Sam, Leslie and Me

Written by  Antonia Glosby

In 1972, I lived in Cincinnati and worked at a job earning only $1.20 per hour. The position did
not offer me enough money to support myself, my newborn son, Leslie, and to purchase a car, the
epitome of independence. So I took a job near Dayton, Ohio, at a defense contractor. I had no
car. Don’t know what I was thinking, taking a job so far away without the proper transportation. The
first week of the job I rented a car. I found out about a couple of different carpools. One carpool’s
members lived not too far from me. I was given the phone number of Sam Freeman.


Sam Freeman was a fatherly Jewish man, in his late fifties, compared to my age of twenty-five
years old. Sam gently berated me for wasting my money renting the car. He said they would have
gladly picked me up from day one. As it turned out, Sam, who lived the closest to me, was kind enough
to pickup me and Leslie, take us to his babysitter, then Sam and I drove the three miles to meet the rest
of the carpool. After that our carpool headed for work, forty miles away. In the evening we reversed the
procedure. We did this for a month then Sam went with me to check out a car he thought would be
suitable for me: a 1965 Plymouth Valiant.


Despite our cultural differences, Sam and I had various conversations during our short rides
together before I purchased the Valiant, and I began to feel quite comfortable around him. He was a
non-supervisory engineer. I assumed he wanted it that way. Some technical people love the work but
not the personnel interaction. This was not the case with Sam. He told me he had interviewed for
supervisory positions, but always lost out to other employees.


One day, as we were driving home from the babysitter’s house, Sam looked at my son, Leslie, and
said, “My, that is a good looking kid.”


For the next few weeks Sam and I had mostly small talk: my interests, his wife, my family, his
job. Then Sam looked at Leslie again as we sat at a red light.


“Your son sure is handsome,” he said. “He must get his looks from his father.” I was too stunned
to reply.