Prologue
(a Prologue is an introduction to a story; its function is to give the reader a little background.  The actual story comes

 after the prologue so that's why there is a prologue and a story and it is done this way so you can tell the difference.  You'll

know when the story starts...it'll say something like Chapter One.  Who knows, I may use something different.) 

There are a plethora of woodworking venues scattered across the Internet and one of my favorite attractions is IRC or Internet Relay Chat.

I am going to assume you've never experienced IRC so allow me to describe it.  Imagine a big room...sorta like a ballroom...it has lots of corners and everyone in there is flitting around, drinking two-olive martinis and hobnobbing like the Kennedys.  Occasionally, two will drift off to a corner to have a private chat, then, just like that, they are back with everyone else.  Meanwhile, everyone in the center of the room is reading every word being said by everyone else.  Let me put it this way...picture a bunch of pent-up old biddies suffering through an interminable winter and their cell doors suddenly fly open and they all flock to an early spring quilting bee - yes, it's that kind of conversation.

So, there you are, in a cyber room chatting with other people, people you will most likely never meet, but you share a common interest.  After a while you get to know them and if the stars align properly, if the cards are shuffled just so and if you possess an adventurous spirit then you stand a very good chance of putting faces to what was once a screen full of words.  This is a story of just such an experience.

About mid-June 2012 I caught wind about the existence of a very active IRC channel so I dropped in to give it a whirl.  I was instantly welcomed by everyone and from that moment on it became a daily family affair.

Fast forward to May 2013...to where one of the regulars and myself have become quite chatty over the past year and the two of us are often in one of the previously mentioned corners having a private conversation.  He lives in New Jersey, wants to buy another house...preferably in Pennsylvania with five acres and build a new shop.  Trouble is, he can't find anything to suit his family needs.  I sympathize with him and suggested building a shop where he currently is.

"Frank, think of it this way, you build a shop where you are now and it'll add property value.  You'll have a much larger space and it'll be fine until you can find something else."

"Joe, you don't understand New Jersey, I live in a state that has townships and each township has its own building restrictions, I'd have to sleep with the mayor's wife just to get this considered!"

"Frank, you don't understand...you ain't gonna find out anything unless you go down there and tell them what you got in mind.  Sure there's gonna be a shitload of hoops to jump through and waves of paperwork to swim over and mountains to scale and..." He interrupted me.

"Are you finished with all your ridiculous clichés?"

"No!  I mean, yeah.  What I'm saying is that you ain't gonna know unless you go down there and sleep with the mayor's wife, Frankie!"

Turns out Frank is monogamous so like the honorable trooper he is, he goes to the building inspector's office to start banging on his desk instead.

During our private conversations, somewhere between early June and September of 2013, while Frank was in heated battle obtaining building permits and subtle winks from the mayor's wife, I told him I couldn't think of anything I'd rather do than to come to New Jersey and help build his new shop.

Now it's late October 2013...Frank has permits and sundry paperwork in hand - he's now down to ordering materials, supplies, odds and ends, organizing friends and family members living nearby for their help and locating necessities like concrete plants, tool rental shops and doctors willing to prescribe LSD and Prozac in horse pill sizes.

At the same time, I was having private conversations with Roger (another regular in the chat room) who is like me; he's a professional carpenter with wide experience in other trades.  He's also a union man living near Chicago, Illinois.  He's also temporarily laid off and since he has nothing better to do he signs on to the mission.

This means there are now two full-fledged carpenters on the job.  Ohh, yeah...I almost forgot.  During my private chats with Roger?  Well, we did a cyber fist-bump and agreed to do our level best to make Frank's head explode before this mission was completed.

Something Different

Thursday, October 31, 2013

1900 hrs - Ronan, Montana

Private IRC chat room

Frank announces the digging for the footings will commence on November 9th.  He then says he'd like to do a conference call with us so we could all talk and not have to type everything.  I typed, "Sure, make the call!"

"Rrrrriiiinnnggg"  I punched the speaker phone button on the cordless handset and instantly said, "I thought I told you not to call me?"

I heard Roger busting out laughing and from the silence on Frank's end I could clearly see him frantically reading the screen to see if he had misread.

Operation Explode Head had been launched.

He tells us Max is bringing his tractor outfitted with a front loading bucket and a backhoe attachment.  Owen and his friend, Mike, will be there to help with shooting grade and other tasks.  Roger and I stressed how important it was for the footings and site prep to be completed prior to our arrival.

Next we ironed out travel particulars; Roger was driving from Chicago and I would be flying; Roger would hit the highway at 0300 hrs on the 10th and I would board the plane from Missoula at 0700 hrs on the 11th.  Finally, we went over the tool requirements; what Frank didn't have Roger would bring with him and I would bring my tool bags, favorite hammer, try square and pneumatic stapler packed with my clothes in a suitcase.  We now had a definite plan and I began the mental preparations to fall back into construction mode.

Monday, November 11, 2013

0700 hrs - Missoula, Montana

Missoula International Airport

The first leg of my journey would take me to Denver and from there on a direct flight to Philadelphia.  I have never flown into or out of Missoula without the plane being completely full and I cannot explain why there are so many folks coming 'n going on a daily basis but it's always a fun experience.  Sitting next to me is a pretty big fella...we start visiting and I find out he's going to Joplin, Missouri to be part of a crew in a Habitat For Humanity project.  He's going to Joplin to help build a house for some poor slob he doesn't even know!

I couldn't believe it.  I looked at him and said, "Are you shittin' me?  I'm going to New Jersey to help build a woodworking shop for some poor slob I don't know!  Small damn world, ain't it?"

The plane touched down in Denver a full 45-minutes early and it's a stinking good thing it did because the gate to my connecting flight was half a league away - clear at the opposite end of the terminal - and if I hadn't been such a fast walker I wouldn't have had time to stop for a beer.

