhymes printed under the caption, “Small Change,” which were copied in publications across America. When the proprietors of the “Herald” started the “Evening Post,” he was one of the coteries selected to create for that venture the conditions of popularity with the public. After seven months on the “Post,” he went back to the “Herald,” but a year later resigned to work for “Puck,” “Truth,” “Youth’s Companion” and other popular weekly newspapers and magazines. Nixon Waterman was a newspaper writer, a poet, a book author, and a Chautauqua lecturer. His first wife Nellie Waterman (maiden name Haskins) passed on sometime in 1940, and in November 1940, he married Grace Sanford Leavitt. Nixon Waterman passed on at 84 years of age on 1 September 1944 in Canton, Norfolk County, Massachusetts, United States of America.
One day in huckleberry time, when little Johnny Flails
And half a dozen other boys were starting with their pails
To gather berries, Johnny’s pa, in talking with him, said
That he could tell him how to pick so he’d come out ahead.
“First find your bush,” said Johnny’s pa, “and then stick to it till
You’ve picked it clean. Let those go chasing all about who will
In search of better bushes, but it’s picking tells, my son.
To look at fifty bushes doesn’t count like picking one.”
And Johnny did as he was told, and sure enough he found
By sticking to his bush while all the others chased around
In search of better picking, ‘twas as his father said;
For while the others looked he worked, and so came out ahead.
And Johnny recollected this when he became a man.
And first of all he laid him out a well-determined plan.
So while the brilliant triflers failed with all their brains and push,
Wise steady-going Johnny won by “sticking to his bush.”
By Nixon Waterman
Nixon Waterman was born on 12 November 1859 in Newark, Kendall County, Illinois, United States of America, as the son of Lyman Waterman and Elizabeth Waterman. He lived on a farm until he was 20 years of age, teaching school during the winter months, and began his newspaper career at 21 years of age in the mechanical department of a country weekly in Creston, Iowa. Mr. Waterman was married on 14 March 1883 to Nellie Haskins of Menasha, Wisconsin. Weary of being a press operator, he tried his hand at other branches of the business, and made rapid progress. He first won flattering recognition as a newspaper editorial writer in Omaha, Nebraska. He moved to Chicago in October 1889, where he supplied the editorial page of the Chicago “Herald” with witty and catchy rhymes printed under the caption, “Small Change,” which were copied in publications across America. When the proprietors of the “Herald” started the “Evening Post,” he was one of the coteries selected to create for that venture the conditions of popularity with the public. After seven months on the “Post,” he went back to the “Herald,” but a year later resigned to work for “Puck,” “Truth,” “Youth’s Companion” and other popular weekly newspapers and magazines. Nixon Waterman was a newspaper writer, a poet, a book author, and a Chautauqua lecturer. His first wife Nellie Waterman (maiden name Haskins) passed on sometime in 1940, and in November 1940, he married Grace Sanford Leavitt. Nixon Waterman passed on at 84 years of age on 1 September 1944 in Canton, Norfolk County, Massachusetts, United States of America.
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Home Building
Of all the work I’ve ever done
That which I liked best -
Was building homes for grateful souls
Where they might take their rest.
They give me a feeling of humble pride,
Those homes of brick and wood -
To know that they have sheltered love
Through all the years they’ve stood.
By Rea Williams
Of all the work I’ve ever done
That which I liked best -
Was building homes for grateful souls
Where they might take their rest.
They give me a feeling of humble pride,
Those homes of brick and wood -
To know that they have sheltered love
Through all the years they’ve stood.
By Rea Williams
- Published on
How Do You Tackle Your Work?
How do you tackle your work each day?
Are you scared of the job you find?
Do you grapple the task that comes your way
With a confident, easy mind?
Do you stand right up to the work ahead
Or fearfully pause to view it?
Do you start to toil with a sense of dread?
Or feel that you’re going to do it?
You can do as much as you think you can,
But you’ll never accomplish more;
If you’re afraid of yourself, young man,
There’s little for you in store.
For failure comes from the inside first,
It’s there if we only knew it,
And you can win, though you face the worst,
If you feel that you’re going to do it.
Success! It’s found in the soul of you,
And not in the realm of luck!
