After that brief detour, my story returns to Connecticut.
The blizzard took place in the middle of winter and there was still plenty of cold weather for us to endure. And we saw what a New England winter would do to production figures. Our crew came to work each day in heavy insulated overalls with heavy jackets or sweatshirts on top of that. Most wore hardhats with insulated liners in them. This was fine gear to wear if you were going to be standing around in the cold, but it was our intention to get these people moving!
That was easier said than done. The work ethic was simply not part of the culture here and so it was like pulling teeth to get them to shed a jacket and work a little harder to stay warm. Alex and I dressed completely different from our crew, wearing jeans and thermal tops and nothing more than that. And our small crew of French Canadians dressed similarly. Even our shoes (insulated boots) were different. The crew wore heavy sno-packs and shuffled about in them. Speed was not an option with those kind of boots.
It wasn’t really that cold inside the building as we had insisted that the temperature had to be at least 40 degrees if they wanted us to start taping. So there were heaters (salamanders) everywhere and the roar from them was deafening. Plus, the kerosene fumes grew heavy in the air as the temperature climbed towards 45 or 50 degrees. It was actually quite pleasant to take a break outside, where the temperature might be 10 or 15 degrees…but the air was crisp clean and it was blissfully quiet.
With our Canucks leading the way, we finally had some drywall ready to tape and that was when Eddie joined us from California. He had volunteered for the job and he was good friend as well, so we welcomed him to our small “home” by the lake. Within a few days a box of taping tools arrived from California and we unpacked them on the job. What a surprise that was! As we took the tools out of the box, we noticed that we had a large crowd of observers watching us. One carpenter asked, “What in the heck are those things?” That was when we knew we were in trouble. Apparently, the tapers in this area never used these kinds of tools. We found out that they used hand tools exclusively and there was a Painter’s Union ban on the use of taping tools like “boxes” and “bazookas”. Oops!
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Playing in the mud
I was driving into Chico the other morning, early, when I glanced over at the new bridge under construction on Highway 32. They were getting ready to pour concrete on the deck and I was suddenly reminded of the many times that I was on a similar deck, though much higher in the air, and working fast to stay ahead of the “mud”.
No, I never worked on a bridge, but I knew exactly what each person in that crew was doing. On a highway bridge or on a deck 30 stories in the air, the process is the same. I guess I will always be sentimental about that part of my career in construction. When I was working with my tools on, I was excited about each day at work. There was a very real danger in what we did and just sensing that made every day special. (I guess you had to be there…)
Memory: We were late in getting our hanger wires in place for the 3rd floor ceilings on the Broadway store project in San Bernardino. The pour was scheduled for 7 in the morning and so that meant we had to be up on the deck and working by 4 AM. We had to layout the location for the wire drop by measuring from the tops of each column, barely visible through the rebar maze that covered the deck. After the layout was complete and double checked, we had to punch holes in the steel deck in a 3’ x 4’ pattern. We would then thread 12’ lengths of #8 wire down through the holes and tie off the ends on a piece of rebar. We only had moonlight to work under and it was eerie, walking on top of the rebar, looking for the holes to drop a wire into. Somewhere across the deck, in the dark, you could hear the “bang!” as the deck punch was driven down into the steel. Don’t trip! Especially near the edge…
By 6:30 we could hear the concrete pump being setup below and then the concrete crew was up on the deck with us as they laid their “slick line” across the rebar. And sure enough, at 7 AM sharp, the pump would roar into life and concrete would come pulsing up the line and out onto the deck. Now we had to hurry to stay ahead of the pour, sometimes just a few feet away from us.
By 7:30 we were through and headed down the ladder, eager for a break. Above us, we could hear the scrape and rattle as they lifted the mesh and vibrated the “mud” into place. I loved it!
No, I never worked on a bridge, but I knew exactly what each person in that crew was doing. On a highway bridge or on a deck 30 stories in the air, the process is the same. I guess I will always be sentimental about that part of my career in construction. When I was working with my tools on, I was excited about each day at work. There was a very real danger in what we did and just sensing that made every day special. (I guess you had to be there…)
Memory: We were late in getting our hanger wires in place for the 3rd floor ceilings on the Broadway store project in San Bernardino. The pour was scheduled for 7 in the morning and so that meant we had to be up on the deck and working by 4 AM. We had to layout the location for the wire drop by measuring from the tops of each column, barely visible through the rebar maze that covered the deck. After the layout was complete and double checked, we had to punch holes in the steel deck in a 3’ x 4’ pattern. We would then thread 12’ lengths of #8 wire down through the holes and tie off the ends on a piece of rebar. We only had moonlight to work under and it was eerie, walking on top of the rebar, looking for the holes to drop a wire into. Somewhere across the deck, in the dark, you could hear the “bang!” as the deck punch was driven down into the steel. Don’t trip! Especially near the edge…
By 6:30 we could hear the concrete pump being setup below and then the concrete crew was up on the deck with us as they laid their “slick line” across the rebar. And sure enough, at 7 AM sharp, the pump would roar into life and concrete would come pulsing up the line and out onto the deck. Now we had to hurry to stay ahead of the pour, sometimes just a few feet away from us.
