Old Friends
Kathy ran into an old friend of mine, Joe.
He actually was an old iron worker buddy who took me under his wing, and like all the tough old ironworkers, he was cranky, said few words and never, ever talked about his feelings.
When Kathy mentioned that she ran into him, I instantly thought of when we first met.
It was on the job in Baltimore in 1991. I was the clerk of the works, handling payroll, ordering materials and safety.
On the day when I first met my buddy, I was also in charge of making lunch. I wrote a check for petty cash and went to the grocery store for porterhouse steaks, baked potatoes and corn on the cob.
I spent the better part of the morning cooking on the grill as Joe and Kevin worked to set up the 350-Ton Crane.
Right at noon, the guys who were working their asses off busted through the trailer door. The steaks were a couple of pounds each, and they were waiting at their places.
Neither guy said a word.
I hadn’t yet officially met Joe.
We ate in silence.
Joe ate everything on his plate, got up, put his hard hat back on and headed for the door.
“How was it?” I asked.
“Sucked,” he said, and he slammed the door.
Over the next 10 years, we laughed a lot. All of us. I was even invited to golf in the ironworkers golf tourney in the mid-90’s.
I was the only non-iron worker to ever play in that event. I put my tee in the ground at 7 a.m., after declining Joe’s offer of a beer.
“I want to see how I’m hitting it before I drink,” I said.
I heard three tabs being popped. Then I swung.
The ball went about 30 feet.
I heard the fourth tab pop.
“You’re hitting like shit,” Joe said, and he handed me the beer.
After Kathy told me about seeing Joe, I told her every single story, and we laughed.
We’re gonna’ grab lunch soon, and catch up, but I also thought of one other Joe story.
I was getting married.
A kid on the way.
I had just switched jobs, and my 3rd book was coming out.
“You gonna’ be all right?” Joe asked.
Five words was about all you’d get by way of discussion.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Lot going on.”
He put his hand on my shoulder.
“Wasn’t a question,” he said. “You ARE gonna’ be okay. You’re a good man.”
I think of Joe saying that a lot.
Through the years it’s brought me comfort cause I always have thought the world of him.
I’m looking forward to having lunch.
Maybe we’ll get a steak.
He actually was an old iron worker buddy who took me under his wing, and like all the tough old ironworkers, he was cranky, said few words and never, ever talked about his feelings.
When Kathy mentioned that she ran into him, I instantly thought of when we first met.
It was on the job in Baltimore in 1991. I was the clerk of the works, handling payroll, ordering materials and safety.
On the day when I first met my buddy, I was also in charge of making lunch. I wrote a check for petty cash and went to the grocery store for porterhouse steaks, baked potatoes and corn on the cob.
I spent the better part of the morning cooking on the grill as Joe and Kevin worked to set up the 350-Ton Crane.
Right at noon, the guys who were working their asses off busted through the trailer door. The steaks were a couple of pounds each, and they were waiting at their places.
Neither guy said a word.
I hadn’t yet officially met Joe.
We ate in silence.
Joe ate everything on his plate, got up, put his hard hat back on and headed for the door.
“How was it?” I asked.
“Sucked,” he said, and he slammed the door.
Over the next 10 years, we laughed a lot. All of us. I was even invited to golf in the ironworkers golf tourney in the mid-90’s.
I was the only non-iron worker to ever play in that event. I put my tee in the ground at 7 a.m., after declining Joe’s offer of a beer.
“I want to see how I’m hitting it before I drink,” I said.
I heard three tabs being popped. Then I swung.
The ball went about 30 feet.
I heard the fourth tab pop.
“You’re hitting like shit,” Joe said, and he handed me the beer.
After Kathy told me about seeing Joe, I told her every single story, and we laughed.
We’re gonna’ grab lunch soon, and catch up, but I also thought of one other Joe story.
I was getting married.
A kid on the way.
I had just switched jobs, and my 3rd book was coming out.
“You gonna’ be all right?” Joe asked.
Five words was about all you’d get by way of discussion.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Lot going on.”
He put his hand on my shoulder.
“Wasn’t a question,” he said. “You ARE gonna’ be okay. You’re a good man.”
I think of Joe saying that a lot.
Through the years it’s brought me comfort cause I always have thought the world of him.
I’m looking forward to having lunch.
Maybe we’ll get a steak.
Comments