“Breaker Breaker”

Most of the hands at MECO San Diego were holdovers from the Elser days. These guys had never worked for anybody else. When work was slow the non-working guys would show up at the shop in the AM hoping a job would come up. With this readymade labor force hanging around in the parking lot the company could man jobs as they came up. As far as the Union was concerned this deal wasn’t all that Kosher. The Local couldn’t do much about it and the company didn’t have to pay anyone show-up time.

The Elser Montgomery men were a pretty tight bunch and as stated above they had spent most of their working career with the same company. In order to stay in-touch in the San Diego area they all installed CB radios in their vehicles. One might think this type of communication would aid in getting the work done. Not so, the real purpose was, where is coffee, where is lunch, where is the after work beers and most important stay one step ahead of the boss, who just happened to be a Dick Head.

The boss was the son-in-law of the former owner and had a last name that actually rhymed with “Lick-a-Dick” which became his handle over the radio waves. He may have been a dick head but one thing for sure, he wasn’t, stupid. Stashed away out of sight in his office was his own CB radio that just happened to be tuned in to the same channel his employees were using. These guys were busted big time and the crackdown started on hours, were-a-bouts and quitting time. It took awhile for the guys to figure out their code had been broken. Once done, they became the hardest working elevator men in San Diego and Lick-a Dick became  Mr. on Channel 11 but still remained Lick–a-Dick on the newer side band radios that he couldn’t monitor on his older radio.

“Winnie the Ginny.”

Vince affection ally known as “Winnie the Ginny” was the most typical “New York Italian” I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. Short, handsome, black hair parted in the middle and big feet that didn’t fit his small frame. Vince got his name from one of his helpers “Freddie the Alien” Freddie was from Germany and trouble with his V’s. They came out as W’s thus the name Wince.

Vince was a high strung mechanic that always stayed busy. Some helpers had a problem that Vince always like to finish what they were doing even it took until 7PM. Two and half hours past quitting time. Vince was working SGD&E and had an encounter with one of the different people we meet in our trade.

Buck was a tower crane operator of questionable gender. He was a big guy with an unusual build. Always wore dark glasses to hide his drinking habit that extended into working hours. Most of all, the most unusual trait was his bra. Most of the construction guys steered clear of him simply because his was very volatile and an asshole to boot.

I was working for Vince and waiting for the man lift at starting time when the incident occurred. Vince had never met Buck before and thought the bra was some kind of joke, proceeded to approach Buck from behind, reach under his arms and grabbed his chest with both hands and said “Oh I like These”.

Buck exploded, turned red and grabbed Vince by the shirt, picked him up and said. “If you ever do that again I’ll kill you”. My position in life at this point was Vince’s helper and according to the helper code you were give your life if necessary in his defense. Being devoted to my mechanic and not to mention liking the guy, I started looking for a weapon. Someone had left a long-handled shovel next to the entrance of the man lift. I picked up the shovel and assumed the Babe Ruth position and yelled “Let him go, you son-of-a-bitch.” This got his attention and when I caught his eye, he knew I wasn’t kidding; he gently set Vince back down on his feet.

A few years later I heard Buck while shitfaced as usual dropped a yard of concrete on a guy while working a bridge job and killed him. Maybe I should have taken that swing and someone would still alive today. “Who Knows?”

“Enter Gunther”

John was our new Branch Manager right out of Toledo. A Buckeye down to the bone. Nice Guy, but a little flightly. The service guys nick-named him Gunther. John was new to field work and dropped by our jobs quite often. We’d have lunch and discuss the current job we were working. My helper Jimmy came kidding around and came up with a great gag. Jimmy and I rehearsed this gag for about a week and it was time spring it. John showed up on one of his noontime visits as usual and it was off to Denny’s. Very casually I mentioned we needed a week off. John being the nice casual guy his was, swallowed his food and after some time asked, “Why?” “We have to go to Milwaukee.” I answered.  After another mouthfull disappeared. “How come?” John asked. It was time to spring the trap. Taking a deep breath I answered, “Jimmy and I have been selected by our local to participate in The Elevator Mans Construction Derby.” Two mouthfuls of food went down this time. John with a puzzled look asked, “What’s That?”  Here’s where the rehearsals payed off. “Every five years the International holds an completion where we stack rails, build car frames, install cabs, wire, you know the whole works, we compete with guys from locals from all over the country.”  Four mouthfuls hit bottom before his face lit up and exclaimed, I’m really proud of you guys and when I get back to the office I’m calling Dick! Dick was the Regional Manager. “Mission Accomplished.” After lunch Jimmy and I would look at each other and say “Is it time yet?” Well we really liked John and made the call about the time we figured he would hit the office. He wasn’t very happy and wouldn’t even trust us for “Good Morning” for the next two months.