The world will furnish the work to do,
But you must provide the pluck.
You can do whatever you think you can,
It’s all in the way you view it.
It’s all in the start you make, young man:
You must feel that you’re going to do it.
How do you tackle your work each day?
With confidence clear, or dread?
What to yourself do you stop and say
When a new task lies ahead?
What is the thought that is in your mind?
Is fear ever running through it?
If so, just tackle the next you find
By thinking you’re going to do it.
By Edgar A. Guest: “A Heap o’ Livin’” (1916)
Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest was born on 20 August 1881 in Birmingham, England. He immigrated with his family to the United States of America in 1891. From his first published work in the “Detroit Free Press” until his passing in 1959, he penned some 11,000 poems that were syndicated in 300 newspapers and collected into more than twenty books. Mr. Guest is reputed to have had a new poem published in a newspaper every day for more than thirty years. He became known as ‘The People’s Poet,’ writing poems that were of a sentimental and optimistic nature. Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest passed on at 77 years of age on 5 August 1959 in Detroit, Michigan, United States of America.
How do you tackle your work each day?
Are you scared of the job you find?
Do you grapple the task that comes your way
With a confident, easy mind?
Do you stand right up to the work ahead
Or fearfully pause to view it?
Do you start to toil with a sense of dread?
Or feel that you’re going to do it?
You can do as much as you think you can,
But you’ll never accomplish more;
If you’re afraid of yourself, young man,
There’s little for you in store.
For failure comes from the inside first,
It’s there if we only knew it,
And you can win, though you face the worst,
If you feel that you’re going to do it.
Success! It’s found in the soul of you,
And not in the realm of luck!
The world will furnish the work to do,
But you must provide the pluck.
You can do whatever you think you can,
It’s all in the way you view it.
It’s all in the start you make, young man:
You must feel that you’re going to do it.
How do you tackle your work each day?
With confidence clear, or dread?
What to yourself do you stop and say
When a new task lies ahead?
What is the thought that is in your mind?
Is fear ever running through it?
If so, just tackle the next you find
By thinking you’re going to do it.
By Edgar A. Guest: “A Heap o’ Livin’” (1916)
Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest was born on 20 August 1881 in Birmingham, England. He immigrated with his family to the United States of America in 1891. From his first published work in the “Detroit Free Press” until his passing in 1959, he penned some 11,000 poems that were syndicated in 300 newspapers and collected into more than twenty books. Mr. Guest is reputed to have had a new poem published in a newspaper every day for more than thirty years. He became known as ‘The People’s Poet,’ writing poems that were of a sentimental and optimistic nature. Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest passed on at 77 years of age on 5 August 1959 in Detroit, Michigan, United States of America.
- Published on
Work
Work, work, my boy, be not afraid;
Look labor boldly in the face;
Take up the hammer or the spade,
And blush not for your humble place.
There’s glory in the shuttle’s song;
There’s triumph in the anvil’s stroke;
There’s merit in the brave and strong
Who dig the mine or fell the oak.
The wind disturbs the sleeping lake,
And bids it ripple pure and fresh;
It moves the green boughs till they make
Grand music in their leafy mesh.
And so the active breath of life
Should stir our dull and sluggard wills;
For are we not created rife
With health, that stagnant torpor kills?
I doubt if he who lolls his head
Where idleness and plenty meet,
Enjoys his pillow or his bread
As those who earn the meals they eat.
And man is never half so blest
As when the busy day is spent
So as to make his evening rest
A holiday of glad content.
By Eliza Cook
Eliza Cook was born on 24 December 1818 in London Road, Southwark, England. She became a poet. Eliza Cook passed on at 70 years of age on 23 September 1889 in Wimbledon, England.
Work, work, my boy, be not afraid;
Look labor boldly in the face;
Take up the hammer or the spade,
And blush not for your humble place.
There’s glory in the shuttle’s song;
There’s triumph in the anvil’s stroke;
There’s merit in the brave and strong
Who dig the mine or fell the oak.
The wind disturbs the sleeping lake,
And bids it ripple pure and fresh;
It moves the green boughs till they make
Grand music in their leafy mesh.
