“ORV”

Orv was a long time Haughton employee from the upper Midwest. He’d been with the company so long he was probably Nathaniel Haughton’s first helper. Nathaniel founded Haughton some 200 years ago. You never saw Orv without a suite or sports coat. He loved to drink coffee, eat soft ice cream while talking about the good old days back in the Midwest when he worked on freight elevators Haughton had installed in the Rust Belt.

Orv was the typical died in the wool company man. He had been running the San Diego office since Haughton had purchased Elevator Maintenance Company. To call him a fiscal conservative would be an understatement. Orv wouldn’t pay a dime to watch a piss ant eat a bale of hay. He employed his wife, whom we called “Mom” on a part time basis to do payroll and the other paper work that a four route branch generated. For this work she received minimum wage and no benefits.

 

Orv had an on-going grudge match with the LA office. He had a large sign in the office that said “We Don’t Give A Damn About How They Do Things In LA.”

 

Our San Diego office consisted of a store front with a back room on the first floor of a flea bag hotel south of Broadway. On occasion so many drunks and down and outers would pile up in our door way the cops had to scoop the all-up and haul them off so the office could be opened in the AM.

 

We had quite a bit of work in San Diego. Haughton had just shipping Model I EVC (electronic velocity control) it was a pretty good piece of gear, but like all new products it had its problems. I installed adjusted and turned over quite a few of these elevators. I owe it to Orv who first turned me out as a mechanic and later an adjuster. The only reason I became an adjuster was first, I had been an adjuster’s helper for the last two years, second I could read the manual and third and foremost he wanted his own adjuster so LA wouldn’t interfere with his operation by sending a guy from LA. Being on my own with only the manuals to refer to put me in way over my head and it probably took years to correct my mistakes. Fortunately as my knowledge increased to the point where I knew what I did wrong and has able to cover my past screw ups.

 

Orv’s visits to our jobsites where pretty typical. He’d walk into the machine room unannounced after greetings all around he would start his ritual.

 

The ritual was pretty much the same from job to job he would assume the position with his hands behind his back and his head bent forward somewhat like Groucho Marx, if he encountered a small piece of hardware he would pick it up and look at it if he’d just found a prize he would then hand this prize to me and proceed to lecture me on its cost. The cost-effectiveness lecture on this piece of hardware could continue for up to 10 minutes. When finished he would hand it to me and asked that I would find a safe place for it.

 

If we had cars in service, he would move on to the running machines. During his past visits we learned that one man had to be stationed by the disconnect with one hand on the switch already exerting ten pounds of pressure just in case Orv’s  tie wound onto the brake drum just like a Penn 500 Jig Master fishing Reel. It was pretty damn scary watching your boss lean into a running geared machine with his tie flapping on the rotating brake drum.

Orv was all ready for his “Golden Years” and ready to pack up and get of town and bingo, we went on strike. He had to stay in his little place with no furniture until we all went back to work.

 

“It’s Scarier Than Hell, Up Here”

While we were preparing the rails for installation the building was going up around us. Bud ordered lumber for the targets and skips. He always used select grade. The work was starting to get scary. We traveled up to the 10th floor on the Alimak then 2 more floors on 8 foot wide ladders built by the carpenters, pulled the lumber up to the 12th landing using ropes. The Ironworkers would plank over the open steel as it went up and usually were a couple of floors behind the steel erection and connecting. Our job was to build targets over the open hoist ways. Believe me while up there for the first time you never got off your butt. Matter of fact some of the patrons at the bar that afternoon asked if “You elevator guys have digestive problems?” This stemmed from the red brown stain up the back of our pants. The targets were built and piano wire dropped down 12 floors to the pits, where the rest of the crew had built corresponding targets. We dropped the piano wire down to the pits where they were connected to 50 pound weights. Now the whole deal was ready to lay out. Everything had to be aligned to the “Nuts” Using the layout provided by the factory, we first aligned 3 cars on one bank then cars across the non-existent lobby to the other 3 cars. Using 100 ft tapes we set up bank to bank dimensions and then triangulated the 6 cars from the extreme corners to square all 6 cars up. The first mechanic and Bud would then check dimensions at each floor to verify we had proper clearance to install the elevators. While up on top we also installed the rigging, so we could hang our skips and start stacking the main rails. I was tightening up the Crosby clips on a piece of cable while straddling a 4 inch beam using all the vacuum by rectum could provide. I heard “Excuse Be Buddy” when this iron worker, with his spud wrenches and tool bag leap-fogged right over me. Landed on his feet and kept going. The Iron Heads didn’t like any other trade in their territory. As the job started they always looked at us as outsiders. Over time friends were made and we got along just fine. Until it came time to set machine beams. They got a little bit antsy about work they considered their own. It is our work but the Iron Workers were facing lay-offs because their work was winding down.

