Friday, July 23, 2010

Hard Times

There’s a fellow removing the siding next door so they can replace it with something more attractive.  I’ve spoken with him a couple of times; he’s friendly, warm even, about 35, I reckon.  Regular-looking—round face, short blond hair, a little pudgy, but muscles, I’m sure, and a tan, both from his line of work.  Family-type of guy.

A couple of hours ago, our daily “Mornin’” morphed into a conversation about government regulations and illegal aliens, both of which he’s against, in a mild mannered but heart-felt way.  It was getting uncomfortable talking with him, especially when the topic turned from paper to people.  I avoid confrontations, sometimes to a fault, but I couldn’t be real and not express my disagreement with some of what he was saying. 

Fortunately the conversation took a turn and he began telling me about his personal situation.  He’d been accustomed to making upwards of $35 an hour but was doing this, his first major job in 18 months, for $10 less.  The kicker, though, was his six-hour daily commute.  There’s only scratch work out in the small town and logging-based county where he lives, and not much of that.  He feels real fortunate to have landed this job 75 miles from home; now he can make enough to keep that home out of foreclosure, even though it means these long, long days, barely seeing his family.

Damn.

Another "there but for the grace of God."

When I inquired about future prospects, our carpenter fellow said he was looking to retrain, in fact had a plan to work at the big Navy shipyard hereabouts.  He'd almost gotten a job there but it just fell through.  The necessary security clearance was denied because he was in default on this home.  Now that it looked like he would soon be out of that hole, he was planning on applying again.  I hope he makes it, and I hope the work lasts.

As he kept talking I learned the back story, and it put a human face on all the news articles you read.  Three, four years ago our carpenter friend was pulling down 75, 100 thousand.  He saw lots of others a little higher up in his trade making that much money, a lot faster, flipping houses.  He borrowed to build a couple himself and had just finished when the economy tanked.  Finally sold one for a 38 K loss, ended up giving the other back to the bank.  The American Dream, "it's not what it seems," as Willie Nelson has poignantly put it in song.

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