And so the active breath of life
Should stir our dull and sluggard wills;
For are we not created rife
With health, that stagnant torpor kills?
I doubt if he who lolls his head
Where idleness and plenty meet,
Enjoys his pillow or his bread
As those who earn the meals they eat.
And man is never half so blest
As when the busy day is spent
So as to make his evening rest
A holiday of glad content.
By Eliza Cook
Eliza Cook was born on 24 December 1818 in London Road, Southwark, England. She became a poet. Eliza Cook passed on at 70 years of age on 23 September 1889 in Wimbledon, England.
- Published on
The Village Blacksmith
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate’er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter’s voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother’s voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his haul, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling, - rejoicing, - sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night’s repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1840)
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born on 27 February 1807 in Portland, Maine, United States of America. He became a poet and a writer, and a professor at Harvard University. His works include “Paul Revere’s Ride” (1860) and the epic “The Song of Hiawatha” (1855). He was one of the five members of a group of 19th-century American poets from New England known as the Fireside Poets. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow passed on at 75 years of age on 24 March 1882.
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate’er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter’s voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother’s voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his haul, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling, - rejoicing, - sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night’s repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1840)
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born on 27 February 1807 in Portland, Maine, United States of America. He became a poet and a writer, and a professor at Harvard University. His works include “Paul Revere’s Ride” (1860) and the epic “The Song of Hiawatha” (1855). He was one of the five members of a group of 19th-century American poets from New England known as the Fireside Poets. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow passed on at 75 years of age on 24 March 1882.
- Published on
Volunteers
Valuable is the work you do.
Outstanding in how you always come through.
Loyal, sincere and full of good cheer,
Untiring in your efforts throughout the year.
Notable are the contributions you make,
Trustworthy in every project you take.
Eager to reach your every goal,
Effective in the way you fulfill your role.
Ready with a smile like a shining star,
Special and wonderful - that’s what you are.
By Author Unknown: acrostic poem
(An acrostic poem or list is one in which the first letters of each line combine to spell a word or phrase.)
Valuable is the work you do.
Outstanding in how you always come through.
Loyal, sincere and full of good cheer,
Untiring in your efforts throughout the year.
Notable are the contributions you make,
Trustworthy in every project you take.
Eager to reach your every goal,
Effective in the way you fulfill your role.
Ready with a smile like a shining star,
Special and wonderful - that’s what you are.
By Author Unknown: acrostic poem
(An acrostic poem or list is one in which the first letters of each line combine to spell a word or phrase.)
- Published on
Farming
Farming has always brought me peace,
It’s a partnership with God -
I plant the seeds, He makes them grow
Where before there was only sod.
Through hot summer days I cultivate,
He sends sun and rain -
Then when autumn cools the air
There’s harvest of golden grain.
By Rea Williams
Farming has always brought me peace,
It’s a partnership with God -
I plant the seeds, He makes them grow
Where before there was only sod.
Through hot summer days I cultivate,
He sends sun and rain -
Then when autumn cools the air
There’s harvest of golden grain.
By Rea Williams
- Published on
Sign on the side of a garbage truck: “It may be garbage to you, but it’s our bread and butter.”
“Watch the sun come up, breathe fresh air, exercise your body . . . become a garbage collector!” -Author Unknown
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Efforts And Benefits Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
A father was asked by his friend, “Has your son decided what he wants to be when he grows up?” “Yes, he wants to be a garbage collector,” replied the boy’s father. His friend thought for a moment and responded, “That’s a rather minor ambition to have for a career.” “Well,” said the boy’s father, “he thinks that garbage collectors only work on Tuesdays.”
Sure, we make jokes about janitors and garbage collectors, but without the men and women who clean up messes and haul away trash, civilization would break down, and then collapse entirely, as we end up buried in our own refuse.
