First Job Jitters as I Become Airborne at a Construction Site
Posted: Monday, November 21, 2011
by Christofer French
Rain Dancer Associates, LLC
“Yer gonna need steel-toed boots. They call it a Rule -- until you feel your big toe killin’ ya cause you done dropped a form on you -- then it’s a necessity.”
I was in a double-wide construction trailer on a wide open site in West Texas, in the middle of Lubbock, not far from the campus of Texas Tech. Their downtown was not that big. Still isn’t. We were going to be building a bank. It was the Summer of 1967. Many of my friends were headed for Vietnam. I was going to college in California in September.
I was sitting there getting my “introductory”.
Gettin’ My “Introductory”
“Now after this here “introductory”, I don’t expect to see you in this office unless you’re gettin’ fired or we’re patchin’ you up with some calamitous bodily injury.”
“OK”.
“So yer goin’ to College in California.”
“No need to make a deal out of that.”
“I’ll make a deal out of what I want to make a deal of.”
His gray eyes stared at me with a coldness of a stranger. "Smart kid going to a ministerial college. Do you know you are going to be workin’ with Mexicans and guys who get up drunk, and people that cuss so much, you can barely tell the English language is bein’ spoke.”
Long pause.
“I just wanna be a good carpenter’s helper”. I looked him straight in the eye trying to determine how much he disliked me.
“You know that this mornin’ we’re gonna send you up that scaffolding.” He pointed up a 30 foot red scaffolding. We gonna have you lay that plywood down all along that line. It’s kind of like a high wire act. Not too dangerous, as long as you take it methodical like. The carpenter part is that our carpenter’s go up there and make the forms. The Helper part is that you run your ass all over creation getting’ stuff that your carpenter’s need. Got it?”
“You a smart kid?” He kept reading my application.
“I wanted to make good grades in High School so I could get into that college. Smart as I need to be I guess.” I leaned back and tilted my head, probably emotional clues that I felt challenged.
Yer gonna be tearin’ apart the wooden forms we construct for pouring concrete into. Then yer gonna be getting old forms and new wood so that the carpenters can make new forms.”
I sensed that anything I said was going to be taken badly, so I just nodded.
“It’s Still Gonna Be Better than “BVeeutnayam”
“I’m gonna put you with our “Preacher”. You kinda look like a good kid, or you think you’re a good kid.
Preacher talks “Jesus” and only Jesus and he frowns on all the damned cussers in our group. And all of us are cussers, except for the Preacher. Problem is, when I put you with the Preacher, ever’ body else is gonna make fun of you. But just by lookin’ at you, yer gonna have hell to pay no matter what. But it’s still gonna be better than Vietnam. In (West Texas they said it like “Bveeutnayum” with a long time on the dipthong. Like New Jersey in the streets, they put a “v” sound in front of their “r’s”, these guys somehow didn’t enjoy putting their lower lips completely under their upper teeth. So, out it came: “BVeeutnayum” the “v” turns into a half way plosive.)
“Well, I have been known to cuss”. I said as a weak explanation.
“Hah! I have been known to cuss!” He stood up and stomped his boots and looked out the window.
“I think you are givin’ me a fair “introductory”. I smiled half way. I started to vaguely imitate him. This is probably my greatest useless talent. I can imitate with great accuracy and schmaltz within minutes of meeting someone. But I am especially good with accents. This is a confession to my reader. I was probably a little too close to imitation that day.
“I’m gonna enjoy havin’ you hear. Even if it’s just a short time.” He smiled with a joy that made his toothpick quiver in his front teeth.
“I am happy to have this job, and want to earn my pay.” I probably should not have said that. But anything would have gone down bad. He could not swallow any of me.
“You start tomorrow morning. You got your social?” He looked at my complete application. “Yup. See you then.”
As I walked on the sand of the construction site, a big 30 mile per hour gust, typical to West Texas and Lubbock, almost blew my paperwork out of my hand. I was memorizing my Social Security number. Just a few months ago, I read my social security report from the Social Security Department. There it was, the first entry – “July, 1967”. Proof that I came back the next day.
The next day I came to the office. John Alexander, the Superintendent who had interviewed me introduced me to Preacher. “Preacher, we’re just gonna have Chris here go up and put the plywood down along that line up there.” And then he let his finger point way up in the air. “Is that stack of plywood enough to go across the whole length of the column?”
Preacher looked up. “Yeah, it was that last thing Enrique did before you fired him.”
I climbed up the scaffolding quickly. I told myself I was not going to be afraid. That I was going to move with certainty. When I got to the top, I saw why it was logical for me to be fearful.
What the laborer had to do was just pick up the long plywood boards so that they could be footing to construct the forms through which the concrete would be poured. It was simple enough, but the farther out you go, the more you realized that a good gust could easily just take the plywood and treat it like a small sail on a windy lake.
