DAD’S VOCATION

One of the most mysterious stories from growing up as a youngster on 9th avenue was wondering why my father would awake at 4:30AM, Monday through Friday?

From under the warm blankets in my bedroom, I’d see the light on from under my door out in the living room, hear 1010 news on the small radio in the kitchen, the shower running in the bathroom and listening to his footsteps going through our apartment as he dressed in his bedroom.

Lifting the shade and peeking out the window facing the avenue, opposite of Holy Name from my second floor apartment the street light was still on, and the moon was out; IT WAS STILL DARK!

When I was old enough to realize the reason he awoke so early was because he had a long trip ahead of him on the subway to get to his job in Manhattan as a Local 40 Ironworker. Not to mention they started work at seven.

As a kid, I was proud 0f what my father did for a living. One day I recall my mother taking me over to Manhattan with her to see him; we were standing on the corner of 53rd and Lexington avenue looking up at the steel being erected by the Ironworkers – one of the toughest, most dangerous jobs any one can have.

My fondest memory of that day wasn’t how cold it was or being able to see my father, nope, it was an ironworker about four stories high straddling a beam wailing away with his ‘beater’.

The noise caught everyone’s attention down on the street. The Journeyman must’ve swung about 10 times. But the best part of it all, after he accomplished his task, he looked down and our eyes met.

He waved at me.

Not the businessmen in their three-piece suits staring up watching him closely, not the blonde walking by, nope, he waved at me. A six year old standing on the corner, dreaming of doing the same thing some day.
From that day I always wanted to be an Ironworker – I tried it when I turned 18. I worked for five years, I loved every minute of it. The friendships, arguments, card games, booze consumed, money made, life lessons learned, (Willie Higgins telling me, ‘never say can’t') and most of all…learning the meaning of teamwork.

Iron doesn’t get set without a group of men working together.

The Cush’s, The Corbett’s, Billy Phelan, Tommy Walsh, Mike Cunningham, Andy Purcell, Joey Alba, Joe Sabbagh, are just a few Ironwokers’ names that come to mind when I think of the ones who made a lasting impression on me in my short-career.

Our neighborhood had ironworkers, firemen, policemen, paramedics, brick layers, electricians, laborers, plumbers, MTA workers, teachers, writers, artists, bartenders, postal workers, and proprietors.

Do you recall what your father did for a living? Did you follow in his footsteps? Would you want your son or daughter following in your footsteps?