An about one-and-one-half meters (four feet, ten inches) tall janitor named Bill worked at the wealthiest private school in town. He ordered some cleaning supplies by phone from the custodial supplies warehouse. When the supplies arrived, the delivery truck driver asked Bill to sign for them. Bill went into the headmaster’s office and asked the headmaster to sign for them. Puzzled, the headmaster told Bill to sign for them. “I can’t,” said Bill. “I can’t read or write.” “Well,” replied the headmaster, “I’m going to have to let you go, Bill. I’m sorry, but it just won’t do for us to have a janitor who cannot read or write working here.” Bill started walking home, wondering how he was going to tell his family the bad news about his job loss. He reached into his pocket for his wallet to count how much money he had left - and his well-worn pants ripped apart. He searched the neighborhood looking for a shop that sold smaller size men’s clothes, but could find none. And then he got an idea: Short and small men have money to spend and they need clothes just like everyone else. When he got home, he told his wife he was going to open a shop that sells smaller size men’s clothes. The venture was so successful that Bill soon opened another shop, and then another. In ten years, he opened his tenth store. A feature writer from a big city newspaper came to interview Bill on this successful occasion. When she had finished the interview, she asked Bill if he would like to read over her notes. “Yes, I would like to,” said Bill “but I can’t read or write.” “My goodness!” said the young lady. “You’ve accomplished so much. Just imagine what you would be if you could read and write!” “Yes,” smiled Bill. “I would be a janitor in a private school.”
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Adversities And Persevering Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
“Watch the sun come up, breathe fresh air, exercise your body . . . become a garbage collector!” -Author Unknown
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Efforts And Benefits Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
A father was asked by his friend, “Has your son decided what he wants to be when he grows up?” “Yes, he wants to be a garbage collector,” replied the boy’s father. His friend thought for a moment and responded, “That’s a rather minor ambition to have for a career.” “Well,” said the boy’s father, “he thinks that garbage collectors only work on Tuesdays.”
Sure, we make jokes about janitors and garbage collectors, but without the men and women who clean up messes and haul away trash, civilization would break down, and then collapse entirely, as we end up buried in our own refuse.
An about one-and-one-half meters (four feet, ten inches) tall janitor named Bill worked at the wealthiest private school in town. He ordered some cleaning supplies by phone from the custodial supplies warehouse. When the supplies arrived, the delivery truck driver asked Bill to sign for them. Bill went into the headmaster’s office and asked the headmaster to sign for them. Puzzled, the headmaster told Bill to sign for them. “I can’t,” said Bill. “I can’t read or write.” “Well,” replied the headmaster, “I’m going to have to let you go, Bill. I’m sorry, but it just won’t do for us to have a janitor who cannot read or write working here.” Bill started walking home, wondering how he was going to tell his family the bad news about his job loss. He reached into his pocket for his wallet to count how much money he had left - and his well-worn pants ripped apart. He searched the neighborhood looking for a shop that sold smaller size men’s clothes, but could find none. And then he got an idea: Short and small men have money to spend and they need clothes just like everyone else. When he got home, he told his wife he was going to open a shop that sells smaller size men’s clothes. The venture was so successful that Bill soon opened another shop, and then another. In ten years, he opened his tenth store. A feature writer from a big city newspaper came to interview Bill on this successful occasion. When she had finished the interview, she asked Bill if he would like to read over her notes. “Yes, I would like to,” said Bill “but I can’t read or write.” “My goodness!” said the young lady. “You’ve accomplished so much. Just imagine what you would be if you could read and write!” “Yes,” smiled Bill. “I would be a janitor in a private school.”
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Adversities And Persevering Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
“Learning how to collect trash wasn’t hard. I just picked it up as I went along.” -Author Unknown
Riddle: What has four wheels and flies?
Solution: A garbage truck!
Roger: Why did the janitor go to college?
Jerome: Because he realized that grime doesn’t pay.
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Money Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
A very small female janitor, who was about one-and-one-half meters (four feet, ten inches) tall and weighed about forty-one kilograms (ninety pounds), was working at an amusement park, and was told to go out and sweep up the trash. As she was getting ready to start cleaning up, her supervisor noticed that she was putting rocks in her pockets. When the supervisor asked her what she was doing, she said, “It’s very windy out there, and I’ll get knocked over by the wind . . . so . . . now I weigh me down to sweep!”
Rob: Have you heard the joke about the garbage truck?
Bert: Yes, but I heard it’s only a load of rubbish.