I picked up the plywood and immediately noticed that the angle you held it changed the sense of being “pushed” along. I looked down a couple times and John Alexander was in the middle of a bunch of his friends. Occasionally a few would look up at me and wave at me, mockingly.
Preacher was over working on his job, setting the forms with his expertise. I could tell he did not want to look up at me. I sensed that this was a kind of exemplary task for my continued “introductory”.
The sun was blazing hot. I could hear the radios playing below me. I took off my hard hat and wiped the sweat off my head. Then, like an ominous unfriendly spectre, a line of dark thunder storms were forming to the west. A front coming down from New Mexico and Colorado was “high tailing” it for the Permian Basin, the geological name for the flatness of the around of West Texas.
Lubbock was going to get a thunder storm in about a half hour.
Go Slowly Rapidly
I decided to hasten. “Go slowly rapidly”. I told myself. I got three or four down and built my confidence. I picked up a board with lots of concrete rubble on it. That made it feel unwieldy. I was just nervous. I turned quickly to go out. Just then a wind gust blew. It took me out, and I lost my footing. Then I thought. “Let go of the board.”
I let go of the board and it started hitting the scaffolding in a semi-rhythmic banging, which of course drew everyone’s attention. I was falling through the air. However, I was not lucky enough to just fall straight to the ground and die of embarrassment. I fell about 10 feet, grabbed a cross bar, slowed my body down, and then in a move that any man would immediately understand, I spread my legs and caught my whole body on a cross bar.
In a scissors motion, I was hung up on the red scaffold. No blood. Just much pain.
I held on for dear life and looked down. The entire crew was laughing at me. Before I scrambled, I assembled some fragments of self respect. I took a deep breath. Preacher was over by himself. He just shook his head. I was bringing great entertainment to the entire crew on the ground. Others up in the scaffolds were also laughing. The workers at the truck pouring concrete waved at me and giggled to themselves. I couldn’t hear much, because the wind was picking up. Boy, did I experience the introduction of the young boy to the Man’s Hunt.
I slowly worked my way down to the ground. I headed for the bathroom, got a glass of water and then went back to the scaffolding. Alexander caught up with me. “You goin’ back up?”
“You bet. I’m here to make good money with a good crew. I figure I’ve got some learning to do. If you will keep me after my little snafu, I’ll stay on.”
“You got Sand, Boy. You got Sand.”
“You got sand, boy, you got sand. Go over there and work with Preacher. He needs some help.”
It was in West Texas that I first heard that phrase “sand”, and then later I would hear it used in western movies. I learned that it meant courage and toughness. When Texans say that, they are referring also to your style. Your face is expressionless. You are ready for the next challenge.
I left that job just before Labor Day in 1967. I enjoyed Preacher, and respected John Alexander. “I had never heard so much cussin’ in my life”. I told Preacher, because I knew he would understand.
I earned my pay. It was good pay for that day. I learned a whole lot about a lot of things, but mainly I learned what it was to “have sand”.
This Article has been viewed 610 times. (Not updated in real-time.)
Top-level comments on this article: (6 total)“You got Sand, Boy. You got Sand."
“You got sand, boy, you got sand!"
Wonderful writing!Don't have much sand left.
Awesome way to handle it.Thanks very much. It sticks in my head.
You took us there - did you know Mick and I were in Youth With a Mission in the Tyler area and got married there (Garden Valley - 1985) Small world....You did "good" - Mick has been in construction for about 34 years now (contractor and superintendent lately) Job sites can get really interesting, can't they?I hope Mick concurred with my characterization of the job site. What did he think? Thanks so much for your attention.Ahhh, he doesn't go online except to see videos about arrowheads, wrestling and some other "sports" events, news etc. He doesn't do e-mail nor read even my writings online (he will occasionally proof one for me and I need all the help I can get. some jobsites are like that and some not - some of the guys on his current crew are Christians and that helps. His boss is not but doesn't have a "mouth".
Hi Christofer.
Another great story! I thoroughly enjoyed it. Your telling of it is brilliant.
Hugs,
DianneThanks so much. It was "painful".
To say that you earned your pay seems like an understatement. You definitely have courage - guess that is a job you'll never forget..You are a good storyteller. Happy Thanksgiving...FranThanks, Fran. Not that big a deal, but the fact that it was my first such experience made it unforgettable.
Re your comment to Fran I think it's a huge deal! You were a courageous kid, but I hate how you were treated.Yeah, I was dyin' on the inside, by in the end it was terror and bruises. An incredible first day, for sure. Thanks for your comment.
We want your comments! If you can read this, you don't have javascript enabled, so you can't use this comment system. Please enable javascript.