The Tacoma Times

The Bank Clerk and the Saw Filer, or a White Collar and the Denim Shirt

The bank clerk is not a snob. At least he is not consciously a snob. He works hard, and society could not get along without his kind. He is quite as useful in his way as the saw-filer is in his. The bank clerk lives in the north end. He prefers that part of town because it is a nice neighborhood. The right kind of people live there. The bank clerk lives in a rented house. If he would live in a less "nice neighborhood, he could cut his rent in two. But the bank clerk feels he must live up to his white collar. A White Collar cannot possibly live in a Denim Shirt neighborhood. The last time I talked with the bank clerk, he inveighed against the high cost of gasoline. He said something ought to be done about it. You see, automobiles go with white collars. So do theaters. And the bank clerk belongs to a golf club. The wife likewise feels she must live up to her husband's white collar. That's why they live in a rented house, and practice pitiful economies in secret. There is this much to be said for White Collars, such as bank clerks, though. A bank clerk may become a bank president some day. It isn't likely, but it's possible. On the other hand, a saw-filer has just about reached his limit when he has served his apprenticeship. I have said that the saw-filer's son is going to college and that he wears a white collar. The saw-filer says he wants his boy to have a better chance than he had. What he is really doing is making a White Collar of his boy. It's a pity. The chances are that the boy, when he becomes a White Collar, will live in a rented house and practice pitiful economies in secret. There is the remote chance, though, that he will some day be so rich that he can spend his latter years in idleness and employ daintily liveried servants to stick around, doing nothing.