There, Paul Jobs continued to work for a finance company as a jack-of-all trades. He collected bad debts, checked the terms of automobile dealers’ loans, and used a knack for picking locks to help repossess cars that were scattered about Northern California. Paul Jobs looked like a responsible James Dean. He was lean, had closely cropped brown hair and tightly drawn skin. He was a practical, sensible man with a Calvinist streak who was self-conscious about his lack of formal education and would conceal his shyness behind chuckles and a tough sense of humor. Jobs had been raised on a small farm in Germantown, Wisconsin, but when it failed to provide enough for the two families it was supposed to support, he and his parents moved to West Bend, Indiana. He left high school in his early teens, roamed around the Midwest looking for work, and at the end of the thirties, wound up enlisting in “The Hooligan Navy,” the U.S. Coast Guard. At the end of World War II, while his ship was being decommissioned in San Francisco, Jobs bet a shipmate that he would find a bride in the shadow of the Golden Gate.
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