A Photo In the Paper
Opened the paper the other day and saw the unmistakable smiling face of a man who I'd met a few times on a construction site.
It was a great smile.
And I thought about the first time I met the guy:
He was on a scaffold plank about 18' above the ground, setting block. Working hard. Real hard. As it was a bright summer day he worked without a hardhat and in a tank top and shorts. There was a much younger man standing on the plank beside him. Also well under-dressed.
All against the rules of safety.
I called him down and he extended a huge, calloused hand to me. The sweat was pouring down his face. He was a big, strong man. As we shook hands I registered the fact that he was tough. He might've been thinking the exact opposite thoughts based on my grip.
I explained to him what he needed to do to avoid potential fines, or worse, a bad accident.
"You fall 18' you might die," I said.
"We're all gonna' die," he answered.
I thought of that as I glanced at his photo. He was right, of course.
His photo in the obits was proof of that.
The write-up didn't tell me his age, but I figured late fifties or early sixties. There was more information that told me about a donation to the cancer society, but he hadn't looked like he had cancer the last time I saw him.
Just a month or so ago.
His job had looked better. He was following a few of the rules.
"What would it take for you to watch my company for me?" He had asked. "Keep in mind we barely make a profit. We go from one job to the next hoping just to make payroll. I only have three employees."
"I'll keep an eye out for you," I said. "I'm here anyway...just listen to me if I tell you something."
"I will," he said. "But if you see my company around just keep telling us, okay?"
We were shaking hands again. His huge sausage fingers squeezing my writer hand.
He gave me a card with the company information on it.
"Thanks for helping," he said. "The rules make it hard to make a living."
"It's worse if something bad happens," I said.
He hadn't answered me.
That last handshake was it until I saw his photo.
He had obviously worked right up until the day he died.
Hardworking, good man.
Just trying to keep his head above water.
Looking at his photo there was sort of tough to take.
But he was smiling.
It was a great smile.
And I thought about the first time I met the guy:
He was on a scaffold plank about 18' above the ground, setting block. Working hard. Real hard. As it was a bright summer day he worked without a hardhat and in a tank top and shorts. There was a much younger man standing on the plank beside him. Also well under-dressed.
All against the rules of safety.
I called him down and he extended a huge, calloused hand to me. The sweat was pouring down his face. He was a big, strong man. As we shook hands I registered the fact that he was tough. He might've been thinking the exact opposite thoughts based on my grip.
I explained to him what he needed to do to avoid potential fines, or worse, a bad accident.
"You fall 18' you might die," I said.
"We're all gonna' die," he answered.
I thought of that as I glanced at his photo. He was right, of course.
His photo in the obits was proof of that.
The write-up didn't tell me his age, but I figured late fifties or early sixties. There was more information that told me about a donation to the cancer society, but he hadn't looked like he had cancer the last time I saw him.
Just a month or so ago.
His job had looked better. He was following a few of the rules.
"What would it take for you to watch my company for me?" He had asked. "Keep in mind we barely make a profit. We go from one job to the next hoping just to make payroll. I only have three employees."
"I'll keep an eye out for you," I said. "I'm here anyway...just listen to me if I tell you something."
"I will," he said. "But if you see my company around just keep telling us, okay?"
We were shaking hands again. His huge sausage fingers squeezing my writer hand.
He gave me a card with the company information on it.
"Thanks for helping," he said. "The rules make it hard to make a living."
"It's worse if something bad happens," I said.
He hadn't answered me.
That last handshake was it until I saw his photo.
He had obviously worked right up until the day he died.
Hardworking, good man.
Just trying to keep his head above water.
Looking at his photo there was sort of tough to take.
But he was smiling.
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