When an Arrogant Christian Responds Angrily to the World

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Circa 1990 – There are a few moments in our lives when we reflect with regret while wondering what life would be like if we had a do-over. The Peabody Hotel, in Memphis, TN, is one of those places where a mulligan would have been nice. Sigh!

The Peabody is a historic hotel, always in the top ten of someone’s best hotels to stay. In 2015, I took the family there because it’s cool. And, of course, I wanted to get a few ribs from Central BBQ. The customers snaked their way out the door and into the parking lot. I’m talking about Central BBQ, not the Peabody. So good. I can still smell them ribs.

Back to the Peabody

I was there for a manager’s meeting with Alcoa. Shortly after them buying out our little plant, they promoted me. I know you’re impressed, but I was the only employee; what could they do?

Hollywood was also there, filming The Firm, with Tom Cruise. I did not see him or the other stars. Of course, I was only “secretly” looking for them since I was a fundamentalist. We disdain movies. Ironically, we were in New Orleans this summer, and they were filming the third edition of Bill and Ted. I have not seen that series, but we did stand in the street for several hours, watching them shoot while trying to catch a glimpse of Keanu Reeves.

The niche of the Peabody is the duck walk that they have twice a day. The ducks stay in the “Penthouse,” which are cages on the roof. Every morning a guy in a tux comes down the elevator with the ducks, and they walk the red carpet to the pool in the middle of the hotel lobby. Onlookers gather on both sides of the carpet with cameras ready. In the afternoon, they do it all over again, as the ducks go back to their penthouse.

All the managers came for a national meeting, perhaps a couple hundred men and women. We toured the Memphis recycling facility and a processing plant. Those events were the okay parts of this three-day meeting. The rest of it, I would love to forget, but it’s etched, as they say.

In This Corner, the Self-Righteous

My agony had little to do with the trip, the people, or the work. It was all about me; it was my fault. As a fundamentalist with a pinch of self-righteousness, mixed with a splash of anger, let’s just say it was a recipe for disaster. 

To put it plainly, I refused to fit in. I could not have been more self-righteous, arrogant, stubborn, or angry. I had standards that nobody in my company believed or practiced. My peers were living an expected debauchery.

Wives were flirting with men and husbands doing the same. The alcohol was flowing, and the jokes were perverse. In one of the plenary meetings, they showed an org chart that had “God” under the title, CEO. It was supposed to be a joke, as the room was bursting with laughter. I was burning inside and was at my self-righteous limit. 

At one point, I went to my room after dinner, took out my giant-sized KJV Bible, Authorized Version, laid it on the floor, and started praying. I was begging the Lord to convert my pagan friends and give me the grace to play nice. He did neither. Perhaps it was because God did not come for the righteous, but sinners. My self-righteousness was red-lining that week.

It’s Feedback Time

As I was waiting in the lobby for the ride to the airport, I listened to the player piano. I also started a “Luther-Esque” styled diatribe to zip off to headquarters upon arriving back in Greenville. Rather than mixing it up with the lower echelon, I sent this letter to the President of Alcoa in Pittsburg. This President later had a cabinet position with one of our US Presidents. Boom!

It was a mean-spirited, scathing, angry, self-righteous indictment of the company, the people in the company, and my utter disgust with their attitudes and behavior. I said something about lewd women and shameless men. It was the low-point of my career. 

This “low point” was not because of their sin but because of mine. I was totally out of step with reality, my culture, expectations of pagans, and a sound methodology on reaching my culture. I couldn’t have been more arrogant. (Okay, maybe I could be more arrogant, but my soul can’t bear to think about it.) But they were wrong, and I was right; it was so clear to me.

Of course, they were behaving according to their worldview. My mistake was expecting my colleagues to be as “holy” as I was, which is quite the feat without regeneration. Yep, I was winning friends and influencing people. 

The President called my boss, a super-nice guy. He was a black fellow, and though he was perplexed, he did say I had a rhythmic, colorful, and compelling writing style. It reminded him of Jesse Jackson, and I kid you not. He was prophetic. Who knew that I would make a living as a writer. It just would not be with Alcoa Corporation.

The upper-brass began to strategize how to fire me. In January 1993, they shut down the plant. I was a stellar employee, with the second-highest-ranking plant in the system. After the Peabody debacle, the black marks started piling up on my record.

When the ignorant pokes the bear, there’s nothing left to do but ask how the bear wants his meal. 