By 7:30 we were through and headed down the ladder, eager for a break. Above us, we could hear the scrape and rattle as they lifted the mesh and vibrated the “mud” into place. I loved it!
Monday, August 21, 2006
Blizzard
The weeks passed and we settled into a routine where Alex would fly home one weekend and then I would fly home the next. Twice a month. The flights were fun and we had 4 days at home. Warm and sunny Southern California. Then it was back to the reality of ice and snow in New England.
One weekend, while Alex was away, a Nor’easter blew in; a real blizzard! It started Friday night and snowed all day Saturday and Sunday. I sat in our little hotel room and watched in amazement as the snow fell; higher and higher. I had plenty of food in our kitchenette and the power stayed on. Alas, the phone went out. Not a bad thing really, as the phone was outside and attached to a pole supporting the overhang. And to use the phone, you had to walk to the manager’s house and ask them to connect the phone to an outside line. Then walk back…through the snow.
Monday morning came and I was up early to dig out my car and get on the road. So I dug and I dug, piling up great mounds of snow on each side of the car. It was shortly after I finished that I realized that I hadn’t heard any snowplows coming down our road. In fact it was silent, very silent…except for my hard breathing! Well, I had a car that I could now sit in but without a road to drive it on. I raced back into the room and began calling our workers houses, to let them know that I would be late. The first one I talked to had to laugh, uproariously. Did I really believe that people were going to work today? Well, I did believe that, but I was wrong.
Now I had a day off and nowhere to go. So I decided to walk to the corner store and use the payphone to let Alex know about my predicament. I started off and immediately ran into a problem. The snow had drifted higher as I got closer to the road and pretty soon I was looking at ten to twelve foot high drifts of powder snow. I struggled on, finding my way slowly. It was a beautiful sunny day and the blue sky and white snow made the struggle less painful. After about an hour, I had made it to the corner gas station, probably a quarter mile distant from our room. I spotted the top of the telephone booth and climbed a steep hill of snow to get to it. Luckily the door was still open and the booth was sitting a well of snow, so I slid down into it.
The phone even worked and I was soon telling Alex of my adventures. And describing my current location; a phone booth in an ocean of snow.
One weekend, while Alex was away, a Nor’easter blew in; a real blizzard! It started Friday night and snowed all day Saturday and Sunday. I sat in our little hotel room and watched in amazement as the snow fell; higher and higher. I had plenty of food in our kitchenette and the power stayed on. Alas, the phone went out. Not a bad thing really, as the phone was outside and attached to a pole supporting the overhang. And to use the phone, you had to walk to the manager’s house and ask them to connect the phone to an outside line. Then walk back…through the snow.
Monday morning came and I was up early to dig out my car and get on the road. So I dug and I dug, piling up great mounds of snow on each side of the car. It was shortly after I finished that I realized that I hadn’t heard any snowplows coming down our road. In fact it was silent, very silent…except for my hard breathing! Well, I had a car that I could now sit in but without a road to drive it on. I raced back into the room and began calling our workers houses, to let them know that I would be late. The first one I talked to had to laugh, uproariously. Did I really believe that people were going to work today? Well, I did believe that, but I was wrong.
Now I had a day off and nowhere to go. So I decided to walk to the corner store and use the payphone to let Alex know about my predicament. I started off and immediately ran into a problem. The snow had drifted higher as I got closer to the road and pretty soon I was looking at ten to twelve foot high drifts of powder snow. I struggled on, finding my way slowly. It was a beautiful sunny day and the blue sky and white snow made the struggle less painful. After about an hour, I had made it to the corner gas station, probably a quarter mile distant from our room. I spotted the top of the telephone booth and climbed a steep hill of snow to get to it. Luckily the door was still open and the booth was sitting a well of snow, so I slid down into it.
The phone even worked and I was soon telling Alex of my adventures. And describing my current location; a phone booth in an ocean of snow.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Life at the lake
We soon settled into a routine of sorts on the job. We would hold classes for an hour or two every morning, teaching the local carpenters all about steel studs. Then came a long day as we struggled not to criticize their failings as they tried to put to use their new skills? These were "wood butchers" through and through and it was like teaching them a foreign language. A language they were not interested in learning.