Moving silent here and there
fixing my world without a thank you
your hands are rough from the work you do
your back aches low and muscles sore
your broom shows evidence of work unseen
the hallways shine and rooms always clean
the gum I stuck under my chair
doesn’t get to tarry long there
you fight the woes of teens day in and out
your frustrations make you want to scream
food fights here and ball games there
I walk through your world without care
thank you for the work you’ve done
and will do, for though I may not see you much
I know what you do.
-Author Unknown
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Poems And Poetry Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
Question: What did the janitor say when he jumped out of the cleaning closet?
Answer: Supplies!
Overheard: I did not get my degree in the custodial arts just to be called a janitor!
Riddle: What has four wheels and flies?
Solution: A garbage truck!
Roger: Why did the janitor go to college?
Jerome: Because he realized that grime doesn’t pay.
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Money Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
A very small female janitor, who was about one-and-one-half meters (four feet, ten inches) tall and weighed about forty-one kilograms (ninety pounds), was working at an amusement park, and was told to go out and sweep up the trash. As she was getting ready to start cleaning up, her supervisor noticed that she was putting rocks in her pockets. When the supervisor asked her what she was doing, she said, “It’s very windy out there, and I’ll get knocked over by the wind . . . so . . . now I weigh me down to sweep!”
Rob: Have you heard the joke about the garbage truck?
Bert: Yes, but I heard it’s only a load of rubbish.
Moving silent here and there
fixing my world without a thank you
your hands are rough from the work you do
your back aches low and muscles sore
your broom shows evidence of work unseen
the hallways shine and rooms always clean
the gum I stuck under my chair
doesn’t get to tarry long there
you fight the woes of teens day in and out
your frustrations make you want to scream
food fights here and ball games there
I walk through your world without care
thank you for the work you’ve done
and will do, for though I may not see you much
I know what you do.
-Author Unknown
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Poems And Poetry Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
Question: What did the janitor say when he jumped out of the cleaning closet?
Answer: Supplies!
Overheard: I did not get my degree in the custodial arts just to be called a janitor!
Riddle: How do you throw away a trash can?
Solution: Easy - just toss it into a garbage container!
National Custodial Workers Recognition Day is on 2 October of each year. Give your custodial worker, janitor, or garbage collector a big thanks. At your school, church, place of employment, shopping center, in your neighborhood, and at a variety of other places, the custodial support staff is quietly at work and often unnoticed. They work during the day, in the nighttime, and on weekends and holidays. They are the workers who clean and keep in good repair the facility that you enjoy. They clear away the trash and grime. They seldom get recognition. Take a minute on this day, to seek out custodial workers at your facility. Give them a big “Thank you” for all that they do to keep the facility sparkling and running like a top. If you are a custodial worker, we wish you a very happy National Custodial Workers Day!
Pete: Why did the teacher marry the janitor?
Pamela: Because he swept her off her feet!
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Marriage Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
“The custodian (Alice Casey) was coming down the hallway with a loud clunky trash can on wheels, and the snake was coming the opposite way in the same hallway. They both froze and she said she didn’t know which one was more afraid.” -Nancy Moore
“Janitorial service: Grand Ole Mopry.” -Frank Tyger (1929 - 2011)
A typical school janitor works Monday through Friday and has weekends off. He or she starts work at 7:00 in the morning and finishes work at 4:30 in the afternoon. Another janitor works with him or her. The janitor sweeps the sidewalks, cuts the grass, mops the floors, vacuums the carpets, washes the windows, empties the trash, cleans the bathrooms, fills paper towel dispensers, dusts furniture, changes light bulbs, and has other tasks. A school janitor keeps the school clean and maintained. He or she is proud of the good job that he or she does. The principle and the teachers are nice to him or her. The students like him or her too. Even the parents may know his or her name.
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Employment And Work Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
“You are not ready to be the President until you are ready to be the Janitor.” -Steve McKee
Garbage can: A container for dogs, put out once a week to test their ingenuity. They must stand on their hind legs and try to push the lid off with their nose. However, pushing the whole thing over usually makes the contents more easily accessible. When done right, they are rewarded with margarine wrappers to shred, beef bones to chew on, and moldy crusts of bread.
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Domestic Dogs Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
Man: How’s business?