“Ernie”

Haughton had booked a nice little job that involved the tear out of an Otis external greard freight and installation of an Esco Hydro with power doors.

This job had a great advantage because after landing the car and counter weights we used the old machine as a hoist. We wrapped the governor rope around the driver a couple of times, lowered it down the hoist way, hooked  up pendent station to the existing controller and we had a ready-made hoist for tear out and new installation.

Ernie our superintendent was running us out of LA. He had been my Dad’s boss years before and I mentioned him in Chapter I, “The First Elevator man I Ever Knew.” He was the same pain-in-the-ass that Dad worked for.

This job ponied up a lot of scrap, we used the proceeds to purchase tools we couldn’t get from Ernie. All was well and good until he spotted a load of scrap in my truck. “I want the cash from that scrap.” He said, I tried to explain what we were doing, but he wouldn’t even hear of it. Having no way out, on the way home that night I sold the scrap for around fifty bucks. On my time ticket for that week I entered $50 for cartage. Over the next few weeks he got his cash and I got my cartage.

The next bug up his ass was, “You can’t pick up your checks up at the shop on pay day, it’s a waste of time, so give me an address where you want your checks mailed.” What he didn’t know while we picked up our checks at the shop, we also dropped off time, ordered parts and picked up or dropped off tools and material. I gave him the address where I wanted my checked mailed.  312 Cushman Place. It worked out just fine; we were still able to drop off our time, order parts and pick up or drop off tools and material at 312 Cushman Place. “The Shop.”

Loy

Loy was a Marine Engineer in the Navy during World War Two. After the war he worked for Standard Oil all over South America. Loy was one the finest Mechanics that I have ever known. To watch this guy with tools was something to behold. He spent his spare time riding dirt bikes over in the desert. A great sense of humor added to the pleasure of working with him. There was a drawback, his lower digestive system could on command emit the most digesting gases and based on the intensity of the order I’m sure vapors as well.  He used this talent not only for his own entertainment but the entertainment of others as well. It came in very handy while doing everyday service duties at SDG&E. . . .”The Gas Company.” This customer was very touchy when it came to burnt out indicator lamps and Loy did his very best to keep them satisfied. Here’s the drill. As mentioned earlier SDG&E had eight passenger cars that serviced twenty landings. The twenty landings included a basement. The basement was reserved for executive parking only, so the lowly Joe had reason to make that journey. Loy had it worked out to a science. He would stand in the lobby and register a down hall call, when an elevator answered the down call he would enter the car and register every car call. If there was a burnt out lamp he would place the car on inspection remove the car station cover, change the lamp, replace the cover and return the car to service. Normally after registering all the car calls and all the lamps were ok the car would travel down to the basement and cancel all the car calls that he had set. That was normally. . . . .Entering a car that had no burnt out lamps and was on its way to the basement due to all the registered car calls, he would unload all the noxious gases that had been stored in his lower colon. Now that the air inside of the elevator resembles the atmosphere of Venus he allowed it to continue to the basement. Loy figured that if he held the car a minute or two there was had to be a passenger, or if he was really on his game, several waiting in the basement for that car to arrive. To check his work, he registered an up call in the lobby so he could observe the car’s occupants when the doors opened again in the lobby. I’ve been there, I’ve seen it myself. Gota tell ya, it is really something to see a car full of executives with strained looks and eyes shifting from side to side.

I havn’t been in contact with Loy for many years. I have tried but the years and miles have made it difficult. I post this story in Loy’s memory because I just saw his name in “The Elevator Constructor” on page 45.

“Harold & Al”

If ever a crew was tight it was Harold and Al. These guys were so tight they took vacations together. The heavy of the team was Harold. He was a BS’er beyond compare. Al on the other hand was the straight man of the two. Harold would fill our heads with BS us all day long. You know sexual exploits, super mechanic, war stories and fantastic elevator installations. After digesting all of Harold’s banter we could always rely on Al to give us the “Real Story’ which came in handy to trip Harold up. When you got to Harold he would to start to stutter and re-tell the story a little closer to the truth. This was a little game we played all day. The truth be known, Harold was a hell of a wrench, excellent pilot and an all around Good Guy.

These guys were also pranksters and not too bad at it. One of their tricks was to tape up the inside lens of a welding hood with duck tape and ask you to weld, while all the time saying “ You’re a better welder than me so please weld this joint”. Not bad and somewhat entertaining but most certainly Bush League. Harold and Al always laughed their asses off and were proud as hell of their selves. Pay back came when they returned from one of their joined-at-the-hip vacations.

