o0norton0o
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- Apr 27, 2015
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Jerry losing his dad recently rekindled memories of my own dad, who's gone 20 years now. I thought maybe some of the people here would like to tell a story of some kind about their dad. *(regardless if he's still here or passed on) It can be a sad, an heroic, or a funny story. I know I was very lucky to have great parents raise me. They had their own flaws like we all do, but their capacity to support me and never waiver with all the mistakes I made in my life was something I came to appreciate greatly after they were both gone.... So, here's a story about my dad.
I was a union cabinetmaker. I decided to quit the union at about age 26 to open my own small shop, once I actually felt like I had learned enough to do some decent work on my own. My dad wasn't angry, but he did think I was making yet another mistake in life. (He was a lifelong union member, wood finisher)
By the time I was about 40, he was happily retired, but loved to come up to the woodshop, which I shared with my best friend, and be around the working guys. He would come up before lunch time and walk around inspecting everyone's work while bullshitting with everyone before going to the marina to go out on his boat. When my dad would show up, I would go out to the good italian deli and get lunch for all of us, while he hung out and enjoyed the fact that he was in his element (all the cabinet makers at work) but he had no pressure on him to do any work at all. No difficult colors to mix. No deadlines. No toxic chemicals to work with. He got to stroll around like the true master that he was, just like when he was the foreman of the shop he worked for, only he didn't have to do any work...
I would go for the lunches and as I walked out the door, he would yell to me as a joke, "Don't forget, I want a big Heineken beer with my lunch". I would say back to him, "This is a working shop. We don't drink on the job!" To which he always replied, "That doesn't apply to me, I'm retired!" I did always get him that Heineken BTW...
We would all eat our lunch and he would tell funny stories about job screw ups, and miracle rescues of jobs he did in the past. Then he would announce that he was going down to the marina to go out on his boat because he was now a man at leisure.
By the time I was in my mid 30's, something had happened to the union cabinet shops in NYC, where they were going out of business one after another. It wasn't long before even the last great one "Langenbacker" was gone too. My dad used to say that he timed his career just right, because he retired just when the industry collapsed, and the chemistry he was an expert with was discontinued because it was toxic and outlawed.
At some point in his last years, he looked around our shop with pride and said, "You guys have a nice place here." I knew that he finally saw how much it meant to me to be my own entity, rather than someone's employee and he finally understood my vision and the path I had taken. His skill set was legendary in the NYC finishing trades. Other companies would get into trouble and call his company to see if they could buy some of "Artie's time" from his company to perform a miracle to save a job of their own which had gone wrong.
I miss him greatly. His steadfast belief in me in spite of not always agreeing with me, always kept me trying hard to get things to the next level of quality, and that turned out to be the key to my survival.
He was a born and bred New Yorker who had a rough childhood in the 20's. He served in WWII in the pacific as a sailor. When he retired he didn't have to commute into the city any longer every day. He would say, "I can't believe I was able to do that commute for over 35 years... Thanks Dad... You are greatly missed and fondly remembered by all the guys in the shop.
Please tell a story about your dads. It doesn't have to be long winded like mine... It helps to hear them and appreciate our own dads.
I was a union cabinetmaker. I decided to quit the union at about age 26 to open my own small shop, once I actually felt like I had learned enough to do some decent work on my own. My dad wasn't angry, but he did think I was making yet another mistake in life. (He was a lifelong union member, wood finisher)
By the time I was about 40, he was happily retired, but loved to come up to the woodshop, which I shared with my best friend, and be around the working guys. He would come up before lunch time and walk around inspecting everyone's work while bullshitting with everyone before going to the marina to go out on his boat. When my dad would show up, I would go out to the good italian deli and get lunch for all of us, while he hung out and enjoyed the fact that he was in his element (all the cabinet makers at work) but he had no pressure on him to do any work at all. No difficult colors to mix. No deadlines. No toxic chemicals to work with. He got to stroll around like the true master that he was, just like when he was the foreman of the shop he worked for, only he didn't have to do any work...
I would go for the lunches and as I walked out the door, he would yell to me as a joke, "Don't forget, I want a big Heineken beer with my lunch". I would say back to him, "This is a working shop. We don't drink on the job!" To which he always replied, "That doesn't apply to me, I'm retired!" I did always get him that Heineken BTW...
We would all eat our lunch and he would tell funny stories about job screw ups, and miracle rescues of jobs he did in the past. Then he would announce that he was going down to the marina to go out on his boat because he was now a man at leisure.
By the time I was in my mid 30's, something had happened to the union cabinet shops in NYC, where they were going out of business one after another. It wasn't long before even the last great one "Langenbacker" was gone too. My dad used to say that he timed his career just right, because he retired just when the industry collapsed, and the chemistry he was an expert with was discontinued because it was toxic and outlawed.
At some point in his last years, he looked around our shop with pride and said, "You guys have a nice place here." I knew that he finally saw how much it meant to me to be my own entity, rather than someone's employee and he finally understood my vision and the path I had taken. His skill set was legendary in the NYC finishing trades. Other companies would get into trouble and call his company to see if they could buy some of "Artie's time" from his company to perform a miracle to save a job of their own which had gone wrong.
I miss him greatly. His steadfast belief in me in spite of not always agreeing with me, always kept me trying hard to get things to the next level of quality, and that turned out to be the key to my survival.
He was a born and bred New Yorker who had a rough childhood in the 20's. He served in WWII in the pacific as a sailor. When he retired he didn't have to commute into the city any longer every day. He would say, "I can't believe I was able to do that commute for over 35 years... Thanks Dad... You are greatly missed and fondly remembered by all the guys in the shop.
Please tell a story about your dads. It doesn't have to be long winded like mine... It helps to hear them and appreciate our own dads.
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