MY FIRST EXPERIENCE IN “RESTORATION”

 

I’ve been running construction crews since I was eighteen, and it’s not because I’m a natural-born overlord. Leader, yes. It goes with being an Aries, I guess. I marshaled all the kids in nursery school to break into the garage, liberating the tricycles and scooters at age four, so they put me in with the ‘babies’ as punishment. I marshalled them, too, and taught them to bring me juice.

When Hurricane Hugo hit Georgetown, South Carolina, I was given a passel of ranch hands and told to do a major upgrade to the 1810 Mansfield Plantation. Not a real ‘restoration,’ mind you, but a lot of painting, carpentry, masonry and plaster work. The job was done beautifully before deadline, mostly by guys who knew more about cows than anything else.

I’ve run plumbers, roofers, electricians, bricklayers, carpenters, and every craftperson in the restoration business, often all at once. I’m a natural-born organizer, so I’ve figured out the tricks to organize people. Some cajoling, a lot of detailed instruction, a little threatening, kudos when jobs come together, and a lot of asking how they do things.

Even if I already know how.

“Show me how you do that!” is sometimes all it takes to get the best from my subs. Telling jokes works too.

 

I was hired as an apprentice carpenter right out of high school, which is a very cool story I’ll write some other time. We build custom houses in the growing city of Austin, Texas in the late seventies, and I enjoyed it immensely. I was taught the value of craftsmanship by my mentor Mike Foerster, who set me straight by using the same techniques I use today. If I screwed up, he’d not let me forget it until I did it right, then, he’d congratulate me. My ego soared and I never stopped getting better at my tasks.

 

This mantra still resonates in my work.

 

I tired of building new houses after less than a year, and while sitting around drinking beer with my older brother’s friends (I had just turned eighteen and could now buy beer!), I was told of a possible job in Austin’s ever-growing downtown.

“They’re tearing down Antone’s,” Keith said as we sat on his porch. Antone’s was (and still is, though in a new location) a famous blues club in an ancient block of dilapidated buildings on Sixth Street long before Sixth Street in Austin meant anything but winos, bums, and very inexpensive prostitutes. “It’s PeeWee Franks that’s doing it. They’re taking down the whole block. I hear they’re hiring.”

That was enough for me.

I’d never been to Antone’s but I sure liked the idea of getting in on the demolition of an entire block.

 

Two days later I rode my mo-ped (wasn’t I stylish?) to the site and marveled at the progress.

‘Only been at it two days and they’re knocking down the backs of the old buildings,’ I thought, noting a cadre of old Black men cleaning mortar off bricks. ‘Hope I don’t have to do that,’ I mused.

I’d slung my nail belt over my shoulder, complete with speed square, 25-foot tape measure, pencils, razor knife, and 22-ounce Craftsman hammer. I had no idea what tools I’d need, but these were the Badges of my trade.

I walked up to the bulldozer and yelled out to the squat, rotund man in the driver’s seat. This was PeeWee Franks, whom, I found out later, was one of the most famous demolition men in Texas. He wore a porkpie hat, sported a stubby green cigar, and needed to shave his gray stubble. I couldn’t see it, but I knew he had a crew-cut.

“I hear you’re hiring!” I called out over the roar of the yellow monster under his butt. He pointed to the other side of the site.

“See that tall drink of water over there? That’s Phillip! Talk to him!”

I saluted and skirted the caterpillar and stumbled across the debris towards a guy in a plaid shirt and brand-new jeans. I saw pickup trucks pulling in and other workers loading salvaged building materials into them.

“So they sell to the public,” I said out loud.

I looked up at the tall guy again and saw him smiling broadly at me as I approached. As soon as I was in earshot, he pointed at me and called out

“YOU’RE HIRED!!”

I was still fifty feet away.

Once within talking distance, I had to ask.

“You don’t even know my name,” I said with a grin. I admit it was the fastest piece of hiring I’d ever seen. ‘There must be a catch.’

And there was.

“You’re the only one that brought any tools!” he laughed.

I knew my trades badge would come in handy, but not THAT way.

“I’m Jim,” I said, shaking his hand. “I’m a carpenter.”

He returned my handshake with gusto and said

“Phillip. I’m the boss of the workers. Go upstairs and tell Wayne that he’s fired, and you’re taking over as my lieutenant.” He pointed down the alley towards the street, and I went that way.

“What the hell have I gotten myself into?” I said aloud. I’d never fired anybody in my life, much less someone I hadn’t even MET. I took a right on the sidewalk and realized there were a LOT of doors to LOT of individual buildings on the same block. Each building looked like a different architect designed it, and they ranged form brick to metal facades on brick to hand-cut limestone and ancient, desiccated wood. Each adjoined the other, with brick and stone party walls dividing them.

I didn’t know it at the time, but most of this building was built in 1880, which made it the oldest commercial building in Austin.

I chose a stairway in the center of the building after hearing banging and yelling from above, and upon reaching the hallway at the top, I found Wayne and his crew in an adjoining room.

It took me almost a minute to figure out what was going on, what with the swinging of pickaxes, plaster and wood chunks flying, glass breaking, and flooring cracking. I’m not going to mention the profanity, unintelligible call-outs from worker to worker, smells of rotting building materials and mildew, gaping holes in the ceiling and roof, and serious challenges to safety.

Okay, I did mention it.

Most of these guys wore threadbare clothes, reeked of serious body odor, were missing teeth and fingers, and a few had only one shoe. Some looked Hispanic, some were Black, and the white guys were so dirty I just guessed at their ethnicity.