Garbage Collector: It’s picking up.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
You clean up after me -
So I’d like to thank you.
-Author Unknown: Valentine’s Day card for a janitor
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Valentine’s Day Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” -Author Unknown
Garbage man: Sanitation engineer.
“This day, be thankful for the garbage collectors who pick up your garbage. Without them, you would have to decorate your home with empty aluminum and steel cans, plastic bottles, cardboard food boxes, and plastic food bags. And you would have to walk around with a clip on your nose, which would end any hopes you would have of getting a date.” -Author Unknown
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Gratitude And Thankfulness Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
The preceding humor is dedicated to everyone who works for a living at a difficult job, often doing things they would rather not do. We salute you, and encourage you to continue reaching for what you want in life. And, for anyone who thinks badly of these people, consider not speaking badly of janitors and garbage collectors and other folks until after you have personally tried the work they do for at least a month to learn what it is really all about - if you can even manage to do it for that long, which you probably will not be able to, because doing long lonely hours of hard work for low wages and no appreciation, while dealing with frequent belittling from people who believe they are better than you, is not easy on the human spirit. These are the people who do not know the meaning of the word quit; they are the people who stick with things for the long haul. They can and do, as we always say, MFOL! (Make Fun Of Life!)
Solution: Easy - just toss it into a garbage container!
National Custodial Workers Recognition Day is on 2 October of each year. Give your custodial worker, janitor, or garbage collector a big thanks. At your school, church, place of employment, shopping center, in your neighborhood, and at a variety of other places, the custodial support staff is quietly at work and often unnoticed. They work during the day, in the nighttime, and on weekends and holidays. They are the workers who clean and keep in good repair the facility that you enjoy. They clear away the trash and grime. They seldom get recognition. Take a minute on this day, to seek out custodial workers at your facility. Give them a big “Thank you” for all that they do to keep the facility sparkling and running like a top. If you are a custodial worker, we wish you a very happy National Custodial Workers Day!
Pete: Why did the teacher marry the janitor?
Pamela: Because he swept her off her feet!
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Marriage Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
“The custodian (Alice Casey) was coming down the hallway with a loud clunky trash can on wheels, and the snake was coming the opposite way in the same hallway. They both froze and she said she didn’t know which one was more afraid.” -Nancy Moore
“Janitorial service: Grand Ole Mopry.” -Frank Tyger (1929 - 2011)
A typical school janitor works Monday through Friday and has weekends off. He or she starts work at 7:00 in the morning and finishes work at 4:30 in the afternoon. Another janitor works with him or her. The janitor sweeps the sidewalks, cuts the grass, mops the floors, vacuums the carpets, washes the windows, empties the trash, cleans the bathrooms, fills paper towel dispensers, dusts furniture, changes light bulbs, and has other tasks. A school janitor keeps the school clean and maintained. He or she is proud of the good job that he or she does. The principle and the teachers are nice to him or her. The students like him or her too. Even the parents may know his or her name.
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Employment And Work Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
“You are not ready to be the President until you are ready to be the Janitor.” -Steve McKee
Garbage can: A container for dogs, put out once a week to test their ingenuity. They must stand on their hind legs and try to push the lid off with their nose. However, pushing the whole thing over usually makes the contents more easily accessible. When done right, they are rewarded with margarine wrappers to shred, beef bones to chew on, and moldy crusts of bread.
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Domestic Dogs Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
Man: How’s business?
Garbage Collector: It’s picking up.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
You clean up after me -
So I’d like to thank you.
-Author Unknown: Valentine’s Day card for a janitor
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Valentine’s Day Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” -Author Unknown
Garbage man: Sanitation engineer.
“This day, be thankful for the garbage collectors who pick up your garbage. Without them, you would have to decorate your home with empty aluminum and steel cans, plastic bottles, cardboard food boxes, and plastic food bags. And you would have to walk around with a clip on your nose, which would end any hopes you would have of getting a date.” -Author Unknown
Continue scrolling down this website page to read the rest of the article, or click or tap on these words to read Gratitude And Thankfulness Gathered By David Hugh Beaumont.
