The climb, the first and only day...
of working a job for the Harder Silo Company. I was hired on as a laborer for this company back in my late teen's, with no money and no car at the time, I needed a job that would offer me transportation to and from the work site. As a favor to my older brother, they agreed. Being talked up by my brother as "young and dumb and strong as a bull" (all true), they knew that I would be a good worker. The very next morning I was picked up by a surly, cigar chomping man that had worn hands the size of an old baseball mitt. Speaking in broken English and Italian, we drove off in a diesel-powered Ford flatbed truck, loaded with concrete silo blocks and a whole bunch of curved metal. The only thing that kept me from throwing-up, (from breathing in cigar and diesel fumes) was that I had to concentrate on what the hell he was trying say and trying to get a rock station on the AM radio.
We arrived at a farm very similar to the one pictured. We scouted out the needed repairs on one large silo, an 80-footer! After unloading the needed supplies, I was told to take a couple of wrenches, climb to the top of the silo, unbolt the metal chute that surrounds the ladder, (that I will climbing), and literally kick it off, as it needed to be replaced with a new one. Ok...so I climbed, testing each and every rusty rung on the way up. I climbed to the top in darkness with only the splattering of light coming through the rusted-out sections of the old chute. Without any safety gear on, wrenches in my pocket, and small flashlight in my mouth, (this is where "young and dumb", and "PRE-OHSA" is defined), I started to unbolt the sections of the chute. Done with the first one, I kicked it like mule and sent it sailing. Daylight opened up, and the view was awesome, despite the man bitching down below in Italian, it was rather fun. Hay, I did what I was told! As I worked my way down, the winds started to pick up and then I got thinking...what if I slipped and fell and got sliced in half by falling on the next piece of metal below. Ouch. The good time started to fade. I made it to the bottom, completely revealing the ladder that went to the top of the silo. Anthony was just about done with assembling the new 60-foot chute, and I was told to climb back to the top with a block and tackle so to hoist this chute up. I mimicked him in Italian and asked if he had ever flown a kite...he said no.
Back on the ground we readied the chute with rope, connected it to the block and tackle, and started to pull. Lift and pull, lift and pull we did. The winds started to carry this 60-foot razor blade from side to side as we got it off the ground. It was hard to keep it from sailing about, it was totally out of control, even with an anchor rope attached. We got it to the top, despite it flailing about, and back up I go, to start bolting the new chute in place. That was NOT fun. Flashlight back in my mouth, nuts and bolts in my front pants pockets, wrenches in my back pockets, one arm weaved through a ladder rung, while the other tried to steady and lineup bolt holes. Not easy when the wind blows.
Well, we got R' done. I never dropped a wrench, I did lose a few bolts and some nuts, I know for sure that I lost my nerve to do this job.
The next morning Anothony sits in that Ford flatbed outside of my house, chomping his cigar and breathing in diesel fumes, waiting and waiting...and waiting.
518. Pentax and Tamron. PS, most silos have a mental chute over the ladder to protect the ladder itself, and the worker too!
The climb, the first and only day...
of working a job for the Harder Silo Company. I was hired on as a laborer for this company back in my late teen's, with no money and no car at the time, I needed a job that would offer me transportation to and from the work site. As a favor to my older brother, they agreed. Being talked up by my brother as "young and dumb and strong as a bull" (all true), they knew that I would be a good worker. The very next morning I was picked up by a surly, cigar chomping man that had worn hands the size of an old baseball mitt. Speaking in broken English and Italian, we drove off in a diesel-powered Ford flatbed truck, loaded with concrete silo blocks and a whole bunch of curved metal. The only thing that kept me from throwing-up, (from breathing in cigar and diesel fumes) was that I had to concentrate on what the hell he was trying say and trying to get a rock station on the AM radio.
We arrived at a farm very similar to the one pictured. We scouted out the needed repairs on one large silo, an 80-footer! After unloading the needed supplies, I was told to take a couple of wrenches, climb to the top of the silo, unbolt the metal chute that surrounds the ladder, (that I will climbing), and literally kick it off, as it needed to be replaced with a new one. Ok...so I climbed, testing each and every rusty rung on the way up. I climbed to the top in darkness with only the splattering of light coming through the rusted-out sections of the old chute. Without any safety gear on, wrenches in my pocket, and small flashlight in my mouth, (this is where "young and dumb", and "PRE-OHSA" is defined), I started to unbolt the sections of the chute. Done with the first one, I kicked it like mule and sent it sailing. Daylight opened up, and the view was awesome, despite the man bitching down below in Italian, it was rather fun. Hay, I did what I was told! As I worked my way down, the winds started to pick up and then I got thinking...what if I slipped and fell and got sliced in half by falling on the next piece of metal below. Ouch. The good time started to fade. I made it to the bottom, completely revealing the ladder that went to the top of the silo. Anthony was just about done with assembling the new 60-foot chute, and I was told to climb back to the top with a block and tackle so to hoist this chute up. I mimicked him in Italian and asked if he had ever flown a kite...he said no.
Back on the ground we readied the chute with rope, connected it to the block and tackle, and started to pull. Lift and pull, lift and pull we did. The winds started to carry this 60-foot razor blade from side to side as we got it off the ground. It was hard to keep it from sailing about, it was totally out of control, even with an anchor rope attached. We got it to the top, despite it flailing about, and back up I go, to start bolting the new chute in place. That was NOT fun. Flashlight back in my mouth, nuts and bolts in my front pants pockets, wrenches in my back pockets, one arm weaved through a ladder rung, while the other tried to steady and lineup bolt holes. Not easy when the wind blows.
Well, we got R' done. I never dropped a wrench, I did lose a few bolts and some nuts, I know for sure that I lost my nerve to do this job.
The next morning Anothony sits in that Ford flatbed outside of my house, chomping his cigar and breathing in diesel fumes, waiting and waiting...and waiting.
518. Pentax and Tamron. PS, most silos have a mental chute over the ladder to protect the ladder itself, and the worker too!