Fechino Files: Because I'm an Old Guy

Words: Steven Fechino

I have had the fortune to work in several areas of masonry over the years and have seen a few things change. I am writing this for the older folks who have been around because, simply, I hope someone will enjoy it. I first got into the agriculture trade in 1976 and moved into the masonry trades in 1982. Just like many of my colleagues around the country, I know this not because of Google but because I have known folks from the many trade shows we once attended. Quite a few relationships that many of us have weathered. We all made trips to cities where we walked around or stood in a booth for a few days, got to know each other, then caught dinner in the evening. It seems the World of Concrete is the one show many of us attend, but only once a year.

The office has changed since I came into the trades. I began working for a small company in the mid-1980s that operated out of the owner’s home, something common back then for contractors. We wore shorts and boots to work. The shirt never left the truck during the day. We drank water out of a hose or from a gallon Thermos or Coleman jug; mine was blue and white. We had few options. Water bottles as we know them today were not a thing yet (nice way of saying not invented). We brought our lunch back then, too. It was usually a sandwich of leftovers. Gosh, it was the best. Mortar was not premixed as commonly seen today, and the only silos we knew were on farms. We had a pile of sand dumped where the truck could get to, usually far from where we needed it to be dumped. A flat shovel, a barrel filled with water, and an old drywall mud bucket would be the common setup. If it was really hot and you were shoveling your 16 shovels of sand per bag into the mixer, it was tempting to add an extra shovel now and then so you might not need to make that one last batch. Back then, a full wheelbarrow was no problem to push up a walk board in the mud, turn corners, and set it down without spilling much. Nope, I will not even try it today. I would dump the barrel sure as... you can guess a word to complete the sentence. Mortar pans where I grew up commonly were just that, Jackson Pans, the square blue pans that after a while would get hammered and split on each side. I can still hear, “still got a few years left in them when that happens.”

I honestly do not remember ever changing oil, spark plug, or filters in any of the old mixers. We ran them with the hood up and sometimes continuously because to start the old Kohler engines (popular at the time) did not have a recoil pull string; you had to wrap it each time you needed to “give her a pull.” We did not have a saw man. We did not have a lightweight block. As many can remember, we did have a brick set and a block hammer (the heavier hammer). It seemed to work just fine. I do not remember anyone complaining.

Estimating and figuring jobs became high-tech when I went from using a Stanley 25-foot tape measure as I walked to a job to sitting in an office. I was given an architectural scale... It was a long time until I had to learn how to read it. Back then, it was a bit complicated. I was really in high cotton when we were given the little wheel where we could zip around the drawing and get a measurement on a gauge. I always had to double-check them because I made so many mistakes, but they were cool. My desk was large enough to roll out drawings on until we all were given personal computers. Boy, the old monitor took up a ton of space. My screen was black with green letters. No photos, no social media, no email. Boy oh boy, those were the days. Then, when the quickly advancing computers took over, we did get an email. I probably did not send an email for two years—did not have anyone to send one to. BUT... then the joke emails would come in every day, such socially unacceptable but really funny jokes. We cannot do that anymore, but did I mention how funny they were?

As technology advanced, we all received beepers on one Wednesday evening around 3:00 p.m. We were all given an 800 number that corresponded with our individual beeper and a list with all the numbers that the other 20 co-workers who received beepers that day had. Before I tell you this, you need to know pay phones were still a thing and cell phones were not a thing. Jeff Meredith, one of the smartest and funniest people on this planet, decided to call every beeper on the list that afternoon. Jeff had absolutely no reason to call everyone, but what he did was genius. Jeff plugged in everyone’s own 800 number into the message readout (only displayed numbers) that was received on their own beeper. Here is how it worked back then: He beeped each beeper. It took about 15 minutes to reach the beeper. We were all driving home, so we had to pull over to find a payphone to call the number on the display, not knowing we were calling ourselves, so in 15 minutes it beeped again. By now, we really felt like someone was trying to reach us, but we were continuing the cycle of beeping ourselves. One guy I worked with did this till Friday when we had to tell him the joke. I think he was out $8.00 in quarters ($0.25 was the cost of a pay phone call for all the young people who may not know).

Then, communications really became popular with the introduction of Nextel. Hold down the button, a beep would blurt out, and you talked just like you had a walkie-talkie, with the exception that you could talk to someone miles and miles away. Here is another funny story, or at least I thought so. The Nextel, once keyed, could not be silenced or stopped quickly and, since you typically used them on a job site, they were usually loud. Nashville had just been through a tornado, and we were all working many hours to rebuild the city’s justice center, a multi-story building. Rickey Jones was the prankster of all pranksters, but he was rarely ever pranked. Well, one afternoon we were on the roof looking at the current repairs, and we saw Rickey down at the sidewalk talking to some of our other guys. Someone saw some ladies walking toward Rickey (innocent as it could be), but Rickey’s radio was keyed and held, so he did not know it. As the ladies walked by, the person who keyed Rickey's Nextel said, “Well, hello there.” Rickey was framed and helpless to the reaction of the ladies that quickly figured out it was a joke, but it was funny how well he took being pranked. Miss you, Brother!

I have fun at work, but it seems like we were once able to laugh with everyone about everything. Guess that is about right, though. We worked hard, prayed hard, and played even harder.

Hope this brought back a silly memory for you about the old days. I have a ton of them. Now, please go have a better day than you expected.

Fechino Files: Because I'm an Old Guy

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