Here's an air travel newsflash for ya...if your flight arrives early it does not mean your connecting flight departs early.  Hardly, you'll be lucky if it leaves on time.  Sitting in my seat I watched people struggle down the aisle, stuffing things in the overhead bins then taking their assigned seats and soon it became very clear to me every seat was occupied.  Another thing clear to me was this girl wandering aimlessly up and down the aisle toting her carry-on luggage.  A full 30-minutes had passed beyond our scheduled departure time and someone makes an announcement on the intercom, "Attention passengers, will so-n-so please come to the front of the aircraft?"  Turns out United Airlines doesn't know how many seats they have on their airplanes and I can easily say that because this trollop is making her way back to the front and is escorted off the aircraft.  Looking back on it, I should have questioned the crew's mental deficiencies on why it took 30-minutes for them to determine all the seats were taken yet there's still a passenger walking around.

I got right to business and started drilling my seat mates for information.  The guy on my left is a purchasing agent for some big food distribution company headquartered in Las Vegas who provides all of the hotels and casinos with their food stuffs.  The neighbor to my right is a geek from Dish Network and his New Mexico section handles the regional subscriber channels.  Soon as I heard that I had to ask.

"Ohh, so you're the asshole responsible for eliminating my National PBS channel from the entire grid and didn't bother telling the subscribers of that channel change?

"Yes.  No!  I mean, maybe in a sorta like way.  Listen, I just put 'em on and take 'em off when I'm told.  Who the hell are you, anyway?"

"I am who I say I am."  I wagged a finger at him, "Don't you fuck with my channels again!"

Monday, November 11, 2013

1610 hrs - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Philadelphia International Airport

Our plane landed and I scooted through baggage claim like a breeze but it was the moment I stepped outside of the terminal when fear did prevail; there were two lanes for picking up passengers; bus stops, cab stops and stops for stopping stops.  Beyond all that was a huge parking lot.

"Great,"  I said out loud, "Where in the deep blue funk am I supposed to be so Frank and Roger can find me?" I decided the median between the two lanes was best and there I would stand, alone until a young, pretty gal with a two-year-old walks up and takes a seat on the bench.

"Hi,"  I looked down at her and smiled, "Pardon me, I've been standing here for ages, do you have any food and water?"

"Noooo, I don't, sorry.  Is someone supposed to pick you up?"

"Yeah, but my flight arrived really late and I don't know if they've already been here and left or...?"

"Ohh, my stars!  You poor thing...how long have you been waiting?"

I looked at my watch, "Ahh, going on three minutes now, may I use your cell phone, please?"

Monday, November 11, 2013

1622 hrs - Somewhere in Pennsylvania

On The Road To Sicklerville, New Jersey

Being the geek that he is, I was not surprised to hear Frank had been monitoring the flight's status and adjusted his pick-up time  accordingly.  I threw the suitcase in the back of the truck and the three of us prepared to have a pleasant ride and conversation on the journey back to his house.

"So, Frank,"  I said looking around the inside as I buckled up in the back seat, "Did you rent this truck or steal it from a dealership this morning?"

"What?  Noooo, this truck is seven-years-old, I keep all my vehicles this clean."  Roger is up front giggling - I could tell because his head was bobbing up 'n down.

Operation Explode Head - Phase Two;  Complete

Monday, November 11, 2013

1642 hrs - Sicklerville, New Jersey

Residence of Frank Romeo

I stowed my suitcase in a large pull behind camper behind the house, which would serve as my headquarters for the next nine days.  For the next nine days, after dinner and just before we turned in for the night, Roger and I would sit in there and formulate our battle plan for the next new day.  Every night I would unfold the plans and our conversation went something like this...

"Ok, Roger, after we snap these lines you'll move over here to position Delta - DO NOT forget to take these measurements," I stabbed at the plans, "Here and here before moving, understood?"

I'm bullshittin' ya, all we did was sit in there and have a keen time laughing, joking and giving birth to new ways we could fuck with Frank's already oatmealed mind.

Roger arrived on Sunday; a full day before me, and him and Frank used that time to bring the concrete form into reality and when I got to the site there was only twenty feet of it to complete, which we did pretty much under the cover of darkness while Frank held the light.

I turned in right after dinner and the second I pulled the blanket over me I heard a very obnoxious b-e-e-e-e-e-p.  It was the sorta beep you hear from a microwave oven only more piercing, more annoying and more grating.  I leaped outta my rack and stood there wondering what in the hell it could be.  I waited.  I waited some more then a bit more and b-e-e-e-e-e-p, my ears followed it down near the floor to a glowing light.  I grabbed my flashlight, put my glasses on and got down on my knees to study the wretched thing.  "Carbon Monoxide Detector".

Guess what the camper is heated with?  Propane!  Guess what gives off carbon monoxide after it burns?  And here I am in a camper preparing to go to sleep and the carbon monoxide detector is sounding off!?  I'm not sure whether it's beeping to let me know it's working; meaning that it detects it or working as in, "I'm here doing my job!"

I laid back down and about 2am I couldn't stand it anymore.  Every five minutes the damn thing would sound off.  I got up and grabbed a chunk of paper towel and my Leatherman pliers and proceeded to pack that beeper's hole as tight as I could.

Lights, Camera, Action

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

0500 hrs - Sicklerville, New Jersey

Outside The Residence of Frank Romeo

Roger was quartered in the Royal Suite at rear of the camper; he had a really nice, poofy queen size bed with silk sheets and goose down pillows, a night stand and a closet to hang all his clothes.

At the opposite end of the camper was my room...the Slum Suite.  I had a nice one-inch-thick mattress to sleep on and the floor, by virtue of gravity, did a keen job of keeping my clothes heaped in the suitcase.  I used the kitchen sink as my night stand.   

I'm an early riser and the night before Frank gave me a remote to open the garage door because there was no way him or his wife, Kathy, would be up at that hour to unlock the door so I dressed and exited the camper quietly being sure to grab the remote and walked to the front of the house.

