Old Mad Dog
Was watching a show on Netflix and the main character went to his boss to grab his paycheck. The boss made a wise crack and I was immediately blessed with a memory of my boss from 1987 when I was a union laborer at the Fairmont Hotel project in San Jose, California.
My boss was named Bob McClure.
Bob was 60 years old. He stood about 5’7” and weighed about 140 pounds. He was tough as nails. He was missing a couple of tips of his fingers from his days as a carpenter.
He would deliver our checks on Friday afternoon. Would always shake my hand. His hands were worn and weathered from years and years of hard work.
“You should have a gun,” he’d say.
“Why’s that?” I’d ask.
“‘Cause you’re stealing.”
Then Bob would look at his shoes and smile, as if he’d said the funniest thing ever. We repeated that little routine each week.
Back in those days my constant buddy was Zane Conway. He was the man who traveled to every country in the world - last time I heard from him he was in China, back about ten years ago.
Zane was a mentor. He read, listened to great music, worked hard and drank a few beers. Just a great guy and we spent 10 hours a day together each day.
“Old Bob needs a nickname,” Zane said as we were stripping concrete forms.
We spent a half the afternoon trading nicknames.
“Mad Dog,” Zane said.
We both knew it was the exact right name.
Also back in those days there was a beautiful girl who worked in the office, Justine.
“I was just thinking,” Zane said. “Mad Dog and Justine are secretly a couple.”
We laughed about that every single time we saw either of them.
The old hardworking, tough foreman with missing fingers and the beautiful blonde with her long elegant fingers and polished nails.
I’m not really going anywhere with this memory.
Good old Mad Dog would be 92 years old now.
I’m hoping to hear from Zane again - he’s exactly ten years older than me.
And beautiful Justine.
I hope she’s had a great life.
“You should have a gun.”
Wherever you are, Mad Dog...
...I hope it’s great there.
My boss was named Bob McClure.
Bob was 60 years old. He stood about 5’7” and weighed about 140 pounds. He was tough as nails. He was missing a couple of tips of his fingers from his days as a carpenter.
He would deliver our checks on Friday afternoon. Would always shake my hand. His hands were worn and weathered from years and years of hard work.
“You should have a gun,” he’d say.
“Why’s that?” I’d ask.
“‘Cause you’re stealing.”
Then Bob would look at his shoes and smile, as if he’d said the funniest thing ever. We repeated that little routine each week.
Back in those days my constant buddy was Zane Conway. He was the man who traveled to every country in the world - last time I heard from him he was in China, back about ten years ago.
Zane was a mentor. He read, listened to great music, worked hard and drank a few beers. Just a great guy and we spent 10 hours a day together each day.
“Old Bob needs a nickname,” Zane said as we were stripping concrete forms.
We spent a half the afternoon trading nicknames.
“Mad Dog,” Zane said.
We both knew it was the exact right name.
Also back in those days there was a beautiful girl who worked in the office, Justine.
“I was just thinking,” Zane said. “Mad Dog and Justine are secretly a couple.”
We laughed about that every single time we saw either of them.
The old hardworking, tough foreman with missing fingers and the beautiful blonde with her long elegant fingers and polished nails.
I’m not really going anywhere with this memory.
Good old Mad Dog would be 92 years old now.
I’m hoping to hear from Zane again - he’s exactly ten years older than me.
And beautiful Justine.
I hope she’s had a great life.
“You should have a gun.”
Wherever you are, Mad Dog...
...I hope it’s great there.
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