 

“Our Very Best”

Otis 1900’s OVB (Our Very Best) The image is in its original size and can be downloaded and reproduced for framing. I will post a vintage or intertesting Elevator Wiring Diagram from my library every few weeks.

“Charley”

I worked with another colorful mechanic, Charlie.

What made it interesting was his personal life. His relationships were always a little on the explosive side. For some reason he always seemed to hook up with women that were either wrestlers or roller derby queens.

Charlie nearly always won the Monday morning story contest on the larger jobs. With several crews working the same job, the stories could and did become very entertaining.

Charlie and his current girlfriend lived on the second floor of an apartment building that surrounded the pool. Occasionally during the more of their serious domestic disputes the pool ended up as the repository for their personal possessions. 

One evening, one of the girlfriend’s former boyfriends made the mistake of stopping by without calling first. Needless to say, Charlie wasn’t all that happy about this unexpected visitor and let him know by knocking him down the stairs. The guy ended up in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Charlie figured the guy hadn’t learned his lesson and tossed him into the pool.

This unexpected visitor became one of the better Monday morning stories.

The argument started with the small and easy to carry personal items such as clothing going over the rail into the pool.  As things progressed, consecutive objects would increase in monitory and then on to sentimental value. While the easily removed items headed towards the bottom of the pool, the disagreement moved on to small kitchen appliances, TVs, record players, radios, stereo amplifiers along with their speakers. After about five minutes there was nothing left in the apartment smaller than the living room couch or the refrigerator.

The exhausted couple and not to mention soon to be evicted made up and headed for Sears to replace the drowned furniture and small appliances.

Shortly after finding a new apartment on the FIRST FLOOR and furnishing it with their new stuff. Things change and Charlie was sent to Albuquerque.  Haughton had a large job over there. This assignment for all intents and purposes ended their relationship.

Charlie had to make his escape to Albuquerque so he figured he would get a U-haul trailer, load up all his new stuff and get out of town.  The girl friend had to be out of their new first floor apartment so he could pull it off.

The time came when she took off to visit a relative. It was late and he had to get to Albuquerque.  All the U-Haul places were closed. Closed or not there were plenty of trailers just parked on the lot. Charlie had to move fast, so he backed his truck up to a trailer that looked as if it would hold all his goods. The rub here was the trailer hadn’t been checked out for its next trip. Spare tire, maybe? Didn’t matter, hooked it up headed over to the apartment. After loading all his stuff it was off to Albuquerque via “The Mother Road” Route 66.

The trip was going great until 200 hundred miles outside of Albuquerque the trailer blew a tire with no spare onboard. Charlie was a pretty resourceful guy not to mention a little bit of a gambler. Why not, call U-Haul and see if they will come out and fix the tire. They did without even asking for any paperwork and it was on to Albuquerque and this became the first Monday morning story in New Mexico.

“Watch Your Fingers”

“San Diego”

The First National Bank would soon be the tallest building in San Diego. First National had 30 landings, six 700 FPM gearless passenger cars, one 500 FPM gearless service car and one 3 stop vault elevator.

Material had to be off loaded and stored quickly. First came a semi loaded with rail brackets in 55 gallon drums, and then came the first of several flat bed trailers with the rails. All of this material had to be unloaded and stored under cover on the same day it arrived. The barrels of rail brackets were unloaded and stored. We used hand trucks to roll the barrels on-to the outside material hoist to be distributed on the upper landings. The first shipment of rails was unloaded off the flatbed using the building derrick, than placed on dollies and snaked into the building. We had to maneuver around all matter of obstacles to get as close to the hoist ways as possible. During all the unloading, storing and distribution of material the class structure between helpers was non-existent. We all had to bust our ass’s to get the job done.

Our crew to start consisted of 2 crews of local San Diego guys and then Bud along with 2 crews from LA. San Diego was a great city and still had a small town atmosphere. The LA guys were used to working big jobs like 1st National and we prided ourselves on how hard we worked and played.  The locals, on the other hand, came off the out-of-work list for the San Diego Chapter of Local 18. Work came for them when a major company came to town for large elevator installations or when the smaller independent companies got busy and needed extra help. The local companies tended to be very tight nit and kept family members and friends employed first. The local guys were good mechanics, a little older and definitely not used to working for a Forman like Bud.