I stood there, pointed the remote at the door and pushed the large button.  Nothing.  There were two other buttons on it; I pushed each of them.  Nothing.  I then went through every combination; two smalls & large; large & two smalls.   Nothing.  I twirled around and tapped my heels.  Nothing.  I returned to the backyard to hear noise from within the camper indicating His Lordship had awakened.

The camper door opens, Roger exits and now we're both standing outside.  "Sorry, Roger, we're locked out.  Say, did you hear that beeping last night?"

"Yeah, for two fucking nights now."  His eyes looked like two huge grease zerks.  "What do you mean, 'locked out'?"  I then told him about what I did to the noise box and then what the remote wouldn't do. 

Presently, Frank comes out.  I look at Roger.  Roger looks at me.  We each look at Frank and both of us have issues.  It sounded like all the voices you'd expect to hear at the same time in an emergency storm shelter.  "Frank do you reali...Frank, can you explain to...Frank one of my goose down pillows has a pea in it."  I quickly put a stop to all of Roger's bitching and interrupted.

"Frank...,"  I said flinging open the camper door,  "Why is that goddamn thing in there beeping all night?"

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

0830 hrs - Sicklerville, New Jersey

Staring Out The Sliding Glass Door

After breakfast Frank went out to disable the beeper and then investigated why the remote opener wouldn't work.  While he's doing that, Roger and I are watching snow being blown all over the place by a fierce wind.  The look on Roger's face was priceless; it was the exact same look you'd expect someone to have immediately after realizing he had hit the lottery jackpot...along with 457,386 other people.

"Can you believe this, Joe?  Look at it out there!  We came all...this...way...to get SNOWED OUT!?!?!?"

"Ahhh, it ain't nuttin' but a thang, Roger.  Look..."  I said, handing him my handkerchief, then draped my arm over his right shoulder, "I realize you're a Union Man 'n all but us Montanan's are used to working in this shit so you stick with me and I'll pull ya through it, Ok?"

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

1030 hrs - Sicklerville, New Jersey

Framing Preparation Begins

Before I go much further it is important for you to understand that Frank has never done this sort of thing before.  Ohh, he has done some remodeling where you tear stuff out and put other stuff back in sort of thing but he has never built a building from the ground up.  So, from this point on, Frank has gone from being the homeowner to being...to being...well, our bitch.

I would not cotton much at all to living in New Jersey; it's a State where I have to question why it still exists as a State.  What it truly is, is a state of anarchy; no one does anything there that makes any sense.  So many stupid ass rules, so many things other states do but New Jersey refuses to do...ya know...things like pre-cut studs.  Here in Western Montana I can call Mikey at Western Building Center and get studs pre-cut for walls anywhere from 8' to 12' high.  New Jersey, I found out, doesn't have a clue what a pre-cut stud is.

So, there we are, outside in the blinding and drifting snow.  I'm cutting the wall studs down to the proper length.  Roger is making up wall corners and headers while I assemble the jacks.  Then I begin laying out the wall plates and Roger takes off to tidying up the form and begin laying the re-bar in the footings.

Have you ever experienced working with someone where you never have to wonder what that person is doing at any particular moment or bother to question whether it is being done right?  Roger would begin to say, "We need to get this detail fig..."  And I'd say, "Yeah, I'm all over it."  Or I'd say, "Roger, you know that man door is gonn..."  And he'd interrupt, "Yeah, I seen that in the plan, shift it 3" to the west."

The best way I can put it is thusly; a good team of carpenters is when you have a fun time at work; a great team of carpenters is when each of you are always two steps ahead of your partner AND you have a fun time at work.  This works both ways and I'll expound on this phenomena later on in my story.    

Around 1600 hrs the re-bar is almost finished and we're taking a break - we're are simply standing there, staring into the construction site and we're talking about fishing and camping and girls and kite flying and we see Frank walking up to us.  I give Roger the "look".

Frank is a great guy.  He's the sort of guy you really want on your side and you can rely on him no matter what is happening.  He's also the sort of guy you can have a lot of fun with...especially when his wits are frazzled.

He saddles up to us, "Hey guys, do you think I can call for the foundation inspection tomor..."

"Hang on a sec, Frank," I said, holding my hand up in a shushing gesture, "Roger, according to the plan Frank submitted to the Township we have to get the schmegulim of the transblatory in this footing just right."

"I know, Joe!,"  He said carrying on without missing a beat, "This is me you're talking to here!  I just can't shit it!"

"Well, get on it!"  And I turned my attention to Frank.

"Frank...yes, you may call for your foundation inspection anytime after 0800 hrs tomorrow."  And we watched as he did an immediate about face and raced back to the house and our conversation reverted.  "Man,"  I said, "I had no idea lump charcoal was so different from briquettes."

As the work day wound down we were precisely on Frank's schedule.  However, in less than two days we would have that schedule blown all to hell'n gone.

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

1830 hrs - Sicklerville, New Jersey

Sitting at the Romeo's Dining Table

Kathy, Frank's wife, knows food and certainly her way around a kitchen.  Every meal was an exciting affair; you never knew what you were going to be served.  And there is one thing definitely for sure at the Romeo household, you will never leave their table hungry.

We sat around the table and talked about the day's progress and what remained to do in the morning.  Fact was, there wasn't a single thing we could do other than wait for the inspection.

I turned in early to do some reading and shortly after I turned off the light Roger came in.  We visited a bit, mostly chattering about how well things are going and pretty soon the lights were turned out.

I waited about six minutes and I let out a loud, high pitched, "Beeeeeepppppp".

I felt the camper shaking from Roger laughing back there.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

0530 hrs - Sicklerville, New Jersey

The Construction Site

I woke up knowing the footing inspection was nigh so it made good sense to walk the site and make sure things were how the inspector wanted to see them.  I couldn't find a single thing wrong.