From Part-Time Pop-Top Job to a Piano

RMlogo From Part-Time Pop-Top Job to a Piano

Summer 1986 – Our first recycling machine compressed the cans into 24-inch long, rectangular blocks (or something like that). We raked the cans from the caged wagon into a large pit. Then we ran them up a conveyor to drop into our compacting machine. The last step was a little door opening, and a block would come out. We stacked a hundred or so of these blocks into a large bale. We banded them together and used a forklift to place the bundles on a tractor-trailer. From there, we shipped them to Tennessee.

Now For the Good Part

Before making the cans into blocks, we ran them across a big magnet that would pull out all the steel and other items our customers tried to sneak into their bags to get more weight. They were sneaky. I used to say that they brought in everything but the kitchen sink. Then one customer tried to sneak kitchen faucet parts into his bag. Wet jeans and books were popular.

Then they went through a “pre-crusher.” This process caused many of the pop-tops to snap off and fall into a 55-gallon drum underneath. The steel and other debris, i.e., paper, cigarettes, and dirt, were also collected in the barrels. Once the barrel was full, I would haul it to the back and dump the debris on the floor. This process happened every day or two, depending on the traffic.

James, my non-smiling predecessor, taught me how to sift the pop-tops to make a profit. It was one of the ways we stayed awake. After he went back to Louisiana, I spent my first summer salvaging pop-tops. It worked like this.

Profiting from Pop-Tops

I had a frame, like a tabletop, which was on four wooden legs. But instead of a solid table, there was a steel mesh that sifted the cigarettes, dirt, paper, and other debris. I shoveled all the debris out of the barrel, and onto my makeshift mesh table. After filtering the junk through the mesh and onto the floor, the only things that did not fall through were the pop-tops and cigarette butts.

I scooped the butts and tops into another drum that was full of water. The butts would float, and the pop-tops would sink. I hand-scooped the butts from the top of the water and threw them on the ground with the other debris. I used the forklift to pick up the barrel of water with clean pop-tops and poured them back onto the wire mess table. I then sifted out any remaining debris.

Yes, it was a huge mess.

And it smelled to high heaven.

I then put the clean pop-tops in large, plastic bags, and stacked them in a corner. Each bag was five feet tall, which was significantly heavy when filled with metal pop-tops. I have no idea how many zillions of pop-tops I sifted and cleaned that summer. I do remember it being more than 600 pounds when we loaded them into the van to take to the recycler.

It took all summer but well worth it. We made over $300 cash from my part-time pop-top job, which we used to buy a piano.

My Affair with the Aluminum Can Begins

RMlogo My Affair with the Aluminum Can Begins

February 1986 – Dr. Clark, the dean of the Bible college, was a huge help. He gave me a recommendation for a job opportunity with a “mom-n-pop” recycling organization. I visited one of the two employees that worked there. Thankfully, it was only a couple of miles from the school, at the White Horse Road Fairgrounds.

The guy working there was a graduating senior who was going back to Louisiana in a few months. He was not an outgoing dude. I remember him telling me that Jesus never smiled, and we shouldn’t either. Boom! There you have it. Let’s just say that he was not a lot of fun to work with for the few weeks that we were together.

Jesus wept!

You’re Hired

The interview process was extensive and comprehensive: he said that I could have the job if I wanted it, but I needed to come down in May because he was leaving after graduation. All righty, then. His name was James.

The upside is that he worked there the four years of school. And, it gets better: he did all of his homework while at work. James said that they had two or three customers a day. It seemed like a remarkable opportunity. I took the job and planned to move to Greenville in May.

The Transition

My wife could not quit her job until the summer, or that is what she told me. I found out afterward she had a relationship with a guy—possibly from Ohio, whom she met while he visited our plant in Monroe. I will never know for sure the real reason she had to stay, but that’s okay; it’s murky water under an old bridge.

Both of us worked for TransAmerica Delaval. I’m not sure if that company still exists today or if it continues to be part of the TransAmerica Corporation subsidiaries, headquartered in San Francisco. She did quit her job in mid-summer and moved down with our two children.

I lived in a small apartment during this transition time, which was across the street from the church and school. I walked to our church meetings, which was nice. We did find a house a few miles away, but it was not going to be ready until later in the summer. The gentleman who rented it was named, Mr. Pepper. We called him Dr. Pepper. I liked him.