But each had a long-handled tool with a thick, three-foot handle that resembled a wide-bladed pickaxe on one side and a small actual axe on the other side. And all of them were swinging them wildly, bashing plaster walls, door and window trim, glass windows and transoms, flooring and studs.

One guy stood out from the rest; a wild-eyed demon with long, stingy hair and a more violent attitude than the rest. But by the way the others asked if they should bash this or that, I figured this was Wayne.

They all stopped their destruction for a second when I first walked in, then resumed swinging the tools that they referred to as ‘grubbing hoes.’

I walked up to the demon and got in his face. Not to intimidate him; I was eighteen and he was easily in his twenties, and though he was dirty and bigger than me, I had my orders. Also I couldn’t be heard over the bashing without getting in close.

“Are you Wayne?” I asked.

“Yeah! What about it?!!” He bowed up.

Everyone stopped dead in mid-swing.

“Phillip sent me up to take over.” I waited for the explosion, but it didn’t come.

Instead, Wayne threw down his grubbing hoe.

“It’s about fracking time!” he yelled, running his dirty fingers through his dirtier hair. He also didn’t use the word ‘fracking,’ if you get my drift. “I can’t teach these bozos ANYTHING!”

The group muttered and laughed, then they looked at me.

‘Guess I’d better say something,’ I thought.

“Okay, you guys! Go to lunch!”

It was always my favorite part of the day, lunch. Besides, it was noon.

As one, they dropped their tools and shuffled out the room, down the hall, and down the stairs. Only Wayne remained.

“I don’t never take lunch,” he said.

“Well, I gotta work some things out with Phillip, and I don’t want any more destruction up here.” I was channeling my mentor Mike Foerster; HE wouldn’t want to see all this pretty trim destroyed. My job had been putting IN trim, and I somehow knew this wasn’t what Phillip wanted, despite his giving me no instructions whatsoever. “Just what was it you were trying to teach these guys?” I asked. Wayne snorted.

“To take out the doors and windows and stuff. But they just started swingin’ and hittin’…

“So were you,” I grinned. He grinned back

‘One up,’ I thought.

“Yeah, I was kinda gettin’ into it once they started. Look, I’m gonna go have a smoke.”

“Do you think any of those guys’ll come back?” I asked.

“THEM?” he laughed. “Not likely. They’re all street.”

“And you?”

“I ain’t street no more.”

“You wanna work? Not bashing, but really taking things out right.”

“What, with these?” He pointed at the grubbing hoes. The guy had a point.

“Just come back in half an hour if you want to work. An hour would be better. I’m staying. I’ll talk to Phillip about tools. And decent help.”

“Good fracking luck,” Wayne waved his way down the hall.

 

Phillip was not surprised when I told him what I thought.

“I saw the pickup trucks picking up bricks and studs and the like when I came in,” I said. “But that stained trim upstairs is really nice, and those bums were bashing it to pieces with these grubbing hoes. You want to get top dollar for that?”

I was a salesman since age seven, selling anything I could market to my neighbors in the suburbs. Being a cute redheaded tyke with a gift of gab helped. Now I had to sell Phillip on my keeping what might be a good job that hadn’t even started. But I needed tools. And I doubted I could train these winos and druggie bums, for that was the crew I’d sent to lunch.

“I’d give these guys tools, but Wayne’s just off the street, and the rest are completely street. Where am I gonna get workers that’ll work cheap and do it right?”

I convinced him to keep Wayne and let me work with him, and I also got a few crowbars from him, all with the promise I’d show him how to remove trim and doors and windows without destroying them.

And hopefully I’d figure out how to do it myself; I’d never done anything like this before.

 

Wayne was the only one that returned; I imagine the work was too much like work to those other guys. We spent the afternoon figuring out how to wrest trim from casements, sashes from window frames, and how to show others how to do the same.

I convinced Phillip to get us some flatbars and screwdrivers, and that I’d be in charge of them. I also needed 5 gallon buckets. Mostly for hardware we’d take off doors and windows.

“Man, you’re gonna lose those tools the first day.”

“Not if you get me some pink spray paint and allow me to dock anyone who doesn’t return ‘em,” I said.

And it worked perfectly. Wayne and I got the system down, he interviewed the (mostly) street people Phillip hired, I kept the four good ones, and everyone was issued a hammer, two flatbars, and a crowbar. We became known as The Trim Crew, then The Framing Crew. It had to do with what we were removing at the time. I kept the screwdrivers and wrenches and doled them out as needed to remove doors from hinges and pipes from sinks and sinks from walls. We worked like a team, starting with hardware, trim, then doors and windows, casements, studs and framing lumber. Second floor first, first floor second. The framing started with removing the roofing, joists, then studs, etcetera. No one got hurt in any major way, and the pickup trucks lined up to bid on the most beautiful trim and doors, all which were removed intact. We worked for four months to salvage every saleable item in that block, and in the end, I realized that old buildings were where I wanted to do my work. It took seven more years, but I finally wet my toes in REAL restoration starting in 1985. Where you actually FIX the buildings and don’t destroy them.

And the pink spray paint?

I used it to mark all the tools we had. Demolition is a VERY dirty business, and if you put down a crowbar, you are unlikely to find it after knocking all that plaster off the lath beneath it.

No one ever got docked for a missing or lost tool. Not ever. Phillip couldn’t believe it, At the end of the job, he offered me a permanent position as his second-in-command.

 

But I had to go. I had to see the country. I was eighteen and my feet itched badly, so I thanked him and went on my Road.

I’ve always regretted that decision, though I would not be the Restoration Tech I am today.

I’m sure I would Own that company. After Phillip retired, that is.

 

 

 

If you liked this story, or even if you didn’t, post a comment. There is a very fun and unexpected epilogue. I’ve already written enough tonight.