I went back to the camper and when I walked in I heard, "Good morning, asshole."

"Excuse me?  Asshole?  What did I do?"

I hear Roger back there laughing..."Nooo, I said Good Morning, Alice!"  From then on Roger was calling me Alice.

We're told the inspection would be between 0800 and 1200 hrs - yet here are three good people who might be standing around for hours and each of us knows we still have a lot of things to do.  We're trapped like rats; Frank can't leave to arrange for concrete tools and neither me nor Roger can leave in case the inspector has issues.

The inspector and his gadget pal showed up around 1100 hrs, looked at the form and footing then looked at us and said, "This must be a homeowner job."

I casted a quick glance at Roger and watched him run like a streak over to grab the stake maul, fixin' to pound the guy into a pulp.  I broadside tackled him and Frank is there saying, "Roger, cool yer jets...he means it's a helluva lot better job than he normally sees."

Now armed with our gold star we took off to nail down all the things we would need for tomorrow's concrete pour.  This stage was nothing less than crucial; we had to have everything lined out and be fully prepared because tomorrow there would be no less than eight people on the site to help with the concrete pour.

The last stop of the day was the tool rental store.  Due to the street structure in front of Frank's house, we were concerned about letting the concrete truck drive over the curb and possibly destroy the sidewalk.  Luckily, there are buggies you can rent; little motorized gizmos with a hopper that can dump its load of whatever it is you are buggying.

We're in the store only a few moments then Frank and Roger leave out the back door to go look at stuff.  Me, being the ubiquitous Boy Scout, I mosey up to the dude behind the counter and start to grill him for information.

"What time do you close?"

"5 PM."

"Every day?"

"No, Saturday's we clos..."

"I don't care about Saturdays.  What time do you open?"

"7 AM."

"Swell.  My buddy is out there," I pointed dramatically in his general direction, "Right this instant arranging to have two of your buggy gizmos delivered to our construction site.  I want you to put them on your list to be delivered first thing tomorrow morning.  Since the site is not more'n ten minutes from here I will expect you there no later than 0720 hrs."  I wagged a finger at him, "Don't make me come find you!"

Frank and Roger come back in and I watch Frank go up to make all the rental arrangements.  We're back in the truck heading home and I casually said, "So, Frank, are they bringing the bull float and handles with the buggies?"

He inhaled so hard the barometric pressure changed inside the truck.  "Shit,"  He yelled, banging on the steering wheel, "I forgot all about them!"  So, we turn around and go back.  Now, keep in mind we were in that store hardly eight minutes ago.  The very instant we turned into the store's parking lot I glance up at the truck's radio to see the time...it's 4:27...Frank parks the truck almost in front of the door.

Before he can shut the engine off I said, "Ohh, man, there's a sign on the window there that says, 'Today we're closing at 4:27!"

Frank tears outta his truck and races over to the window to read the sign, Roger is up front laughing his ass off, Frank looks back and snarls in my general direction and I'm sitting in the back seat wondering what I could possibly do for an encore.

Operation Explode Head - Phase Three; Complete

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

2200 hrs - Sicklerville, New Jersey

Inside the Camper - Pre-pour Jitters

We had been seated around the dining room table enjoying Kathy's scrumptious pork chops and scalloped potatoes while discussing tomorrow's game plan.  As far as we could determine everything was a go logistically.  What was bothering Roger and myself was the fact we were the only two who ever poured that much concrete before.  This slab was 20' x 24' and it was definitely a size that should be poured with four experienced concrete guys.

"Whadaya think, Joe?  Can we do this?"

"I dunno, Rog, we're gonna have eight maybe ten guys out there tomorrow and once we start placing concrete we ain't gonna have any time to be giving on-the-spot classroom instructions and we both know you can't teach about something that ain't there."

"Yeah, I know.  If we pour a 4 1/2 slump we'll be exhausted keeping up with it and quite possibly lose it and if we pour a 5+ we'll be on it all goddamn night."

"A'yup and the really fun part is you'n me knowing when that exact moment arrives that neither of us can do anything about it."

One of the things about being a Montanan is that you are extremely compass oriented in that you know which directions are where at any given moment and not only that, you know how many miles it is from one point to another.  For instance, I could be standing in the middle of a large grocery store and a tourist could walk up to me and say, "Pardon me, do you know where Orchard Lane is?"

"You betcher biscuits  I do!  Go south on 93 thirteen miles, turn west on Round Butte Rd. for nine miles, then south on Orchard Lane."

I wanted to humor Roger up a little bit so I pointed at the side of the camper with the door in it and asked, "That's north right?"

"I think so, why?"

"Well, you're standing east of me."

"So....?"

"So...you're in the way of me being able to spread out my prayer rug."

I can't begin to tell you how delightful it is to watch a man who is six foot-two standing there in his long-handled underwear laughing like a hyena.

If You Do It Wrong It Will Kill You

For those of you who have ever been in a position where all eyes are cast upon you and all expectations are placed squarely on your shoulders then you will be able to grasp the severity of our current situation.  In fact, to put it into perspective, I want you to think about Edward John Smith, Captain of the Titanic.

The First Officer comes up and announces, "Captain, our ship is sinking."

"Yeah, us slamming into that iceberg was a big hairy bummer, huh?"

"What would you have us do?"

"Nothing we can do...we wait."

The favorable outcome of this day pivoted around the arrival of hands; we had to have them there before we could call for a cement truck and before we could make that call we needed to have the buggys and extraneous other items on the site.  So many little things yet so big in the entire scope of the thing.

Frank, Roger and myself are sitting at the table.  They're both eating pork roll and egg sandwiches - I had declined breakfast.  In between bites Frank asks, "What are you thinking, Joe?"

"I'm thinking I picked the wrong day to quit sniffing glue."

Roger spewed coffee out of his nose and Frank garbuchuckled part of his sandwich.

