We lost a good man. Received sad news on the passing of Artie Rice Sr.
Artie was one of the good guys. Hung out in Timboo’s down on 5th avenue. He was an Ironworker out of Local 40. Whenever I was in Timboo’s as a kid he was always nice to me.
One day when I was ten my mother grabbed me after school and took me with her over to Manhattan to meet the Gooch.
I was in my school clothes; blue trousers, black shoes, white collared shirt with the clip-on H.N.S. tie.
Walking down Windsor Place to the F-train I wondered to myself, “where are we going?”
Mom bought two tokens and through the turnstile we went.
Sitting on the train, mom didn’t say a word to me. I looked all around the subway car, glancing at all people.
“Don’t stare, it’s not polite,” mom said.
We got off the train at 47th-50th streets Rockefeller Center. Climbing the stairs and out into the busy streets in front of us was a new building going up.
All you could see was the steel. There was a light drizzle and a lot of noise. People everywhere. Cars and trucks beeping their horns.
The steel looked to make up two, maybe three floors but the men working on the job looked to be really high up. I was watching guys walk across narrow beams. It looked scary. There was a big crane in the street hoisting up steel and the two guys on top of the building were putting the steel together. It was like a puzzle. Mom told me not to move that she’d be right back. I stood there and watched her cross the street, say a few words to a guy in a hardhat standing in the street and quickly return to me.
Imagine if I had walked away or someone snatched me up?
I looked up and saw a worker sitting on a beam. He had a silver hardhat on and a tool belt around his waist. We made eye contact and he waved to me.
I thought that was the coolest thing ever. I waved back. Mom grabbed my hand and we headed back down into the subway and went home.
Sad news to report. Little Mike Melfi died earlier this week. He was 33. Mike was an ironworker and working at the Hudson Yards where he took an awful fall.
Mike was the son of my cousin Mike Melfi. The Melfi’s are good people. I was very close to them growing up in Brooklyn.
In 1950, Eleanor Roosevelt was sitting in a dentist chair in New York City, she was looking out an eighteenth-floor window:
“How much we usually take for granted about work of our fellow human beings! Somehow I had always thought of these huge skyscrapers as they are when finished, and had never before seen the skilled work and calm courage that goes into putting up the framework. Just walking across one beam to another is an amazing acrobatic feat of balance with sure death below if you lose you head for a minute. Here were men doing work that goes on day in and day out and is part of our daily lives, and I had never given a thought to the extraordinary skill and physical ability required to carry it through successfully. I shall be grateful to these men in the future, and have a better understanding of what this kind of work requires.”
(Source: Ironworkers 100th Anniversary, 1896-1996; A History of the Ironworkers Union.)
My cousin Lenny Melfi would have celebrated his 54th birthday today. But 7 years ago he passed away. I think of him every day. He had the heart of a lion. Lenny was tough and most of all, he cared about people.
In 1950, Eleanor Roosevelt was sitting in a dentist chair in New York City, she was looking out an eighteenth-floor window:
“How much we usually take for granted about work of our fellow human beings! Somehow I had always thought of these huge skyscrapers as they are when finished, and had never before seen the skilled work and calm courage that goes into putting up the framework. Just walking across one beam to another is an amazing acrobatic feat of balance with sure death below if you lose you head for a minute. Here were men doing work that goes on day in and day out and is part of our daily lives, and I had never given a thought to the extraordinary skill and physical ability required to carry it through successfully. I shall be grateful to these men in the future, and have a better understanding of what this kind of work requires.”
(Source: Ironworkers 100th Anniversary, 1896-1996; A History of the Ironworkers Union.)
Without a road map on my journey of life, my mother gave me an ultimatum; get a job or get out.
I went with the job.
Though my ironworking days didn’t last too long; 5, maybe 6 years, I met some wonderful men. Men who taught me valuable lessons which would help me later on in life.
This past week I received word that Irv Buitrago passed away. Irv was a Local 40 Ironworker and an outstanding guy. We worked a few jobs together.