I did feel the pressure of finding a home quickly because our life was changing so rapidly. I thought it would soften the “transitional blows” if we had a nice place to live. The house we found was much more than we needed or could afford. It was huge. At the time, it felt right, and I prayed that we could swing it. (I made it right in my head, which is what a person does when ignoring the Spirit of God.)

We moved officially in mid-summer. I had been there already for two months, working, attending church, and settling into the new situation. We were making $20 per hour combined at our jobs with Delaval. After we quit and moved to Greenville, I was the only one working at $5 per hour. That can’t go wrong, right?

The Aluminum Can and Me

As far as the job, James was right; it was ideal that first summer. I had tons of time and only had to fight to stay awake during the day. But it got better. Within two weeks of starting, the owners sold the business to the Alcoa Corporation. We became a subsidiary, officially dubbed the Alcoa Recycling Company.


Alcoa bought the company during the ’80s because they were trying to raise the recyclability of the aluminum can. This small plant became a marketing tool. The recycling rate was under 50% in those days, and only a few folks were on board with recycling in our country. By 1993, when they closed the plant, the recycling rate was over 70%. We had worked ourselves out of a job. Regardless, it was a fun job. I worked there through college and into 1993 until they closed the plant due to downsizing.

My job was to receive aluminum cans from the public and to raise awareness about recycling. It takes 24 of them to make a pound, and the going rate was between .25 and .65 cents per pound. The price per pound varied due to market trends, as well as competitive pricing with other recyclers in the area.

Alcoa began to promote more, and I became busier, but never so busy to where I couldn’t do my homework at work. And they were okay with it as long as I did my job. It was low-key and low expectations.

Jesus smiled.

Feeding the Goats

In addition to our little plant, we also owned eleven Golden Goats and Can Banks. Think ATMs. These machines were set up around the upstate where folks could bring their cans, place them in a Golden Goat, and receive money in return. Think soda machine, but backward. You put your money in a soda machine, and it gives you a soda. People would put their cans in a “goat,” and it would spit out coins.

Two or three times per week, a big, caged wagon about the size of a tractor-trailer would come with several thousand pounds of cans, which we unloaded by shovel, crushed, and blew into an actual tractor-trailer that we shipped to Maryville, TN.

I had no idea that in seven years, I would lose a home, job, wife, and children, and be picking up aluminum cans on the side of roads so I could collect a few coins to buy a burger. The times were changing.

Thomas & Churchill

As with every company I have ever worked for I had an opinion about how it should function. Unfortunately Delaval was no exception. My arrogance knew no bounds back then. It knows little less now. One would think I’d learn a bit more discretion over the years. I wish I had some back then.

It didn’t take me long to figure out what was wrong (Read: dumb) with Delaval and armed with that data I was ready to share my opinions with most anyone who would listen. I would begin by sharing with my peers and then my immediate supervisor and then later with management. I did get a hearing with the head guy in HR and at another time I had a meeting with the President of the company. His name was Lippincott or something like that. I’m sure these guys were well aware they had a brash, arrogant, upstart on their hands. I have no idea why they paid any attention to me. I can’t recall all the circumstances today, but to think they would listen to me for any reason befuddles me. It speaks more of their grace than my importance.

I remember telling Lippincott about the book “In Search for Excellence”, which I had read. He said he had read it several times I think. I thought that was dumb because you only had to read it once to get it. Since then I have read the bible several times and I still don’t get it. My, my…God is incredibly kind to me.

They began having team and shift meetings to get at some of the morale issues they were dealing with. I spoke up at one such meeting. One fellow said I was “the Winston Churchill of Delaval.” He was impressed. (Read: humorous) I suppose it’s not that difficult to impress some. He was probably impressed with my boldness more than anything else. Most certainly I was impressed with myself.

We also developed Quality Circle meetings where we got together to figure out how to improve our quality. These were fun times, frustrating times and I was a fish out of water. I couldn’t put it together at the time, but God had a particular calling on my life. I can see that now. I couldn’t see it then. I was striving. I had strong feelings and an even stronger desire to do more in life than run a machine. If I couldn’t be one of the shakers and movers then I was going to offer my insight to anyone who would listen. They did listen. They were gracious. They didn’t fire me. Cal Pearson told me a few days after I announced my resignation that I was one of the few people at the plant that was really needed. This was a high compliment from Cal. He was kind. It did cause a bit of pause, but oh so briefly as to whether I should stay. I was convinced God had called me elsewhere and I had no choice but to leave.