I'll be honest, my stomach was in knots and by the way Roger was eating I determined either he wasn't worried or he had no stomach to be tied in knots.

At precisely 0700 hrs Kathy comes into the dining room, clears her throat a bit and announces a truck is outside unloading something.

The buggies and other items were now on site and that fact allowed me to untie one knot - super...only forty-five more to go!

When I was younger my grandfather used to tell me strange things about concrete.  One of them was, "If you do it right you can rest easy in a couple of hours.  If you do it wrong it'll kill you."  Another was, "There's a funny thing about concrete...you don't have much time to change your mind."  Or he would say, "You don't work concrete, it works you."

Pretty soon hands began showing up - Owen was the first to present then Max, Dave, Bernie and Frank's dad walked onto the site.   We're now eight strong.

Roger calls me over for a parley.  "What do you think?  4 1/2 to start and see how it goes?"

"Yeah, we can have the driver add more if we need it.  It's supposed to get fairly warm today so we need to watch that."

What Roger was asking about was the slump.  In concrete speak the term 'slump' can be easily defined by how high a mound of concrete can be before it settles down a certain distance under its own weight.  In other words, the less water the less it will collapse.   But, there's a trade off in that - the less water in there then you have less time to work it before it begins to set up.  The more water in there will add to the time before you can begin to work it.  It's all a very convoluted and sordid affair.

"We've nursed this puppy long enough,"  I said, looking around at our helpers and equipment, "We're ready as we're gonna be, tell Frank to call for a truck."

At 1000 hrs the first truck arrived.  Max and Frank were the buggy drivers and Max was the first one to deliver a buggy load.  Although it was a 4 1/2 slump it was also mixed hot.  Hot, meaning mixed with hot water, which means it sets up faster.  Now I'm royally pissed off because we have ten yards of concrete out there sitting in a truck in the street and the buggies have to travel 250 feet round trip.  I walk over to Frank and ask, "Did you order this mud hot?"

No, Joe, I ordered it exactly like Roger told me."

I chase down Roger, "Did you tell Frank to order this hot?"

"No way, it ain't that cold out here!"

I then storm over to the driver.  "Hey, you!  Who told you to mix this hot?"

"We always do that this time of year."

"Ohh, yeah!  Well lemme tell you something, Skippy, if I wanted it hot then I goddamn well would have ordered it that way!  You best be radioing the next driver and tell him to deliver it the way I order it, you got that?"

"Yes, sssssir,"  He stammered."

"Now you take the rest of this load down to 5 1/2."  and I waited there for him to add the water, spin the drum and watched the next run slide down the chutes.  All this time our two buggy drivers are sitting there listening to me and waiting - they're also wondering if I was about to do bodily harm to the driver.

"Tell the next truck to mix it a 5, nothing more, nothing less, got it?"

I go back to Roger and he says, "Well...?"

"Well, we get the rest of this at 5 1/2 and the next load at 5."

"Good call.  I'm surprised you didn't kill him."

I turned and walked away saying, "Today ain't over yet."

Frank and Max were superb at shuttling in the buggy loads; neither of them had hit the center screed rail; they were in and out of the form lickity split and the mud was being placed exactly where it needed to be.  Now it was time to start screeding one half of the pour.

Roger and myself started with a student hovering over our shoulder.  As we worked the screed back and forth and dragging the mud behind us, we instructed our student how to do it and what was happening and to pay attention to the entire field.  Two other hands were there to rake back excess mud and to fill in any void areas along the screed.  Meanwhile, the buggys kept coming.

Finally, at 1730 hrs, under lighting provided by work lamps, the slab was finished with the steel trowels.  We covered the slab with a tarp then hosed off the tools.

It was 7 1/2 hours of non-stop action and the only thing I could hear in my head was Pops, my grandfather, saying, "You don't work concrete, it works you."

After dinner we went out and looked at the tarp.  I don't know what Roger was thinking but I know what my thought was, "Boy, I'm sure glad the tarp is hiding from me now what I expect to see in the morning."

Then I remembered my absolute favorite thing my grandfather used to say about concrete, "If you fuck it up they can always make more."

"Thanks, Pops..."  I whispered to myself, "...but we don't have that option here today."

Where Do They Get These Guys?

Friday, November 15, 2013

0530 hrs - Sicklerville, New Jersey

On The Site - The Framing Begins

There's a good thing about waking up before everyone else; you get to go out and do all sorts of shit and nobody has a clue you're out there doing it or what it is you are doing.  Even better, you can't be stopped from doing it.

I walked over to the slab with sheer indifference.  Last night before turning in I had made up my mind that it was going to be however it turned out to be.  I pulled the tarp from the slab like you would expect a piss poor magician to do on his first tablecloth trick.  I pulled it so very slowly, keeping my eyes wide open fully expecting to see a disaster and since I had so much invested in it I certainly didn't want to be cheated out the moment.

After pinching myself to make certain I wasn't still sleeping I stood there amazed - amazed and dumbfounded at the same time.  It wasn't quite perfect but it was goddamn close to it.  There were a couple of places where the surface didn't get steeled and two maybe three low spots; all-in-all it was good enough for the girls Roger and I go out with.

It was still green as a gourd and soft as a mouse's ear so I didn't dare walk on it, but with the tarp off the surface it will set up faster and in about three or so hours the concrete will have cured enough for us to walk and work on it.

So, I started stripping the forms.  Luckily Roger used duplex nails so a wrecking bar did a splendid job in tearing it apart.  By the time Frank and Roger were motivating I had good portion of it stripped and they came out to help finish the rest.

There is another peculiar thing about concrete; no matter how precise you have the form the concrete end result won't be the dimension you want it to be.  We took some diagonal measurements and found it to be less than 1/8" out of square.  Upon seeing that I yelled out, "Where do they get these guys!?"  That was when I had to explain to Roger the background of that statement.

