Monday, May 22, 2017
9/11 and Some More
I think we can all remember where we were and what we were doing when New York City was attacked. I was assembling cabinets in Tampa for a low stinking, thieving bastard who lucked out I didn’t kick his ass when I quit a few weeks later. But I digress. I’m going to continue with the digression for a few moments because to this day he gives me a kind of Tourettes.
I’ve never applied for a job as a foreman or superintendent. I have been promoted to both positions. I’ve always applied as a carpenter or a cabinet maker. I guess I was playing my own little game: “How honest are you?” Maybe: “How smart are you?” A bad workman can cost you thousands. An honest man can make you rich. Until just now I never thought of it that way but it is true. It is a game I played. In its own way also dishonest.
This ripe little prick was playing another, more common game. I asked for a certain rate of pay to which his response was to say, “ Sure, we’ll pay you that if you can do what you say you can do but right now we’ll pay you two dollars less an hour until you prove yourself.” I guess this dick thought I didn’t know that worked out to 4 grand a year in his pocket instead of mine. It was a production shop and I, having been responsible for such a shop in the past, kept records of my production and that of my co-workers. I was pleased and confident to find my figures were comparable.
A week before my pay was to be increased per our agreement I was pulled aside and told my production numbers were bad and I would have to step things up. I said, “ That’s not right. I have these records.” and produced them.
His plan was to demean any question I might have about pay so I would quit thinking about my impending raise. His response was to say, “ I’m not going to argue with you kid.” and walk away in his imitation of some sort of huff. I was ten years older than this slime. He was very lucky I wasn’t 10 years younger. I was so angry I couldn’t see straight. I literally had to sit down. At the end I merely walked into the office and asked for my check. Apparently, my demeanor was such as no more was needed. I was paid to the minute.
A few weeks earlier I was working on a kitchen order when we heard over the radio a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. Being me, I pointed out that a B25 bomber had crashed into the Empire State Building in the 40’s. But we went into the office to watch the news.
Until that point, I thought the most shocking thing I’d ever seen was Jack Ruby shoot Lee Harvey Oswald. Even my Dad said, “ Holy Fuck!” and he never swore. My Mother echoed his sentiments but she always swore. As we watched the second plane hit the second Tower I thought to myself, ‘My God, we’re at war. I don’t think these guys are up to it.’ They weren’t.
About 30 seconds later we were told to punch out. This was the thing that was in these people’s minds. Gawd!!! I should have kicked his ass! I should have known who the true enemy was. Had I been ten years older I would have. I would have known who the true enemy was and I would have kicked his ass. Life is timing. See, I told you. Definitely a form of Tourettes.
To my credit, I did have the sense to get out of there. We didn’t go far. We went to the nearest television which was in the nearest bar. I’ve always maintained that in any well-ordered community bars should open no later than 8 am. I was a construction worker for years. That way when we got rained out we had somewhere to go. I also think bars should close by 11 pm. Nothing good happens after midnight but those are different stories.
We saw all the reports everyone saw. The policemen, the firefighters, the EMTs all acting heroically.
The dribble of information, the endless speculation. Then the sickening collapse of the buildings. We also saw this but really only briefly and just, it seemed once and there was then and has been since, very little comment. From all over Manhattan a stream of hundreds of guys in jeans, tee shirts, tool belts and work boots carrying five-gallon buckets with hammers and pry bars and other assorted hand tools walking to the scene. I imagine a lot of them had lottery tickets in their pockets. No one summoned them. No one dispatched them. They weren’t going there to sightsee or report back to anyone. Just a bunch of guys whose day to day job involved seeing something needing done and just doing it. Just do it.
The day was spent in individual acts of heroism. I’ve always been disappointed these particular acts of heroism have been so little mentioned. In so many ways these guys are the backbone and sinew of America. You can deal in high concept and design. You can survey and draft all you want. Sooner or later somebody has to drive the nail, mix the concrete or lay the brick. Hell, someone has to kiln the brick then stack it and deliver it where it’s needed. For every designer, architect or engineer there are a thousand highly skilled people who have to do their job properly to keep those designers, architects and engineers employed. An architect will say, “ I employ a thousand people.” Not really. A thousand people keep the architect employed. It’s an unfair image but I’m always reminded of Governor LePetomane shuffling papers and saying, “ We have to protect our phoney-baloney jobs gentlemen.” (Blazing Saddles)
I guess my point is there are seen and unseen strata in our society more than we notice. We notice uniforms and other trappings but we don’t notice ubiquitous tool belts or work boots. They are seen as a dismissable label or badge. The commentators that morning while looking for heroism didn’t recognize that heroism because it wasn’t properly dressed. That’s a shame and a mistake. These guys were heroes because they knew what to do and when to do it. They turned to.
At the seventh inning of ballgames, they perform “God Bless America”. I certainly would prefer a country that knew if they were going to pick a song they should be performing “ This Land is Your Land”. We made this land for you and me.