Breaking Bread

Quote of the Month: August 2009

You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life.
~Winston Churchill

Breaking Bread

I dreaded lunch hour. Everyone ate together at the same picnic table: an outspoken foreman, three cranky old sprinkler-fitters, and a mealy-mouthed carpenter assigned to build scaffolds, and me. The sprinkler trade isn’t known for their welding expertise, like the pipefitters, my trade. Sprinkler systems mainly use screw pipe with socket-weld* tie-ins, which any average welder can perform. This particular job required several difficult welding procedures to complete the modifications on the new addition; The pipefitters’ hall had lent me out to the sprinkler-fitters. Even though I never enjoyed working for another trade, times were hard and I desperately needed a job. The project was scheduled for fifty days. With overtime I stood to make enough money to complete the needed repairs on my wife’s car, catch up on the bills, and buy our son a new bicycle. He had outgrown his; the kids in the neighborhood were making sport of his embarrassment. When I left for work that morning, my wife’s warning stayed with me all the way to lunchtime.

“Listen honey. I meant what I said last night. Don’t let those guys get to you. We need this money. Our family comes first—that is what’s important.”

_________

“Hey welder extraordinaire,” bellowed the burly foreman, “get those fancy boots over here.” He glanced to make sure the other men had heard him. “If it’s not beneath you, Donnie, I need some socket welds made off that first tank by the pump station. Leroy can lay ’em out for ya. It shouldn’t take long for a top gun like you.”

I’d given up explaining my name was Don. “No problem, boss,” I replied, turning toward Leroy, who appeared to never completely register what was going on. It was as if his mind was somewhere else. I imagined a tiny wire in his head connecting and disconnecting at sporadic intervals. He reminded me of Larry on the eighties TV Show Newhart. The other two sprinkler fitters could have been Larry’s TV brothers, Darrell and his other brother Darrell. I waited to see where Leroy was going to unload his tobacco juice. He always spit before he moved, and he wasn’t particular where it landed.

The job was installing a bypass line.

“You drag the welding lead and find a cuttin’ torch,” Leroy barked, “and I’ll gather up the material. We’ll make those four welds in position, lickity-split.”

I couldn’t believe it. We were only dealing with one-inch pipe. We could have easily made up the assembly on the bench and only had one weld to make in position—welding the assembly to the tank. I didn’t know if he was really that incompetent, or just messing with me. I told myself it was no big deal, either way. Making the welds in position would merely be an inconvenience. I remembered my wife’s admonition. I figured if this fellow wanted to see what I was made of, I might as well oblige him. After Leroy ground the paint off the tank, I cut the opening and made the four position welds in quick succession. And for good measure, I made sure they looked liked peanut butter.

“Danged if you ain’t a prima donna,” Leroy croaked, eyeballing the perfect welds. He sort of resembled a frog, only with one jaw packed full of tobacco. He spit, barely missing my boot. “I guess you might be able to make them hard welds the boss man is worried about. You might as well see what he has for ya. I won’t need you ’till later.”

I nodded and left Leroy to install the check valve and clean-out in the bypass loop. This had been the first time that we’d been partnered. The previous six days I had had the “pleasure” of working with his brother Darrell and his other brother Darrell. Several minutes later, I found the foreman in the middle of relaying a story to Harry, the mealy-mouthed carpenter.

“I’m a tellin ya, son,” the foreman said, raising his right eyebrow as though he were imparting some secret knowledge. “Ya got to know how to handle ’em, that’s all. When the union hall sends one to work for me, you can be sure I put ’em in their place—first thing.” The foreman flexed his arms; his biceps rolled liked bowling balls.

“I’ve not had any trouble with any,” Harry said, tugging at his collar.

“The day will come,” the foreman assured the carpenter. “You’ll have to choose which side you’re on, get me.”

As I stepped up, Harry’s thin face grimaced in the affirmative to the foreman’s declaration.

“Well, Donnie,” the foreman said. “I thought it was gonna take you all day on that tank. I got some burning and welding for you up on the mezzanine, and I want it done before lunch, hear?”

I’d heard him all right, every sick, twisted word. Working as a traveling pipefitter, all over the country, you see all kinds. On the way up to the mezzanine I remembered the first time I’d found myself in a similar situation as Harry. It was a two-man job. The other man wasn’t only my foreman, he was also my working buddy. A small company had furnished us with a truck. We operated as a mobile repair service on industrial piping systems. This was my first experience traveling outside my jurisdiction, and it was important to me that everything went well. I was young and nervous. One morning, on a new assignment, my foreman asked, “Can you smell them darkies, Don? This building is full of ’em.”