See, here in the Mission Valley we have this group of special people who are members of Mission Mountain Enterprises - they are folks who are mentally deficient and every morning these people open their business doors in three different towns - it's called The Folk Shoppe.  Basically, they are second hand stores where normal people bring in their items as donations for the helmet heads to sell - it's a lot like the Salvation Army only the bells these people are swinging ain't ringing too loud.  Ok, so this one day Jeff and I are working on a project and something came out almost perfect (as things usually do when we're working together) and I yelled out, "Goddamn, where do they get these guys?!"  Jeff yells back, "From the Folk Shoppe!"

Aside from being an online IRC pal, I got to appreciate my real-life pal, Owen, a lot more.  We had never personally met but we hit it off instantly and him and I got along like peas 'n carrots.  I soon discovered there wasn't a stinking thing he won't at least try to do and by 'try' I mean to say will do.  In fact, all of the guys helping on this project were of the same caliber; each of them took instructions and did every phase in which they were involved without falter.

After breakfast Roger and I determined we should not use the slab to frame on just yet so we used some of the form boards as a ground table and framed the walls on them.  We did the north and south walls first - framing them in halves to reduce the weight and carried them over and set them down onto their anchor bolts.  By doing it this way enough time had passed to allow the concrete to cure enough to frame the east and west walls on the slab.  At 1730 hrs the last of the four walls were standing tall and with that little bit of victory we called it a day.

We are now one full day ahead of schedule.

Before I go much further I have to take you back a bit to around 1300 hours.  I look over at the house and see Kathy coming out of and going back into the house on a regular basis; she's out there fiddling with the Bar-B-Que - she would come out to check on whatever she was doting over then go back in the house and this activity of hers went on for five hours.  In fact, at one point I wondered if she wasn't walking back and forth because she was forgetting what she was out there doing. At dinner I found out what she was caring for; a spiced pork roast that was fit for every King across the land.

It was so amazing, so tasty and so oozing with goodness that I was able to witness first hand exactly how bottomless the pit of Roger's stomach truly was.

I looked over at Frank and said, "Hey Frank, do you have a hand truck?"

His attention instantly peaked because he wanted to know what plan I was formulating for tomorrow's activities that required a hand truck.

"You know I do, Joe, I got two of 'em...one with solid tires and the other has air tires.  Which one you gonna need?"

"Ohhh, whichever one I can use to wheel Roger outta here that won't collapse."

Apparently the conveyer belt shuttling food to Roger's plate allowed some of the juices to spill over.  "Look at 'im, Frank..."  I said pointing with my fork, "...He's starting to eat your table!"   

Saturday, November 16, 2013

0800 hrs - Sicklerville, New Jersey
On The Site - We Are GO For Roof

Today is going to be a very busy day.

Last night prior to going to bed Roger and I laid out command status; he would be the roof crew coordinator.  His job was to make sure the people assigned to him were doing exactly what he tells them to do and to make sure it's being done safely.

I would be the cut man and ground crew coordinator.  My job was to make certain I was two steps ahead of Roger by supplying whole and/or cut pieces and keeping the ground crew busy with other things and assigning them to different tasks when that moment presented itself.

Essentially, Roger's job was to build the roof.  My job was to see he did so with minimal effort or worry and to make sure people weren't standing around fondling themselves.

Because of Owen's cheerful and outgoing attitude and his exuberance to do anything asked of him, it was a no brainer for me to make him my assistant.  His job was to write any of the calls down in case I was busy doing something else, move materials and deliver cut items to both the roof and ground crews.  Let me put it this way, between Owen and I, we were keeping eight other people busy all day long.

Everyone was working like rented mules.  Brandon and TJ were running building wrap, Bernie and Ben were working with Roger, Jerry was nailing on hurricane clips (inside and outside) and fell in love with the palm nailer.  TJ was backfilling and grading the slab.  Frank Sr. and Frankie were doing catch-up work and as all of this was going on, Kathy was super busy getting ready to feed ten hungry men.

While I'm watching everyone else I'm especially watching Roger...like a hawk.  I'd see him get to a certain point and I'd yell up, "What's that next dim, Rog?"  And Owen and I would have it ready for him before he was ready for it.  Or Owen would see a hole in a wall ready to be filled in and he would run over there, non-prodded mind you, to get the dims and bring them back.  In the very true sense, we were a classical concert orchestra.

Everyone and I do mean everyone, took instructions and performed them without question and with complete honor and diligence.  The whole day was nothing short of bliss.  By this time it was getting pretty dark but Roger refused to quit until the roof was ready for shingles (he's one stubborn sonuvabitch, that Roger) so while him and his boys were tidying up the roof I had mine picking up tools and cleaning up the site and at this precise moment we are three full days ahead of schedule.

And The Curtain Begins To Fall

Sunday, November 17, 2013

0700 hrs - Sicklerville, New Jersey
Act III - The Transformation Of An Ogre

To people who aren't carpenters and they look at a newly framed building the thing they see is something that isn't complete.  However, through a carpenter's eyes he sees the bare bones of a building; a skeleton if you will; and, like everybody knows, strong bones are needed for a body to function well and all good carpenters will take a goodly amount of time inspecting their creation for problems.

Roger and I were standing outside the sliding glass door enjoying our coffee in preparation to do the 'walk around' looking for anything that may have been missed and at that exact moment in the space and time continuum is when I discovered how anal Roger was about certain things.

See, I am a Rebel and I do things differently and on purpose and I do them that way mainly to piss people off.  In fact, you may consider me to be the World's premier poster child of Nonconformity.

Earlier I mentioned building wrap?  Well, they come in rolls that are nine feet long and most of them will have a company name on it - think of it as being cheap advertisement and when Brandon and TJ were doing the building wrap I walked over to them to have a word.  "Hey, when you guys get to the east gable end, I want you to run the building wrap with the name upside-down."

