Work

Post date: Apr 24, 2014 5:7:47 PM

Riding a jammed #49 bus up Van Ness Avenue, I overheard people talking about a building that had been leveled. All that was left was a corner block of rubble, visible out the window. Nearby, a crazy-looking flight of stripped floors was still standing.

I’d noticed already how San Franciscans love to talk about their city. Anywhere I went, people discussed buildings razed or renovated. New ones going up -- and there are many, San Francisco is undergoing a building boom -- will have to compete with ghosts that still haunt the residents, who talk about what used to be there. Coming from New England, and with family roots in southern Europe, I’d never seen a place so new that had so much sense of history.

I remarked to my daughter, “I wonder if that building was imploded?”

She smiled politely.

But behind me, a man said, “They couldn’t implode it, for some reason. So they’re jack-hammering it.”

I looked at the building again, picturing workers lugging jack-hammers all the way up a building strong enough to endure seismic shaking. They’d started at the top, chipping the building away bit by bit. “That’s a heck of a job,” I said.

“That’s a hell of a job,” he agreed, nodding. He wore dusty work-clothes; his face was tanned and weather-worn. So, he had credibility. I nodded back.

My family was in the “building trades,” as they called them. My father, who started out as a carpenter, became a builder, as had his father and grandfather. Other relatives were plumbers and electricians, stone masons and cabinet-makers. My dad can still tell you how many 2x4s it takes to put up a three story house, naming the number of nails of each size required. He knows how long to leave freshly applied plaster, the kind made with lye and horsehair, to dry before you paint it. When he started out, he cut every board by hand and pounded each nail with a hammer so heavy, it damaged his nerves, leaving him now with an arm that quivers. He hides this when it catches my eye.

When he sees a bend in a line, or a tiny, fractional error, he warns, “It seems small at the beginning, but when you get to the other end, it’s a big difference.” Corners have to be square and lines plumb. If you make something wrong, you rip it out and do it again. If this damages the building materials, you bear the cost.

I was among the first in my family to go to college. Hefting a pen, I’m still artisanal. I believe in breaking a sweat. Don’t stop until it’s right. Rip it out, if you have to, and do it again. It’s a hell of a job; to me, it’s no fun without workmanship. Complexity makes it interesting. Added benefit: you can talk to anyone who understands hard work.