World Fence News

46 • JANUARY 2020 • WORLD FENCE NEWS © Skidril Inc. 2019 Ending back breaking post pounding! Skidril is the place for fence post pounders and equipment. With over 30 years of experience and thousands of customers all over the world look no further for the best in the business. We make Gasoline, Hydraulic and Pneumatic powered drivers. The Skidril hydraulic driver line can be powered by the smallest power supply in the industry (only 97 lb. and 2 sq. ft.) or even your tractor, skid loader or digger. From ground rods to 4" pipe or wood we have a solution for you. SKIDRIL.COM 800-843-3745 American Ingenuity. Back in the 90's we had an idea! We invented the self-contained post driver. The first machine (which is still running) was delivered to a fencer in New York State. Now the Ultra-Driver G20D Gas Powered Post Driver offers awesome performance in an affordable package. Make no mistake only the Skidril G20D comes from a company with nearly 30 years experience making gas driven tools for the fence industry. The Ultra-Driver G20D is the most powerful driver in its class powered by a 4 stroke Honda motor or 2 stroke. A great product at a good price from a name you can trust! Just Like the Good Old Days? continued from page 42 good and lubricated, we'd launch our empties into the open excavations like hand grenades and yell, "incoming!!" Amazingly, the more we drank, the funnier it was. But I digress. Back to the purpose of my vis- it. Once inside the trailer, I'd plop the case down on the plan table and greet the superintendent. Sometimes he'd be glad to see me and sometimes not. It all depended how the day was going. If my visit was of the "happy" variety, we might chat a while and I'd make a half-hearted attempt to get my sales spiel in. When my visit was ill-timed (perhaps there'd just been a screw-up on the site and tempers were elevated), I could sense it almost im- mediately. My measured, master plan of re- treat was then to abandon the beer, forget about selling anything, and flee the site in a manner similar to the way Tokyo crowds fled Godzilla. Brave New Worlds But this time was ok – and as this superintendent is building up to the riveting climax of his story about the porta-potty blowing over in the wind, my mind and body acclimate to my new surroundings. An important note here: if you've never been exposed to the 1970s Con- struction Jobsite Trailer experience – well – you really haven't lived life. Picture crossing over a threshold from a lovely Au- tumn day outside into surreal and disturbing landscape of visceral at- tack. Every sense is assaulted. First, there's vision. Immediate- ly, you are overwhelmed by the – ah – décor of our new surroundings. No, you don't see OSHA posters or wage notifications or EEO announce- ments – or even progress schedules, cost-code sheets or emergency phone numbers, as you would today. No, in place of this administrative puff- ery – adorning each and every avail- able square inch of interior wall sur- face is a patchworked assemblance of full-color pin-ups, pullouts and centerfolds featuring (shall we say) "young, voluptuous women of the clothing-optional variety." Not that you could see the post- ings all that clearly mind you, for the next thing forced upon you is of a re- spiratory nature. It has to do with the sudden absence of clear and breath- able air. This is due to the fact that – in the 1970s – typical interior jobsite trailer air is composed of 3% oxygen; 7% leaking propane from canisters stacked in the corner; 12% aggressive body odor; and the remaining 78% filled out with Camel (or Winston) cigarette smoke. There are moments you can't make out the person at the other side of the room. You converse using so- nar and profanity. And we haven't even gotten to the senses of smell ( p o r t - a - j o h n s ) , hearing (air ham- mers) and touch (I still can't talk about it!). Today, the Surgeon Gen- eral would simply slap a huge red warning label on the whole thing and then find the nearest bar to drink away the horror of what was just witnessed. And this was only 20 minutes worth of one site in one town on a single Friday! We haven't even talk- ed about the fact that this was a time when OSHA had (on a good day) four employees in as many states, women and minorities were systematically "discouraged" from joining the trades, and formaldehyde, lead, asbestos and radon were welcome additions to any newly- constructed home. Yessiree, it was a great time to be lucky to be alive! Closing: Foundations But it would be disingenuous on my part not to confess to a part of me relating to Earl's argument. Sure, there were things going on back then that would – in retrospect –- horrify the purveyors of political correctness today; but if you really think about it, that could apply to pretty much any time in history. And it certainly wasn't all bad. It was a time when you could leave materials on site overnight and have them still be there in the morning. It was an era when verbal con- tracts were still common and going back on your "word as a gentleman" simply wasn't done. And maybe I myself am being selectively sentimental, but I do seem to recall a different temperament and respect for the occupation back then – something almost romantic. I do un- derstand why Earl would lament over "what it means to be a builder," even though – after all these years – I'm still not sure I could define it. But I do think Earl is wrong about one thing. I'm not convinced that the level of reverence or respect for something like – in our case – being a carpenter craftsman happens on the jobsite. I think it's too late by then. I've got a hunch that it occurs much earlier in life – and on a far more per- ... in the 1970s, typical interior jobsite trailer air is composed of 3% oxygen; 7% leaking propane from canisters stacked in the corner; 12% aggressive body odor; and the remaining 78% filled out with Camel (or Winston) cigarette smoke. continued on page 48

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