I could hear the question before it was uttered.  "Why?"

"Because, it is the side most visible from the street."  It was also the side immediately visible from the house.

So we're standing there, drinking our coffee and Roger's eyes are still foggy.  We're chatting away and pretty soon he looks up, takes another sip of coffee, sees the printed name is upside-down and spews out coffee.

"What the h...h...he..hell is that?"  

Me, acting all innocent like said, "What?"

He pointed with a finger shaking like he was suffering from advanced stages of Parkinson's, "They...they...they put the building wrap on upside-fuckin'-down!"

"Yeah, cool ain't it!"  I said taking a sip of coffee, "I told 'em to do it.  It's my way of sticking it to the man."

He turned his head, glared at me and said, "You're a tool!"

"C'mon Rog, you know you love me."

Hands started showing up and things got real busy real fast - the place was like a beehive - Roger and Frankie hung the man door and when they went around the corner to begin setting the windows Frank Sr. and other son Chris were like runners poised on their starting blocks to begin the siding.  While all that was going on Brandon and I are shingling the roof with Owen and TJ acting as pack mules bringing bundles of shingles up the ladder to us and when they weren't doing that they were helping the other four guys.

We were very close to finishing the south side of the roof and I could see the shingles were beginning to suffer; they were getting hot and scuffed which meant it was time to get off of it - typically I would move to the other side but I could tell Brandon was starting to feel the pain of working on a 4/12 pitch roof.

"Your legs and ankles giving you grief are they?"

"Yeah, back, too."

"Alrighty then, you and me will get off this hot skillet,"  I said pointing, "There's plenty of stuff we can be doing down yonder."

When Roger and Frank finished setting the windows they moved straight to the brake to begin bending the metal for the fascia and other trim areas.

By day's end the building had its door and windows in place, three of the exterior surfaces had siding on them and soffits covered and at that moment we were five full days ahead of schedule.

Monday, November 18, 2013

0700 hrs - Sicklerville, New Jersey
Breakfast In The Big House

Journal entry: A week haz past us'ns by...a week'n den sum since we wuz kaptured and made inta slaves but Massa is good to us'ns.  He feeds us'ns propper en he gives us'ns a plaze to lay our heds.  Massa is gud to Toby 'n Big Sam preddy soon knock come on da shack doh 'n Toby opens da doh and it be Massa he say fo us'ns ta come inta da big house

Frank informs us we're taking the day off and we're going on a road trip!  A split second had hardly passed after that announcement and I look over to Roger who is sitting at the other end of the table and I see him instantly begin to pound on his laptop keyboard.  I walk over and peer over his shoulder to see he is in our chat room and he had just typed...

"Pharaoh is letting the people go!  We're getting the day off!"

Monday, November 18, 2013

0900 hrs - 2900 Glassboro Cross Keys Rd, Glassboro, NJ
Ohh Fazzio, Fazzio Where Forth Art Thou Fazzio?

On our drive out of town Frank informs us our first stop will be at a place called Fazzio's and then categorically stated, "Wait'll you two see this place, you'll be in hog heaven!"

I remember when Home Depot finally came to Missoula and for a number of years prior to that I would read about other woodworkers' exploits in those stores and their tales left me wishing Podunk, Montana would get a Home Depot so I could experience the thrill of having so much stuff in one building.  Well, lemme tell ya something, it finally came here and I was impressed but Home Depot ain't shit compared to Fazzio's!  In fact, compared to Fazzio's, Home Depot is a run down building with one shelf that has one lonely pack of rusty screws sitting on it.

Driving into the parking lot I was staring at the place like a kid seeing Disney World for the first time - it was enormous.  We got out of the truck, I grabbed Roger's hand and we started skipping across the parking lot singing the theme song from , "The Sound Of Music."

I couldn't believe it, "Roger, look at this fastener aisle!"  It was both sides of one whole aisle - every fastener you can think of.  While Roger was getting drunk in the power tool section I got light-headed simply walking down the hand tools.  And all the time this was going on Frank kept saying, "Didn't I tell ya?  And there's more shit out back!  You two can spend a week in here!"

"Week my ass,"  I said instantly, "Where's the owner, you reckon he's hiring?!"    

Our day of fun was almost as busy as being at the shop build site.  We travelled to two others states; Pennsylvania and Delaware and I got to meet another woodworking colleague from our chat room.  Delaware is home to Cosmin Dini and although being a geek he's a pretty damn good woodworker.  We also got to meet John, a somewhat nefarious character who used to be the main mechanic of racing legend Big Daddy Don Garlits.

So, there we are, deep in the Ghetto of Wilmington, Delaware where sits a building paralleling a set of railroad tracks.  The building, a brownstone structure whose exterior is saturated with smoke residue from decades of coal being burned in nearby furnaces, was originally a firehouse in the early 1900's.  Today it is an auto garage where John continues his trade as a mechanic.  Turns out John and Frank are buddies and since John is a packrat, Frank finds out John has an old Unisaw for sale and since Frank is in the market for a good tablesaw we're stopping at John's place so I can cast judgment on a saw currently priced at $650.00.

John begins to lead us down a street heading away from the brownstone building - it's a street that has ZERO activity - there is no one walking around, there are no cars moving...shit, there aren't any birds chirping or dogs barking!  Now I'm in alarm mode and I let Roger get in front of me and as he passed I said, "Keep yer wits about ya, we might get jumped - we're safe, I know Karate and a couple other Japanese words."

Roger gave me a nervous sounding giggle - he was feeling a little uneasy as well.

The saw was old and it was together enough to warrant being a keeper but John was firm on the price so I advised Frank to pass on it and next thing I know we're on the Delaware Memorial Bridge crossing over the Delaware River heading back to Massa's place.  I'm still relegated to the back seat and Roger is up in the passenger seat acting as Navigator; I want emphasize the word acting because Roger couldn't navigate the way out of his own bathroom.

