A couple of weeks ago, I spent two entire days watching a ballet. Now before you think I've suddenly gotten all cultured or something, let me explain.
Now this ballet was not staffed with men with names like Rudolf Nureyev or Mikhail Baryshnikov, nor did they wear tights and satin toe-shoes.
These were guys with names like Willie, Billy, Freddie, Dave, Albert, Tim and their leader Matt. The shoes they wore were work boots for most of the time then calf-high rubber boots for the rest. You see, my guys are concrete guys, they put in a concrete driveway for me.
About now you're thinking there's no way this rube (the writer) can be at all cultured if he doesn't know the difference between pouring a driveway and ballet! Au contraire, mon ami! (I threw in some French to show I do have a little culture!)
Matt and crew showed up on a Wednesday morning to begin demolishing the poor tired asphalt drive that should have been replaced years ago. With picks and shovels and sledge hammers they began their work. Without a lot of planning and scheming about how to tackle this job, they turned in and started. After Matt, the owner, left there was no clear foreman on the job, they all knew their job and did it.
A short time later a tractor and driver arrived to do the heavy lifting. The tractor was equipped with a front loader and a box blade on the rear. As the guys with the hand tools loosened the asphalt around the edges, the tractor would move in to scrape it away then pick it up to haul to the dumpster parked on the street.
This is where the ballet comes in. As the tractor did its work going back and forth, the men would move in synchronization with it. He pushed debris forward, they moved in to clean up. As he backed up, they moved out of the way just in time. To and fro they went for hours. I sat in amazement that they weren't run over or caught with the blade of one of the tools. There was no shouted warning or instructions, they moved as if choreographed. This is art even if it does involve a Kubota tractor and guys in work boots!
As the work progressed down the drive, some of the men started putting in the form boards. this continued until the drive was clear and the forms ready for the next day when the concrete would be poured.
The next day, the art continued but this time without the tractor. Now it involved three concrete truck loads of wet, heavy concrete mix and the men spreading it while wearing their rubber boots.
The truck backed close to the back of the job site, lowered its trough and began to pour the mix. As it hit the ground, the men using special rakes and shovels, moved it to where it were needed. Again, there were no instructions or orders, these men knew their work and did it. As two men would use a screed board to start leveling the mix, others were ready with shovels to throw in extra in the low spots or to pull excess away with their rakes. Again this appeared to choreographed. They moved to where they needed to be, they made the motions they needed to make as if they were following a script or a musical score.
What adds to my amazement of these men and what they do is the fact that Freddie, I'm told, is over eighty years old! Two of the others are in their seventies! They worked harder than men half their age would have.
You've probably wondered in reading the title of this missive about the word "bullfloat." As pictured above, (an internet photo, not my guys), a bullfloat is a large flat metal piece attached to the end of a really long arm. This metal is glided over the surface of freshly poured concrete to help create a smooth, level surface. The worker stands outside the concrete and, using the long pole, gently pushes the float across the surface in a continuous motion. It is important to keep the blade of the float at the correct angle for the duration of its travel. It reminds me of a violinist moving his bow across the strings except that the bullfloat is 20 times longer! It is true artistry in motion to watch someone who does the job well.
When I was probably a senior in high school, I had a conversation with Mr. Melvin Rosen, a highly respected merchant in my hometown of Citronelle, Alabama. Our conversation was comparing college football with professional football. I was arguing that college was much more interesting to me. Mr. Rosen, who was a season-ticket holder for the New Orleans Saints told me that he preferred pro football as all the players were highly skilled. He stated that he could spend all day watching brick masons work if they knew what they were doing. That comment has stuck with me over the years and I've taken it to heart.
I enjoy watching guys like my concrete guys work. It is truly a pleasure to watch, much more than watching a ballet!
But now I can't get the image of Freddie in a tutu out of my head!