Delaval Work

The work at Delaval was not that complicated. We made rotors. Rotors were used for various applications. An application could be to off-load oil, grain, etc from ships when they dock in harbors around the world. They were displacement pumps as well as other things. There was a main screw (rotor) that we made with a number of other rotors that sat on top of the main rotor. The size of the rotors could be 6 inches to 12 feet. They fit in a housing, which we made as well. When we shipped, we shipped an entire unit. One of our customers was the US Navy. The tolerances and quality control was exceptional. It was a very involved process. I suppose there were 500 or so employees.

I remember one time going into their sound proof room. I was working 3rd shift for a few weeks. We closed the door and the deadness of it all was amazing. I could hear the inside of my ear beating. It was that quiet. It was the quietest environment I had ever been in. I don’t think I could tolerate that kind of quietness for long. It was eerie.

I was a quick study. It was not hard to learn the job and it required all aspects of memory, i.e. feel, sight, hearing, technique. Due to the high quality it required a sensitive touch to cut the rotors and not dent, scar or cause rough spots on them. Much of the finer lathe work was done by feel and not by sight. We also used our hearing to tell if the cutter was cutting at the right spot. It called for a great deal of finesse. This was the challenge that I liked. It was one thing to rough one out. You could cut it and leave a lot of stock on the rotor because the finish workers would come along and do the fine work. However, if you were finishing, then it was a totally different process. We would run two or more machines at one time. One of the things to watch out for was not to burn up a cutting disc. (I can’t remember the name of the disc now.) It was the tool that cut the grooves in the rotor. The edges of it would wear and we’d have to watch to make sure we didn’t push it too far or the cutter folks that resharpened it would be upset. Sometimes we would burn them so bad that they had to replace the cutter blades altogether. We tried to get as many cuts out of it as possible. And sometimes we would cross the line. Typically the reason we did this was because we didn’t want to change it out because it took time. We would just plow through. If you got down to a couple of rotors left, we’d like to push it on through as well, but sometimes this didn’t work and we’d burn up a wheel.

I have a picture of me grinding at one of the finish machines. This was taken around 1984. That was about the time they installed this new machine.


Delaval was a breath of fresh air. There were hundreds of employees. I don’t know the total, but I know there were enough of them that I did not meet them all. There were two shifts. Maybe 500 or so employees. I really do not know. It was a far cry from the two man shop I had been part of. There was a steady salary that I did not have to worry about whether there would be a payday. There were benefits as well. Penny worked in the office. It as a good set-up for me. I became a machinist. This was my third trajectory change in three years. I finished Hardees as a Production Supervisor, then became an apprentice electrician for two years and now I was a machinist for Delaval. I didn’t necessarily see the pattern back then, but I was not finding the security and career I was looking for. I did like Delaval however. It was a good fit.

I’m sure I would have worked there indefinitely. I remember telling Cal Pearson in the fall of 1985 that I loved my job and could not see myself doing anything else for the rest of my life, but if there was ever a day when I got frustrated, discontented or tired of what I was doing then I would walk away. I had been a Christian for about 1 year and had no idea what God was doing in my heart and the direction he was about to send me. I do remember that it was about a month or two after I made that bold statement that my heart began to grow discontent. And it did in a big way. There was a growing discontentment in my heart and it was not going to be abated. It was strong and it gained such surprising momentum that it blew me off course and in direction I was not prepared for and never would have remotely considered. More on that later.

There were about 10 guys or so on our team. Greg Smith, David Russian, Joe Barrett, Ricky Price, Joe Mullis, Liston Darby, Cal Pearson, Ken Griffin, Ken Pressley, Donny somebody and a few others. It was a good group. I think we all liked one another. We did get along. I don’t remember any skirmishes with anyone. There was some frustration with the management from time to time. Liston was the easiest to get along with. Joe Barrett was a supervisor that was difficult to get along with. He was a Yankee, like Liston and Cal, but he had an angry edge to him. He was impatient and opinionated in the wrong kind of ways. We butted heads: it takes one to know one. Cal came across mean and condescending. He seemed aloof and didn’t mind telling you if you were doing a bad job. He didn’t work with you, just argued and fussed a lot and then walked away. He was the most feared of all the bosses. Ricky was passive and not too communicative. He was challenging to work with, but not a bad boss. He was hard to read and we didn’t become best buddies. I’m can be aloof as well and not attempting to be liked, which was my way of protecting myself. I had very little social skill.