“I don’t smell anything,” I answered.

“Jesus. We’ll have to put up with that stench all day. I don’t know if you’re the right welder for me or not.”

Luckily, that week, I got called for a job in another jurisdiction. But waltzing around his comments ate away at my dignity, and left me feeling less than a man.

“Hey top gun!” Brother Darrell hollered, jarring me back into the present. Missing teeth accentuated his villainous smile. “If it’s not too much trouble, I need three hangers cut off this I-beam," he said. "We’re gonna replace ’em. I know it ain’t precision welding, like you’re used to, but it’s got to be done, and done right. I ain’t in the habit of afro-riggin’ anything—you get my drift.”

“You can keep that crap to yourself,” I said, climbing up on the scaffold. I figured if I cut his ridiculous rant short, and ignored him, maybe I’d have enough time the finish the job before lunch. A couple hours later, as I welded the last pass on the last hanger, the noon whistle went off. I felt the sweat dripping down the hollow of my back. Even though my stomach was growling, I didn’t look forward to the offensive malarkey that I’d have to endure while eating my tuna fish sandwich. Until then, I managed to avoid getting pulled into their absurd conversational gyrations, but the verbal intensity had been increasing each day like the categories of a hurricane.

I took my time going to the washroom and when I arrived at the lunch area the crew was in a frenzied discussion, almost a category three from the sound of it. The other brother Darrell had a bandaged hand and was cursing in mouthfuls (language I wouldn’t repeat). I sat down in my regular seat, at the far end of the table, facing the burley foreman. Leroy and Harry the carpenter sat on one side of the table, and Darrel and his other brother Darrel sat facing them.

“If that idiot in the tool room hadn’t given you a faulty chain-fall,” Leroy snapped, “You would’ve never got hurt.”

“I told ya that fool was stupid as a darkie,” the foreman said, glancing at Harry the carpenter.

Harry chimed in. “That’s plain to see.”

Brother Darrell followed. “That’s right. The guy moves so slow it’s a wonder he gets anything done.”

The other brother Darrell lifted his bandaged hand. “He did enough to get me hurt.”

A malicious smile formed on the foreman's face. “Hell, men. We’re just lucky we don’t have any darkies in our. We only have forty-three days left to finish this project. Donnie, here, may be slow, but he’s faster than a darkie.” They all laughed like hyenas. “You’ve probably worked with a bunch of them slow darkies, hadn’t ya, Donnie?”

“I’ve worked with people on all levels of the competency scale, black and white. And if I’m not working fast enough for ya, you can call the union hall.”

The foreman’s sick smile widened. "I knew it, boys—we got ourselves a darkie lover. I pegged you the first day. Harry, take a good look. Here’s a guy that doesn’t understand what side he’s on, or who’s buttering his bread.”

Harry hesitantly gave an agreeing nod. The three sprinkler fitters leaned forward, like vultures waiting for their share. It was right then that I decided there wouldn’t be any scraps.

“I didn’t know we were choosing sides, boss man," I said. "But I can assure you, if I had my druthers, I wouldn’t pick an incompetent, backward bunch of fellas like you all.”

The foreman stood up. “Son, who the hell you think you are?”

“If you all don't stop with all the racist remarks, I’m the pipe fitter that’s walking off this job. You'll be looking for someone else to make those hard welds for ya. Is this really the world you want your children to grow up in?”

I saw Harry look down at his feet.

“Don't you worry about my children. And I ain't quittin' nothin'," shouted the foreman. "And if you quit, you’ll never work out of this jurisdiction again, boy."

"Maybe so, but that's not good enough. I'm done listening to you. I quit."

"I’m calling your local and giving your business agent a piece of my mind," blared the foreman. "And if I can, I’ll blackball your whole damn local. You're gonna find out what happens to those on the wrong side.”



As it turned out, the foreman knew what he was talking about. I did make some enemies. My business agent didn’t appreciate having to apologize on my behalf. Some of my union brothers, who were denied work because of me, still hold a grudge to this very day. It also took my wife quite a while to completely get over the incident; our finances were in shambles by the time I finally received another assignment.

The seemingly never-ending cycle of prejudice continued to dominate my thoughts. I began to wonder if the efforts of right-thinking people were actually making a difference. Then, one morning, I was watching the neighborhood kids organizing bike races. My son stood on the sidelines, unwilling to participate, because of his small bike. A black kid, who I didn’t recognize, tapped my son on the shoulder and offered him his bicycle. My son won that race, and then invited his new friend for an enjoyable lunch.