The local guys had “Home Field Advantage” and could go home at night for dinner, sleep in their own bed and had a wife to pack their lunch. We on the other hand ate lunch off the gut wagon, drank together, ate dinner in greasy spoons and all lived in the same place.

We found lodging up the street from first national in a 1 star establishment called the “New Pantlin Hotel”. You can imagine what the “Old Pantlin” was like. Checking in and riding up to our room with the rest of our crew was like my first skip ride at FOB. Why in the hell did all of those big elevator men want to get on this little “Early American” phone booth sized elevator at the same time? I waited for it to come back and get me.

First off and of the utmost urgency, we had to locate a watering hole with pool tables and catered to hard Hats like ourselves. In the interim we hung out at a gin mill across the street from the hotel. It was frequented by nice, quiet and very well behaved locals. In just a few weeks our crew would change all that. We were finally 86′ed. Just 4 blocks down B Street our scouts found a beer joint to our liking. After the crew was kicked out a few of us were still able to drop in for an occasional late night pool game and night cap.

“A Different Kind of Larry.”

I had a chance to work with one of adjusters. Larry adjusted the West Coast Hydros we manufactured in Glendale. The company had set him up with a utility truck and a trailer that hauled the test weights. This setup was a very self contained operation.

Back to Larry, he was a Canuck that grew up in Winnipeg and had great stories about “The Great White North” and how he worked on the caravans that crossed the frozen tundra, hauling supplies for the mines and the isolated settlements. He also served with the RAF during World War Two. He never talked about his war experiences until one night.

I was his helper while adjusting several jobs up in Santa Barbara. He had the hydro adjustment wired. We would setup the door locks, limit switches and operator. These elevators were always wired for sound powered phones which we used for the adjusting procedure. Larry would ride the car and give me instructions on tweeking the valves. He knew these valves so well, there were times when, He’d come back and say you didn’t turn the adjustment like I told you. He was always right.

The local Gin Mill where the elevator guys hung out was a place called “LeJohns”. This place suited Larry just fine because he loved his Scotch. One night, after bending our elbows and getting thoroughly hammered, we returned to our Motel Room to crash and burn.

While laying in our beds in the dark he started talking about the RAF. He told of leaving Canada for Britain in the early ‘40s to enlist. He became a crew member on a bomber that flew night bombing raids over Europe. During these raids his crew had to fly through incredible anti-aircraft fire, fight of German night fighters and tend to fellow wounded crewmen. I could tell by the tone of his voice how emotional he became. He told to stories so well I could visualize every frightening moment. The bomber he flew in is now on display in a Museum in London because it survived more combat mission than any other bomber of its type. Larry and others like him saved the World during those dark nights over Fortress Europe.   

Towards the end of Larry’s career he had a serious accident that came close to costing him his life. He was had answering a call on a hydro freight in a manufacturing plant. It was raining like hell when he entered the building from the parking lot. The machine was in a fenced off section of the plant. He was already wet when leaned inside the machine and spotted a broken wire, for some reason he grabbed it. That wire was 220 Volts AC hot. He became paralyzed in place, unable to move all that worked were his eyes. He later told us that he watched the plant workers walking by just a few yards away. “I thought, please look at me.” Fortunately after an undetermined time one of the workers saw him and rushed into the fenced enclosure and turned the power off. The Doctors at the emergency room said He couldn’t have lasted much longer. Larry spent some time in the hospital recuperating and after time at home was able to return to work.

Larry worked several years before retiring and passed away a few years later. His funeral looked like an Elevator Mans Convention.

“Oil Stains on Your Boots.”

I had a chance to work with one of adjusters. Larry adjusted the West Coast Hydros we manufactured in Glendale. The company had set him up with a utility truck and a trailer that hauled the test weights. This setup was a very self contained operation.

The Haughton construction department was set up with a couple of superintendants managing the traction jobs and one superintendant that managed the hydro jobs, Mel. He had usually had five crews just installing the “West Coast Hydros”.

This separation of installations extended to the field. The hydro guys usually worked out in the zones which meant a fatter pay check. The traction guys normally worked downtown in zone one and had to pay for parking which was not covered by the “Standard Agreement”.