When 4:30 rolled around, we were always ready to drive out of town and into rural Connecticut, where we could unwind. After taking showers in our little apartment, we would head over to Duval's restaurant in Bantam. "Pop" Duval was the bartender as well as proprietor of this small bar and restaurant. A couple of Scotches or maybe a Schaeffer's brew would get us into the mood for dinner. Salad and spaghetti with a side order of a dozen steamers was always a favorite. $1 a dozen for fresh steamed clams. The whole dinner, $2.50. A Maine lobster dinner ran $5. (And there is no comparison in size between a Maine lobster and a Pacific Crayfish.) After dinner, we would rejoin Pop in the bar for a glass of sherry and Pop would entertain us with short and pithy stories of the local area. He didn't know he was entertaining us; he always talked this way.
About 10, we would head back to our room, the studded snow tires rumbling on the icy roads. A dark sky and a million stars to see in that frozen time...
It would start all over again the next morning. Sort of like "Groundhog Day". Except that movie hadn't been made yet.
We were getting desperate for good labor, our schedule was off by weeks now and not days and then we heard that some French Canadians were in town and they knew drywall. We searched them out and after a few minutes of interviews, where they said a few key words, words that indicated that they really did know the trade, we hired them. All of them. I think it was about 8 altogether and all related. Jacque and Nazaire were cousins and spoke English. That's all we needed.
It turned out well, they weren't the best in the world, but they wanted to work and that put them far ahead of the locals. And the locals hated them for it. All trades in the Northeast seemed to be divided up by ethnic origins and there was no place for these foreigners, these Canucks.
At break time or lunch, the Italians and the Irish would find their respective places on a stack of sheetrock, making sure there was no room for us or the Canadians.
So we would find another stack and then have to sit and try to figure out what was being said to us or about us by half a dozen of our new French speaking friends. Nazaire would usually remember to translate for us if there had been a particularly funny joke told.
Slowly, we made progress.
When 4:30 rolled around, we were always ready to drive out of town and into rural Connecticut, where we could unwind. After taking showers in our little apartment, we would head over to Duval's restaurant in Bantam. "Pop" Duval was the bartender as well as proprietor of this small bar and restaurant. A couple of Scotches or maybe a Schaeffer's brew would get us into the mood for dinner. Salad and spaghetti with a side order of a dozen steamers was always a favorite. $1 a dozen for fresh steamed clams. The whole dinner, $2.50. A Maine lobster dinner ran $5. (And there is no comparison in size between a Maine lobster and a Pacific Crayfish.) After dinner, we would rejoin Pop in the bar for a glass of sherry and Pop would entertain us with short and pithy stories of the local area. He didn't know he was entertaining us; he always talked this way.
About 10, we would head back to our room, the studded snow tires rumbling on the icy roads. A dark sky and a million stars to see in that frozen time...
It would start all over again the next morning. Sort of like "Groundhog Day". Except that movie hadn't been made yet.
We were getting desperate for good labor, our schedule was off by weeks now and not days and then we heard that some French Canadians were in town and they knew drywall. We searched them out and after a few minutes of interviews, where they said a few key words, words that indicated that they really did know the trade, we hired them. All of them. I think it was about 8 altogether and all related. Jacque and Nazaire were cousins and spoke English. That's all we needed.
It turned out well, they weren't the best in the world, but they wanted to work and that put them far ahead of the locals. And the locals hated them for it. All trades in the Northeast seemed to be divided up by ethnic origins and there was no place for these foreigners, these Canucks.
At break time or lunch, the Italians and the Irish would find their respective places on a stack of sheetrock, making sure there was no room for us or the Canadians.
So we would find another stack and then have to sit and try to figure out what was being said to us or about us by half a dozen of our new French speaking friends. Nazaire would usually remember to translate for us if there had been a particularly funny joke told.
Slowly, we made progress.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Moving
The G. Fox store was larger than the normal size for department stores at that time; 3 stories tall and perhaps 90,000 square feet per floor. This was the kind of project that would normally take us about 4 months to complete. But this wasn’t going to be normal…
First, we had weather to contend with. It was winter time in New England and we had ice and snow to contend with; something that Southern Californians knew very little about. But we learned.
After the first week had passed, we had a crew of sorts and we were holding daily lessons for our carpenters on how to frame with steel studs. And judging from the results, we were not looking forward to the drywall application “lessons”. Despite our repeated requests to the local business agent, no drywall talent was to be found.
Also, at the end of that first week, we decided to move to a more comfortable location. Our little motel room was starting to feel like a jail cell for the two of us. So we went for a drive, to see what accommodations might be available.
And about 30 minutes out of Waterbury, we found the town of Morris and Bantam Lake. We liked the looks of this small town and we found a motel/inn that had monthly rentals of 2 bedroom apartments. We could have a kitchen and a living room! Almost like normal life… we moved that day.
On the following Monday, we mentioned our new address during a coffee break with the crew. Hilarity ensued. They thought we were crazy to be driving all of that way to work! (30 minutes) Being Californians, we didn’t get it? We might drive for 30 minutes just to go to the store. What was so funny? As it turned out, this move only confirmed what the locals already believed about the “crazy Californians”.