I was looking for something indoors. I didn’t want to get rained on or have to work in sweltering heat. I didn’t want to get hollered at and/or cussed out. I wanted a stable environment on all fronts. I did miss pulling wire for Joel Carriker. He always put sand underneath his houses. That made it fun to work in. I could crawl around in sand for an hour our two. The only time that was a pain was when I sweated. Then the sand adhered to my back and front. That was rough. I also missed the roofers. They were amazing. They were some of the most vulgar people I had ever met. I liked them a lot though. They were cool. They would smoke, chew, spit, cuss, drink and work like no one I’d ever seen. They had rotten teeth or no teeth. The could set a nail on the shingle and hit it once and move their other hand simultaneously. They were artist. They were incredibly accurate and lightning fast. It was their life. They could work in any weather but the rain and seemingly never complained, though they complained about most everything else.

I sort of missed Jr. Horton in Wadesboro, another builder who built nice homes. I liked going to Wadesboro because it was sort of a long trip and I could sleep on the way down. We got paid for being in the truck. The longer the trip the better. It was good nap time. We also played Pac Man in one of the diners in Wadesboro, or at least I did and I liked that. I didn’t do it a lot, but it was fun.

I missed going to the Mint Hill diner as well. There was a girl who was quite lovely in many ways and I liked looking at her. I never got the nerve to build a relationship with her or say anything to her, but it was fun going in there. I suppose I was thinking something would magically happen and sorta hoped so though I knew I couldn’t do anything about it since I was married. There was always a nagging feeling that I married the wrong person. I married because that is what you are supposed to do after high school. So I did. I took what I could get and as noted in a prior post the day before the wedding I had doubts and those doubts never left my mind.

There were many other experiences with Prince Electric that I will always remember I suppose. Even though there were the positives it was time to leave for better pastures. TransAmerica Delaval was hiring at the time and my Aunt Pat was working there. It seemed like a good fit for me. I applied and they hired me. I was making around $8 per hour with Prince and I think I got a bit more with TD. I know I left with $10 per hour 5 years later, which for 1986 when I left it was very good money. I worked at Hardees from about ’77 to ’79 and for Chuck Prince from ’79 to ’81 and TransAmercia from ’81 to ’86. TD was a life-altering experience.

Leaving Prince on My Mind

Besides the heat, cold and mud I wasn’t too convinced that I could do this work into my old age. It was not as physical as roofing work, but as I thought about the wear and tear it didn’t seem plausible that I could do this as an older man. I realized I would not be pulling wire forever. The reason I did it as long as I did was because Ron had seniority over me and it was a two-man shop. If we had a third person or grew to two trucks there was a possibility I would have been the lead guy on one of the trucks. I did go with Ron to CPCC (Central Piedmont Community College) to take some Journeyman classes. He wanted his Journeyman card and I thought it would be a good thing for me to get mine so I went with him. I didn’t finish because I quit. I’m not sure if he ever finished his classes and got his card.

The final reason I got to thinking I might need to find something else was because of the danger of electrical work. I respected it immensely. I did not play around with wiring. I knew it could hurt you, could kill you. One time I was doing some work in the top of a dental office in Monroe. I thought the power was off, but it was not. I cut into a hot wire with my side-cutters. We didn’t use plastic or rubber grips on our pliars because they got in the way. We preferred the naked pliars because you could get a better feel for the wire. Wiring required a certain amount of finesse and you wanted to be as close to it as possible. Anyway I cut into this wire and it shocked me. I couldn’t let go of the pliars and I finally slung them across the attic of the dental office. I went and found them afterwards in the insulation. The pliars had a nick in them. My pliars had several nicks in them. You could hold them up to the light and see the holes in the cutting area. I didn’t cut into something hot a lot, but it was enough to bring a reasonable amount of fear to my soul.

I finally said that I didn’t want to work with something that I couldn’t see. I didn’t know about the Holy Spirit at the time. It is sort of humorous now, but at the time it was dangerous to me to work in the electrical field. I told Chuck I was going to quit and he offered me a raise. I was doing a good job. I was one of the best workers he ever had. I didn’t complain a lot. Not because of personal maturity. It was due to fear. I also learned very quick and could think on my feet. I could think through things, plan ahead, thing peripherally and was lightning fast at the job. I was also smart. The smart thing was never explored in school. My teachers and my attitude kept me away from fully applying myself. I gave up on school in middle grade and it all hit the fan by the tenth grade. It was a bust. But in the work world I knew how to shine and Chuck knew it as well. However, he couldn’t control his anger and there were too many things on the table to cause me to leave. However, from a practical perspective it was probably the best job I ever had. It was brutal, but Chuck taught me more in the arena of the handy man than anyone.

