My father is probably laughing in his grave. In fact, I can hear the “words” resounding in the shabby pine coffin necessitated by what was once referred to as grinding poverty that must have offended his cabinetmaker sensibilities: I told you so.

He wanted me to be a doctor. Why else would he have slaved so hard his entire life in his adopted country? I took another path. I became a writer. After 40 years of honing my craft to a level I always hoped would be as high as my father’s woodworking skills, I find that only one writing field has any jobs today — and it’s the closest to my father’s wishes for me: pharmaceutical copy.
My feelings about drugs and the companies that produce them is well known to the readers of this column, and my feelings about direct-to-consumer pharmaceutical advertising are unprintable, at least in a state that harbors almost as many drug companies as people. Nevertheless, the cost of this high mindedness has come home to roost with a vengeance. Every weekday morning for the past year, immediately after gulping my second cappuccino and checking my e-mail, I hit the “bookmarks”: i.e., Monster (www.monster.com), Guru (www.guru.com), Mediabistro (www.mediabistro.com), New Jersey Jobs (www.njjobs.com), HotJobs (www.hotjobs.com), etc. What leaps out? Pharmaceutical writers wanted. Medical writers wanted. In those fields, $100,000-a-year jobs are as common as pigeon droppings on un-garaged cars in summer during a drought. Any other field, no writers need apply. Of course I’m vulnerable to the survival instinct and after one particularly frustrating “surf,” I decided to tempt the fates and actually submitted my resume to Bristol Myers Squibb. It went through without a hitch (I have yet to hear from them). But when I tried to apply at Merck using a the password “pillsofdeath,” the computer locked up. Luckily, at the height of my despair my clever, lovely and practical wife handed me a copy of a book she’s been consulting for her own writing job search, What Color is Your Parachute? — yup, the very same book that helped you get your favorite job ever, now in its 30th edition, gives special attention to the post-9/11 economy. (For speed, I will from here on refer to the book as “Parachute.”) This gave me the chance to turn this story from a vehicle for my frustration into something positively positive.

Uncovering new job sites on the Internet
For one thing, I found links to Websites I’d never heard of, including the US Job Bank (www.ajb.dni.us) and Flipdog (www.flipdog.com), both of which were said to be favorites of employers (US Job Bank is linked to the NJ State Bureau of Employment). There was also a link to a government job-hunting site, though I discovered that the only writing opportunities were with the US Army. Fearing that one day I might have explain why I was classified 4F in 1963, I usually skip this site, even though the copywriter openings paid up to $110,000 annually. (For the record, I told the examining physician the truth about my dreams.)

Both Flipdog and US Job Bank had many more non-drug leads than my previously favorite sources, and for those who don’t share my feelings, I should point out that US Job Bank site turned up more pharmaceutical and medical positions than I’d ever seen in my life. He who has ears let him hear.

Another happy discovery: surfing the Flipdog site led me to something called the Arts Wire (www.artwire.org), which lists hundreds of jobs in arts and entertainment, everything from Webmaster at a youth theater in New York to the managing director of a modern dance company in Cleveland. Few paid more than $40,000, but they all seemed honorable.
But wait, there’s still more. The author of Parachute, Richard Bolles, has a Website, www.jobhuntersbible.com, a double meaning since Mr. Bolles is also an Episcopalian minister. This site has a feature called “write a counselor FREE.” I clicked, vented and found myself entered into a lengthy and satisfying correspondence with a retired counselor who still does all kinds of volunteer work, including fielding desperation E-mails from wackos like me. Since finding one’s dream is a big part of Parachute, I confided that my dream is to make a living as a storyteller. Rather than replying with YGBOYM (You Gotta Be Outta Your Mind), he suggested contacting toy stores, and so I dispatched a promotional package for my storytelling career to toy stores everywhere and may perhaps find something there. My counselor, whose name I’ll keep secret to protect him, also sent me a touching prayer that I found helpful in dealing with the serious illness of several people close to me. (I’ll be glad to forward it to anyone who sends me an E-mail request: b.libster@worldnet.att.net).

Job search can cement friendships
Another unexpected plus about job hunting is that it can strengthen previously marginal friendships. The other day a musician turned computer programmer who was merely the friend of a friend told me about a group called Job Seekers. He is now a real friend and we exchange job leads and personal details of our searches. I’ve begun going to the meetings, which are every Wednesday at 7:30 pm at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church at 73 South Fullerton in Montclair, and I have met other people who are suffering the panics of lack of income. Of course there are no medical or pharmaceutical copywriters in this group, because they’re never out of work.

One morning, having dreamt of Torino and Parma, two of my favorite cities in my favorite country on earth, I awoke saying to myself, “That’s why people work so hard, so they can go to places they love.” I then got the notion of informing Italian companies with offices in the metro area of my love for Italy, my modest language skills and my fondness for espresso and olive oil. In a fury of inspiration I sent out some letters. I even prepared a self-promotion kit including my resume, several articles I’ve published on wine, and a letter of introduction and delivered it to the best Italian wine store I know. The striking blonde staffer seemed quite impressed and led me to believe the owner would soon call back. He hasn’t yet. Perhaps he’s at a tasting.

By the way, ‘What Color Is Your Parachute?’ has one of the most hopeful views
of human life I have ever read. It’s the final chapter and I encourage everyone to zip
over to Barnes and Noble, buy a cappuccino and read it. Buying the book would be generous, but just reading it may make a difference.

The light at the end of the tunnel is a job

As a result of these mixed but earnest endeavors, I have arrived at the conclusion
that there is an ideal job for each of us. So even though Business Week considers the health care industry one of the Big Ideas that will help America “get its groove back,” I’ll continue to go my solitary way. I don’t need my groove back, just a positive statement in my savings account. As a parting shot I can’t resist passing along something I learned recently at a family barbecue from two sisters-in-law and three nieces, all in health care: Leeches are making a comeback. Those slimy creatures
found in pond bottoms that in medieval times were used to cure various diseases by sucking out the infected blood are now being used to treat fluid-filled bruises. The leeches are kept on ice, and if one is needed it’s thawed out, attached to the bruise, allowed to suck its fill of blood.
It then falls off and is summarily exploded in some way. Apparently for this particular function nothing surpasses them, at least nothing developed at a spate of pharmas.

--Bernie Libster