First, we had weather to contend with. It was winter time in New England and we had ice and snow to contend with; something that Southern Californians knew very little about. But we learned.
After the first week had passed, we had a crew of sorts and we were holding daily lessons for our carpenters on how to frame with steel studs. And judging from the results, we were not looking forward to the drywall application “lessons”. Despite our repeated requests to the local business agent, no drywall talent was to be found.
Also, at the end of that first week, we decided to move to a more comfortable location. Our little motel room was starting to feel like a jail cell for the two of us. So we went for a drive, to see what accommodations might be available.
And about 30 minutes out of Waterbury, we found the town of Morris and Bantam Lake. We liked the looks of this small town and we found a motel/inn that had monthly rentals of 2 bedroom apartments. We could have a kitchen and a living room! Almost like normal life… we moved that day.
On the following Monday, we mentioned our new address during a coffee break with the crew. Hilarity ensued. They thought we were crazy to be driving all of that way to work! (30 minutes) Being Californians, we didn’t get it? We might drive for 30 minutes just to go to the store. What was so funny? As it turned out, this move only confirmed what the locals already believed about the “crazy Californians”.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
G. Fox
The Pacific Telephone project was certainly not the norm. If there is any such thing as a “normal” construction project? And with that said, my memory serves up the story of the G. Fox Department Store in Waterbury, Connecticut.
Our boss, Marshall, had received a request to bid on the construction of a new department store for the May Co. The store was to be the flagship store of a New England department store chain they had recently purchased.
After figuring in all sorts of additional costs; air transportation, moving and housing, vehicle rentals, etc, etc; the bid was prepared and surprise! We had a job in Connecticut. I was asked if I wanted to go and I quickly agreed.
Before making the trip, we had to prepare boxes of equipment to ship. Power cords, screw guns and welders. All of these things were packed into wooden boxes and sent off.
(It should be noted that we wouldn’t think of doing that today. We would have bought all of our equipment locally.)
Soon it was time for us to pack our suitcases and take a long non-stop flight to Hartford. And once a month we would take that same flight as we returned home for a long weekend.
I remember that we flew on American Airlines, a luxurious 727. The plane rarely had more than 50 passengers and I remember a time when there were less than 20 people on a plane that held over 100.
After arriving in Waterbury, we found a motel to stay in and then went to check in with the local Carpenters Union. This was an eye-opener. We had never seen a Union like this one! The local office was run by a Business Agent named “Eddie”. And he ran it like it was his own personal kingdom. I suppose it was.
We knew we were in some trouble when we asked him if he had some men available that were skilled in drywall and metal framing. He looked at us and didn’t say a word for a minute. Then he slowly stated, “My men can do anything.” Oh?
We asked for three men to start with, and with the knowledge that the first man hired would become the “Steward” and would be the last man fired. And when they arrived at the jobsite the next morning, our Steward turned out to be a 65 year old Millwright. The other two carpenters were just that…carpenters. None of the three had ever seen a metal stud or installed drywall. It was going to be a long job!
Our boss, Marshall, had received a request to bid on the construction of a new department store for the May Co. The store was to be the flagship store of a New England department store chain they had recently purchased.
After figuring in all sorts of additional costs; air transportation, moving and housing, vehicle rentals, etc, etc; the bid was prepared and surprise! We had a job in Connecticut. I was asked if I wanted to go and I quickly agreed.
Before making the trip, we had to prepare boxes of equipment to ship. Power cords, screw guns and welders. All of these things were packed into wooden boxes and sent off.
(It should be noted that we wouldn’t think of doing that today. We would have bought all of our equipment locally.)
Soon it was time for us to pack our suitcases and take a long non-stop flight to Hartford. And once a month we would take that same flight as we returned home for a long weekend.
I remember that we flew on American Airlines, a luxurious 727. The plane rarely had more than 50 passengers and I remember a time when there were less than 20 people on a plane that held over 100.
After arriving in Waterbury, we found a motel to stay in and then went to check in with the local Carpenters Union. This was an eye-opener. We had never seen a Union like this one! The local office was run by a Business Agent named “Eddie”. And he ran it like it was his own personal kingdom. I suppose it was.
We knew we were in some trouble when we asked him if he had some men available that were skilled in drywall and metal framing. He looked at us and didn’t say a word for a minute. Then he slowly stated, “My men can do anything.” Oh?
We asked for three men to start with, and with the knowledge that the first man hired would become the “Steward” and would be the last man fired. And when they arrived at the jobsite the next morning, our Steward turned out to be a 65 year old Millwright. The other two carpenters were just that…carpenters. None of the three had ever seen a metal stud or installed drywall. It was going to be a long job!
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