Harold had an old sheet metal hand tray that he built himself and it was his “Pride and Joy.” It was painted Haughton green using the one of the spray cans the company shipped with every job. It was winter and pretty cold in the shack so we would fire up the babbitt pot for a little warmth and heat up a sandwich or two. There were blocks of babbitt in the corner and it didn’t take long to come up with a plan. 10 pounds in the babbitt pot, heat until molten, remove Harold’s tools from the hand tray, pour molten the babbitt in the bottom, let cool, spray paint with Haughton green, throw some dirt in, replace the hand tools, put back in the job box and finally, anxiously await Harold and Al’s return from their vacation. Day one, Al opened the job box and grabbed the hand tray and it was off to work. Quitting was time was just the opposite. This went on for at least a week and we wondered if they were on to us. Finally they came into the shack at quitting time, Harold said. “Al, why don’t you get some of those God Damn heavy tools out of that tray?” With every eye glued on Al, he complied, dumped the trays contents on the concrete floor and found himself still holding an empty hand tray that weighed about 15 pounds’ exclaiming “Some asshole poured babbitt in the bottom of this fucking tray.” There were some feeble attempts at reprisals but still there was no question that the rest of us had the upper hand in the “Gotsha” game. It least, for the rest of this job.

“A Race to the Top”

 

Kelly took over the top-side work as “First Mechanic” As usual his talent as a great Mechanic and not to mention his pranks and humor would keep all of us very entertained while we worked.

Kelly became buds with this Gung-Ho Iron worker whom was quite a guy. To begin with he would run the stairs to the top of the building every morning to start work, with Kelly neck-in-neck no matter how hung-over. Thinking back over all those years I never knew him to suffer from the effects of Demon Spirits.

Kelly and this Iron Head would also test each other’s nerves by walking out on the open steel on their heels 12 and then later 30 floors over “B” Street. I saw them with 2 inches left off their heels still remaining on the steel beam. You have to understand here this it, the very top of the building on open steel and nothing on any side except air.

We ran rails, built car frames and installed comp sheaves. All along Kelly continued to entertain, not just for us but the San Diego public as well. One of his most cherished possessions was his rubber barf. I’ll bet he kept it in a safety deposit box when not in use. He would buy a sandwich and soda off the gut wagon then sit outside the barricades at the corner of 5th and B to eat his lunch. He laid his rubber barf on the sidewalk, poured a little soda on it to give it a fresh look and while he had all the pedestrians’ attention he dipped his sandwich in and ate it.

The only time I ever saw Kelly rattled was, while showing off and doing a high wire act walking up a cable that supported the derrick 20 floors in the air. The iron heads were using the derrick to place a very large beam. The beam didn’t fit the first time so they raised it about 10 feet and let it go. The beam came down with a resounding crash. The cable with Kelly aboard started whipping around throwing him off. Kelly grabbed the cable and slid down to a beam below.

Kelly showed up late one morning with a large bruise on his fore head. We found out that he parked his ‘63 Chevy wagon on the street near the job and slept in its zippered car top carrier. This was a very handy crash pad, after our evenings of after work beers. One morning he slept in and didn’t climb out before the pedestrian traffic became busy. He unzipped the carrier stuck his head out and looked up and down the street. Seeing the coast was clear. He dove out head first to do his normal back flip to land on his feet. There was a problem with his exit. During the bail out his belt hung up on the carriers zipper which left him hanging upside down 2 feet from the sidewalk. Fortunately some Good Sanitarian passer-bys unhooked him and saved the day.

“It’s Not That Safe Down Here Either.”

We set the pit channels and first main rails so we could start building our skips. During this type of work there was all matter of shit using our hoist ways for re-entry. The guy that dropped the stuff was usually so far away by, the time you heard “Head Ache” It was too late. Skips were still the same as Elevator Men had been using for 50 years. They were constructed of plywood, 2 x 4s, no safeties and no guard rails. They had to be safe because we built, rigged and had to work off them. Bud as usual, rode us like rented mules.

Bud set up one crew exclusively to install the service car. That car would be the first inspected and turned over for the contractors use.

The skips were built, hung and the crews started running rails in all 7 hoist-ways. The rail pile got a lot busier, Bud put on 2 more crews and we starting stacking rails. He had an experienced helper running the cat heads in the basement, 1 crew per hoist way on adjacent skips and us grunts dragging rails over to the hoist way, attaching the them to a free line to be hoisted up into the hoist way so the crews on the skips could stack one rail per side, drill holes in the building steel, bolt on the brackets, align them and stack 2 more rails. You damn well have the rails ready to go and attached quickly or Bud would tear you a new asshole. This all went on for a couple of days then the crews on the skips moved across the lobby to the other facing hoist ways and started the process all over again.

We had clear hoist-ways up to the 10th floor and would have 6 more floors soon. Bud put on 2 more crews. One came from LA and the other from San Diego. The job would become a whole lot more interesting. The mechanic from LA was Kelly.

“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.