When the hydro work slowed down the hydro crews would work the traction jobs, all the while taking lots of guff from the traction guys.  The traction guys looked down on the hydro guys and the hydro guys regarded the traction guys as bull workers. The Hydro guys where easy to spot due color of their boots, in fact if you could ring them out, the result would be enough oil to fill a two stop hydro tank.

All this coming and going required a method of identifying personal hand tools, so the mechanics painted their tools different colors. Some examples I remember were, Bud (Stumpy)yellow, John (Dirty John) blue, George (Catfish) black, Kelly(TJ) green/orange and so on. While working, tools were traded in forth to get the job done. Upon leaving a large job with several crews working together, there was always a departing ritual. The departing mechanic would dump his hand tray on the floor so the other guys could find their tools. This not only redistributed the hand tools, but also got rid of all the dirt and assorted hardware that accumulated in the bottom of the hand tray. Needless to say the hand tray became a much lighter load for the helper to carry.

“This Bud’s For You.”

The Bush Brewery job was pretty well along when we unloaded Kelly’s tools. It was summer and the Valley was as hot as it gets. Inside the building was a constant 40 degrees. There was no room in the building for our material, so we brought it in from 105 degrees to 40 degrees as we needed it.

We hung doors, installed the door operator, set the geared machine, set the machine room equipment and completed all the waterproof wiring. Over all there was about a month’s work.

Talk about conditions. This job had the best due to the fact we were working in the same building with “the Brewery Workers Union” These guys had written into their contract a 7 minute bear break on the hour. It didn’t take Kelly long to win friends and influence people enough to get an unlimited invitation to their break room. The room looked like most break rooms with one very significant exception. “Tapped Beer” So each day after coffee break at 10AM we would rinse out our thermos cups so not to pollute the beer with a coffee taste. So three times a day we would visit the tap room with our sanitized coffee cups. This job definitely ran over.

As per usual after work was spent at the local bar, rehydrating. The closest bar to the job was a gin mill. We normally avoided hard liquor establishments due to the fact the clientele was older and harder for Kelly to entertain. Hard liquor bars are pretty much the same patrons. Examples are: The poor guy in the corner dying of some unknown incurable disease. You always have to buy this guy a drink. When you do he looks up and gives you a slight nod as if that drink is the last he will have on earth. Then there is the resident bad guy whom gets his rocks off by beating up old drunks (he always steered clear of us) Then there’s the Resident bar fly age unknown but definitely her speedometer is rolled way back. The rest of the patrons have been occupying their bar stools since the place was built. In this particular place there were pictures on the wall of when the place opened in the fifties. The people in the pictures are the same people sitting with us today. On the bar were the hottest red peppers known to man. Kelly could drop those things in like gum drops and wouldn’t even make a face. One afternoon our Construction Manager Hugh stopped with us and thought he could go head to head with Kelly in a pepper eating contest. Kelly 10, Hugh 1. Hugh didn’t say a word for 10 minutes.

Kelly and I would part company. Kelly went on to another job in LA. I went back to work for Bud at First National Bank in San Diego.

“Rex”

While working in Las Vegas our weekends were spent shooting pool and drinking beer. We went over to pick up another mechanic Rex, whom unlike the other married guys, had his wife with him. At his place we found him working on his motorcycle in the front yard. His son was helping out, by taking the bolts that Rex had removed and driving them into the ground with a hammer.  One of the guys said “Hey man you gonna let him do that?” Like the great father he was, Rex immediately disciplined the boy by saying, “Don’t do that” and that was all. I mean that was it!  To this day we wonder where that kid, now grown up, is serving his time.

Rex may not have had the perfect kid but he sure had the perfect wife. He cleaned up and while leaving with us, He told his wife, “I’m going out with these guys to drink beer and shoot pool, I don’t know when I’m coming home and by the way while I’m out, wash my truck and don’t leave any streaks on it like you did the last time.”

There was an eerie silence as we looked at each other in disbelief. If only our girlfriends and wives could take lessons from this amazing woman.

Rex, just like the song, was a very “Macho Macho Man.” Some years later while hoisting a rail; it came back at him, hitting him in the chest. The machined end of guide rails are sharper than hell and can cause a lot of damage. The impact did just that. He went to the ER with a very large jagged gash. The Doctor told him it would take a whole lot of stitches to close the wound to prevent a serious scar. He quizzed the MD and, “Asked what if I don’t get it sewed up?” The MD replied, “You will have a very noticeable scar on your chest.” That’s great,” Rex quipped and left.