The preceding humor is dedicated to everyone who works for a living at a difficult job, often doing things they would rather not do. We salute you, and encourage you to continue reaching for what you want in life. And, for anyone who thinks badly of these people, consider not speaking badly of janitors and garbage collectors and other folks until after you have personally tried the work they do for at least a month to learn what it is really all about - if you can even manage to do it for that long, which you probably will not be able to, because doing long lonely hours of hard work for low wages and no appreciation, while dealing with frequent belittling from people who believe they are better than you, is not easy on the human spirit. These are the people who do not know the meaning of the word quit; they are the people who stick with things for the long haul. They can and do, as we always say, MFOL! (Make Fun Of Life!)
- Published on
The Man Who Gets Promoted
The ordinary fellow does an ordinary task,
He’s mighty fond of ‘good enough’ and lets it go at that;
But the chap who gets promoted, or the raise he doesn’t ask,
Has just a little something more than hair beneath his hat.
The ordinary fellow lives an ordinary day,
With the ordinary fellow he is anxious to be quit;
But the chap who draws attention and the larger weekly pay,
Has a vision for the future and is working hard for it.
He tackles every problem with the will to see it through,
He does a little thinking of the work that comes to hand;
His eyes are always open for the more that he can do,
You never find him idle, merely waiting a command.
The ordinary fellow does precisely as he’s told,
But someone has to tell him what to do, and how, and when;
But the chap who gets promoted fills the job he has to hold
With just a little something more than ordinary men.
By Edgar A. Guest: “The Passing Throng” (1923)
Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest was born on 20 August 1881 in Birmingham, England. He immigrated with his family to the United States of America in 1891. From his first published work in the “Detroit Free Press” until his passing in 1959, he penned some 11,000 poems that were syndicated in 300 newspapers and collected into more than twenty books. Mr. Guest is reputed to have had a new poem published in a newspaper every day for more than thirty years. He became known as ‘The People’s Poet,’ writing poems that were of a sentimental and optimistic nature. Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest passed on at 77 years of age on 5 August 1959 in Detroit, Michigan, United States of America.
The ordinary fellow does an ordinary task,
He’s mighty fond of ‘good enough’ and lets it go at that;
But the chap who gets promoted, or the raise he doesn’t ask,
Has just a little something more than hair beneath his hat.
The ordinary fellow lives an ordinary day,
With the ordinary fellow he is anxious to be quit;
But the chap who draws attention and the larger weekly pay,
Has a vision for the future and is working hard for it.
He tackles every problem with the will to see it through,
He does a little thinking of the work that comes to hand;
His eyes are always open for the more that he can do,
You never find him idle, merely waiting a command.
The ordinary fellow does precisely as he’s told,
But someone has to tell him what to do, and how, and when;
But the chap who gets promoted fills the job he has to hold
With just a little something more than ordinary men.
By Edgar A. Guest: “The Passing Throng” (1923)
Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest was born on 20 August 1881 in Birmingham, England. He immigrated with his family to the United States of America in 1891. From his first published work in the “Detroit Free Press” until his passing in 1959, he penned some 11,000 poems that were syndicated in 300 newspapers and collected into more than twenty books. Mr. Guest is reputed to have had a new poem published in a newspaper every day for more than thirty years. He became known as ‘The People’s Poet,’ writing poems that were of a sentimental and optimistic nature. Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest passed on at 77 years of age on 5 August 1959 in Detroit, Michigan, United States of America.
- Published on
An Aim
Give me a man who says,
“I will do something well,
And make the fleeting days
A story of labor tell.”
Though the aim he has be small,
It is better than none at all;
With something to do the whole year through,
He will not stumble at all.
Better to strive and climb
And never reach the goal
Than to glide along with time
An aimless, worthless soul.
Aye, better to climb and fall,
And sow, though the yield be small,
Than to throw away, day after day,
And never strive at all.
By Author Unknown
Give me a man who says,
“I will do something well,
And make the fleeting days
A story of labor tell.”
Though the aim he has be small,
It is better than none at all;
With something to do the whole year through,
He will not stumble at all.
Better to strive and climb
And never reach the goal
Than to glide along with time
An aimless, worthless soul.
Aye, better to climb and fall,
And sow, though the yield be small,
Than to throw away, day after day,
And never strive at all.
By Author Unknown
