02-08-2010, 11:38 PM
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Nothing scares me anymore
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Join Date: Dec 2003
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A job well done (true story)
I came across this story about a person who obviously has a positive influence on those around him. I thought it was nice memoir, as it reminded me a bit of a good friend who worked for me a few years ago.
The source is at the bottom of the page.
Quote:
I’m not sure why Uncle Charlie gave a name to each of the sawhorses, but it sure brought a big smile to his face as he watched my reaction.
“Molly and Dolly,” I said. “Why names on a couple of sawhorses?”
As was often the case there was no verbal response, just Uncle Charlie’s great smile. When there was work to be done, joy and satisfaction were his helpers.
Charlie had left school and the family farm in Saskatchewan at 15. Over the years he did many different kinds of work, and if a job required a new set of skills he learned them.
Charlie could have been almost anything he wanted to be, but his lack of schooling and desire to be on the move held him back. He liked construction work best of all his jobs. “At the end of the day,” he told me once, “you can see what you have accomplished.” He took great pride in his work and never cut corners.
Uncle Charlie was my father’s brother. He had one daughter and always treated me like a son. My mother sent me to Uncle Charlie when I needed to be “straightened out.” He was the one who let me drive his truck when I was only 13, and when I was older and had a licence he let me borrow the truck to go on dates.
I was put into Uncle Charlie’s care for a summer when at 16 I decided to quit school. Uncle Charlie was insulating a large cold-storage building that summer for a winery. The job Uncle Charlie gave me (to teach me a lesson, I realize now) was to tar the large sheets of insulating foam before Charlie attached them to one of the walls of the storage building.
By the end of the summer my jeans and shirt were so covered in dried tar, they could stand up by themselves. I hated the job and told Charlie. He looked at me and said, “Georgie, every job has value and you can be proud of what you do if you try your hardest.” A lot of words from Charlie but ones I have never forgotten.
After that summer I knew what hard labour was and I knew I wanted something better for my future. Charlie only smiled when I was enthusiastically back at school that September. Eight years later I graduated from university as a teacher and Charlie was there in the audience smiling. I could see the pride in his face and I loved this man because he had made such a big difference in the direction of my life.
My wife and I bought cottage property one summer and Charlie was soon on the phone to find out what I was going to build. “Well Charlie, I think I need a large garage first, almost a barn actually.”
“Good,” he said. “I like building barns.” I could hear the glee in his voice and could picture his smile.
“It will have to be next spring because of the financing.”
“Okay,” he said. “I will make up the plans.” Charlie didn’t have much formal education but he was the epitome of the self-made man who learns from experience and applies it well.
Charlie laid out the plans for me early one spring afternoon. It was a beautiful-looking garage, not as big as a barn but big enough. He had all the elevations drawn and the measurements for every section. Listed on the side of the drawings were all the materials we would need. When we finished the building there was hardly a nail or a board leftover. Charlie had figured it out perfectly.
Early one spring morning Charlie arrived with his tools and his smile. “Let’s get started,” he said. I hardly had a chance to welcome him.
“Okay, Charlie, I’ll get my hammer and the plans.”
“Don’t need the plans, Georgie.” I was still Georgie after 25 years of being an adult.
“Sure we do, Charlie.”
The big smile formed again as he slowly raised his hand and with one of his thick fingers pointed at his temple. “It’s all here.” And it was. He never once looked at the plans during the building of the garage.
“First,” he said, “we need a couple of sawhorses.” With that he grabbed his saw and within minutes of some sawing and nailing there stood Molly and Dolly. I found out during our many conversations that summer that Charlie had been in charge of a team of horses many years before at a logging site out west. The horses were called Molly and Dolly.
When we finished the roof he did a little jig up there and sang out, “Look at me, turning 80 next week and I can still build a barn!” I had tears in my eyes.
Uncle Charlie is gone now. He died of cancer at 85. My son helps me with projects around our cottage and every time we start one and the sawhorses come out I think of Charlie. I look again at Molly and Dolly and I say with a bit of a catch in my voice, “Okay, Uncle Charlie, what are we going to build today?”
I know that his smile and guidance and values are there to pass on to my son. Thanks, Charlie, for the lessons. You were never enslaved to work itself but committed to the dignity of labour and to a job well done.
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