Post Prince

After two years of Chuck Prince I felt it was time to go. I didn’t want to have a career in the electrical world anymore. There were several factors involved in the decision. Chuck was very hard to work for. He was verbally brutal. I had a built in resistance to that kind of person since I received that from my dad for 19 years. I shunned that kind of negativity and harshness. What I didn’t realize is the whole world is on fire and that harshness, negativity and anger is probably more commonplace than not. It seems almost every job I have ever had with the exception of church work I have had to deal with an angry man. In some cases it was an angry woman like when I worked with four lesbians and Findley Adhesives.

Nevertheless, at that time I thought it would be good to get away with an angry man. I wanted calmer waters. I didn’t know that Cal Pearson was waiting for me at TransAmerica Delaval or Jim Gossett at Alcoa Recycling. My other reasoning for leaving Prince Electric Company was due to the weather. It was very cold in the winter time and very hot in the summer time. I was okay with the heat for the most part. The only time when the heat was difficult was when we were in attics, which we seemed to be in more during the summer than winter. During the summer folks would requests attic exhaust fans to be cut into their roofs to help let out some of the accumulating heat. Typically it was difficult to breathe in an attic that has been roasting in the sun during the summer.

The winter time was a wholly different animal. It was cold. My job consisted mostly of pulling wires underneath the house. Ron would poke the wire through a hole in the floor at a receptacle and I would pull it further through the hole and carry it to the next hole in the floor and poke it up through the floor so he could put it in the next receptacle and then we’d do it all over again until all the boxes in the house were wired. Since most of the houses had crawl spaces the shortest distance between two points was to pull the wires underneath the house. Actually it would be better to pull the wires through the studs, but that took forever to drill the holes. So from a time perspective it was better to pull the wires underneath and back up. That meant somebody had to do the pulling and that was me. There were a few houses that were built on a slab, which meant many of the wires went up through the top plate, across the attic and back down. That took a lot more wire, but I didn’t mind as long as I didn’t have to crawl underneath the house.

In many of these houses I was crawling around under there was mud and standing water. That was not good on any day, but it was particularly worse during the winter. It was like crawling through slush or ice and that was no fun at all.

Prince Electric Benefits

Chuck was a knowledgeable man. He knew it and wore it where everyone could see it. He had no one over him, no one to tell him what to do. He could do and did do as he pleased. God had blessed him much, but he did not acknowledge God at all. He had many accomplishments from the world’s perspective. He said he invented the “gang-groover”, which was supposedly the machine that put multiple grooves in a four by eight piece of paneling at the same time. He came up with the idea, found someone to draw up the plans and another person to build a prototype if I remember the story correctly. He got a 7-year patent on the device and made a ton of money.

He also went water skiing with Elvis Presley from what I understand. There was little that he had not done, participated in or didn’t know. He knew and did a lot and it was impossible to tell him anything. Like most times in my life it was one of the most difficult, but also the most rewarding. I learned more during this time as far as practical living experience than anytime in my life.

During that time, or shortly thereafter, I built a 24 x 24 out building on my property. I built the entire building by myself except for pouring the concrete pad. I got my father-in-law to teach me how to roof. That was the one thing I didn’t know. He showed me by doing some of it and I did the rest by myself. I built the window frames, wired it, finished the concrete (all the concrete company did was pour it and I did the rest). I set-up the frames for the pad and finished it. I had running water hooked-up and turned half of the building into a shop and the other half was for parking and working on vehicles. It was a nice shop that still stands today. Because of my time with Prince Electric I learned how to do these things.

We wired houses in Marshville, Monroe, Wadesboro, Mint Hill and other surrounding areas. We wired for several contractors and some independents. Chuck would bid on the independents and if we got it Ron and I would wire it. Ron was the lead guy. He would ride down the road picking his nose most of the time. I pretended not to see it. He wiped the boogers on the front of the seat. I looked at them one time. It was really gross.

After two years of crawling around in the cold mud during the winter, installing attic fans in unbearable heat during the summer and being hollered at for most of the time, I decided that I needed another job. I also didn’t like working with electricity. I was shocked several times. I had too many gaps in my pliars from cutting into hot wires.