Entering the musty office area, I see the ashtray filled with cigarette butts and ashes. The smell of the ashtray permeates the room. The cheaply made pineboard walls seem not only damp, they seem uneven and warped on the walls. Usually, this office is energized with workmen. Workmen looking for the unskilled laborers' jobs that he can give them. Their strong coffee in styrofoam cups and smoke filling the room, along with boisterous talks of past jobs, and future dreams. The men are from different countries and the sounds are overlapping languages, as he enjoys the action, the clatter of lifestyles, and the hope that he may bring to these men.
I enjoy hearing about the jobs, and the teams that work on them. I am glad to see him in his workboots, and plaid wool shirt, cigarette balanced in the familiar ashtray, with a mold of an eagle on the edge of the tray. I can imagine him in this office, and in his space, with the lumber piled up on one side, and the tools and nails in smaller piles around the room. On Fridays, he treats the men to a case of beer, and this generousity of sharing beer is so reflective of his nature. As educated as he is, the boots, the shirt and the loud discussions give the workers a secure and happy environment to vent some problems. Not too many problems, and not anything of personal significance. That seems to be the unwritten, but agreed rule of the place.
I walk around the office, peering out at the traffic on this busy street, and listening to the neighborhood noises, the quietness of the abutting families' evening routines.
Five years ago, his office was an executive corner office downtown, and the workers wore dark suits, white shirts and ties, as did he. Now the point for him seems to be to give these guys work, hope, and maybe a beer now and then, and to show that he, too, can be part of the comradie.
The carpet is worn, and the colour not discernable. It was never really any colour in particular. He didn’t care about things, and he decided to shuck the elaborate encumbrances of executive life to work at a closer and more personal level with the community.
I notice the renderings of the most interesting project that he dreamed of and accomplished in this community, the “Plant A Tree Project”. The renderings are so professional, that they could be part of the downtown scene. Who would guess the significance as they leaned on a sander in the corner of this room. The project has been accepted by the politicians, not just local guys, but also the big pols in DC. Sure, he got Kennedy to sign onto this inner city beautification program, and also the funding to plant the trees throughout the community, to beautify the city, and give hope to the people, struggling to make ends meet.
White shirt - plaid wool shirt, tie - open collar/no tie, dress shoes - workboots, at least the smile, the cigarettes, the ashtray and the glib, fast talking guy remain the same.
How much of this is me? How much of the talk the talk; and walk the walk has been inherited and is part of me? I am proud and I am glad that he is someone who has taught me some of the truths of life and living; and people’s aspirations and hope.
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