I'm looking out the window, visually capturing the floating vessels on the river and wondering what cargo they have on board and watching the Sun setting beyond them.  Roger points that way and says, "That's north, right?"

Frank had another surprise in store for us (he's a great secret keeper that Frank) and it was getting fairly late.  By that time of day Frank had us apprised of the evening meal so Roger and I ceased to wonder what would be served for dinner after the first night.  Ya know, it's sorta like getting on an airplane and you randomly pick a stewardess and ask, "What is the Captain's name?"  If she comes right out and says his name then you can bet he's been flying that airplane for a spell.  Same thing with Kathy, I wouldn't dare walk up to her and say, "Hey, Doll, what's for dinner?"

We get home and discover we're going out to a real-life, honest injun, for realzies and trulies New Jersey diner!  I had always heard about them, I had always read about them, I had always seen them on movies or TV shows but I had never been to one.

"Frank..."  I said, trying to sound as serious as I could, "I'm just a carpenter, I didn't bring no suit 'n tie for this diner!"  And Roger picks up the ball, "Yeah, Frank, me neither, we don't wanna embarrass ya!  McDonald's is fine by us, ain't that right, Joe?"

"Yeah, if you can't afford to make lasagna then we understand.  McDonald's is just dandy by me...Easy Ole Joe...that's what the working girls call me."

The Cast Takes Their Bows

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

0830 hrs - Sicklerville, New Jersey
Breaking The Barrier

From the very beginning Roger and I had made promises to each other; each of us were fully aware of our individual capabilities and each of us knew what those limitations were, which were practically none; and to do the best we could in the time we had and to really, really do our best to make Frank's head explode.  Time was running out and I was getting desperate.

Roger was quite clear...belay that, Roger went to the trouble of building a soapbox, kicked it out in front of me, then climbed upon it to state his total ignorance of roofing and his absolute displeasure in having me teach him something he didn't have the slightest inclination to learn.

"Joe, I like you, I really do,"  He said with exasperation in his voice, "Isn't there something else around here I can do than get up there with you and shingle that roof?"

"No, there isn't.  Look around ya.  Frankie is putzing with the metal trim and his dad is back there fiddling with siding.  The place is cleaned up and looking nice.  We'll be up there and off in four hours but if you wanna stay down here and pretend to do busy work then no problem, it ain't like I never shingled a roof by myself before."

I watched his eyes droop.  "You're a dork, ya know that?"

We bounced up there and began to have us a keen time - shingles were flying on (both of us were armed with roofing nail guns) and down below I could hear the banter of the ground monkeys doing their chores.  And it was about at this moment when I took a quick survey of the roof remaining to be covered and the bundles of shingles we had left to be opened and I determined we had more than enough.  But I had another card to play.

During the whole project either Frank or his wife, Kathy had made so many trips to Lowe's or Home Depot that I was surprised his township didn't open up and pave an express lane for them.  Indeed, hardly would one of them get back did the vehicle's tires have a chance to cool down before they were climbing in it and going back again.

Roger and I had less than two courses of shingles to lay down and I say to him, "Watch this..."

There is a gap at the peak of the roof where the ridge vent would ultimately go and looking through the gap I can see Frankie below working on bending his metal trim.

I yelled down through the gap, "Hey Frank...?"

"Yeah, Joe?"

"We're gonna be about two bundles of shingles short up here."

Roger loses it...snot flies out of his nose he's laughing so hard...and then he puts both his hands together and draws them away in an explosion type action.

We turn around to sit on our assess while Frank clambers up the ladder spitting and sputtering and we hear him the whole way saying, "No fucking way, I measured that roof twice, there's no fucking way I could be that far of...."

Operation Explode Head - Phase Four; Complete - Mission Successful!

We were off the roof by 1230 hrs and the rest of the day was spent finishing the remaining siding.  I walked by Frank Sr. and asked how his end of the siding was going, "Fine,"  He replied,  "Except Frankie keeps fucking up the cuts, I think I should fire him."

At 1800 hrs the last of the walls was sided and the job was as far along as Roger and I could take it.  Both of us were leaving the coming morning; Roger driving back at 0300 hrs and me on a plane from Philadelphia at 1020 hrs.

The Show Ain't Over 'til The Fat Lady Sings

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

0230 hrs - Sicklerville, New Jersey
Inside The Camper

I hear Roger get up and begin moving about - he had packed most of his gear the night before - but in the darkness surrounding us at that early hour he was having troubles and he was fumbling around like a drunk hippopotamus in a kid's wading pool.

"Ohhh, for shit sake turn the lights on already, I gots me this thin blankie Massa gave me to cover muh eyes so's I don hasta look atcher chicken like legs."

"You're a peach, ya know that, Alice?  A royal peach."

We said our goodbyes and he was out the door.  When daylight cracked I was up and out to survey the project and in that wee morning hour, walking around in the crisp early fall air, I reflected on the past ten days.

Yes, it was work but at that time in my life I needed the vacation and I consider it an honor and my privilege to have met, lived with and worked with so many fine people.

During the frenzy (and when I thought about it) I video taped some of the action and I regret to say I did not perform very well in that regard.  However, what I did manage to capture might help you in grasping the scope and undertaking of this project and this story.

And Then The Fat Lady Sang

I am not a lazy person, I am not a procrastinator, nor am I a shirker.  However I have recently learned to regret my failure to complete something so seemingly easy to do; like finishing a story in a timely fashion.  I mean, three damn years!?  Rome was built quicker than that, wasn't it?

My friend and our friend, Roger, passed away on May 3rd, 2016.  Among other things I knew Roger to enjoy was a good story read.  I'm certainly not saying this is a good story.  I'm saying I'm sorry I didn't complete it soon enough for him to read it, pass judgment on it and then have the joy of him telling me, "Joe, you're nut ball."

I will miss my friend but I will always have him one story away.