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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
This was another beginning, the third in six months. America is a youthful country, where no one is afraid of fresh starts or “starting from scratch.”
I went down the same morning to inspect the new project, on the south side of 114th Street, between Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue, opposite the Columbia Campus. It was a large piece of property, running through the block to 113th Street. Six fireproof eight story apartment building were to be erected on the site. To me it looked like an immense stone quarry. The rock excavation had been completed in one section, where foundations were being set while drilling and blasting were proceeding at a high tempo in the adjoining section. It was a sunny day and that throbbing sight of life and action was highly invigorating.
Joe Paterno called his brother Michael and asked him to show me all he could. Then he called the foundation contractor, Joe Rose, a red-faced, ebullient man from Calabria and, after a short introduction, Joe Paterno told him that I was there to learn and that he should explain the foundation plans to me. The only materials being received then were sand and cement, for which Michael signed the vouchers.
Jose Rose was delighted to converse with me in Italian. When I told him that I was a law graduated, his eyes almost popped out in admiration. Joe Rose couldn’t read or write, but he knew every line on a plan and had a remarkable memory. Once I read the figures to him, he remembered them for days. As he measured for piers and foundation walls, I assisted him by holding one end of the tape, re-checking the measurements on the plan and following him at every step. Joe Rose was a very accurate man and, under his patient instructions, I mastered the technique of foundation plans.
My first school teacher was a tailor and my first building instructor, a stone mason. They were both very efficient, excitable and quick tempered.
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Jose Rose, however, was a man of high integrity and good hearted. He treated me like a son and I respected him with the same affection. After the first week, the work attracted me very much and I decided to drop anchor.
Having found out that the New York University had an evening law course, with an excellent faculty, and that credit of at least one year would be given me for my degree, I told Joe and Charles that I was ready to accept their employment and go to night law school. They were gratified and gave me instructions on my duties. Besides continuing to assist Joe Rose, I was to receive materials and take charge of a group of laborers for unloading and miscellaneous work on the 114th Street side of the operation.
My hours were to be from 6:45 A.M. to 5:15 P.M. including Saturday, and my salary would be $15.00 per week. This may seem like small pay, but it was commensurate with the times and I did not mind the long hours.
Joe Paterno explained that most of the material arrived between 7 and 9 o’clock in the morning and assured me that I would have ample time to study during the day in some corner of the job.
I enlisted at New York University. My cash was not enough for admission fee and books, and I borrowed fifty dollars from my employers, Paterno Bros. Inc., agreeing to repay two dollars a week.
Without even consulting me, Marie engaged a small furnished room in a private house at 555 West 183rd Street, which was at the end of the block, right across from her house. Including supper and breakfast, the rate was $5.50 weekly. Marie was thoughtful and thrifty and I accepted her choice with thanks.
My routine was, with ten or fifteen minutes leeway: up at 5 A.M.; breakfast at 5:30 (cold prunes, lumpy cereal and pale coffee); out at 5:45; on the job punctually at 6:30 A.M.; lunch from 12 to 1 o’clock; quitting time 5:30 P.M.; back to my boarding place by 6:15; change clothes and have supper; stop in to talk to Marie and her folks for a few minutes; down by subway to 4th Street; classes from 8 to 10; in bed between 11 and 11:30; up again at 5 A.M.
A “morning star” always greeted me! Marie never failed to be at her window at 5:45 A.M. to start me off with a big smile…and spring…
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back to bed. As days grew shorter, I could only see the light in her room and the waving of her hand.
When the foundation work was completed on the 114th Street side, there was a period of lull, while waiting for steel. Following Joe Paterno’s suggestion, I had detached the first section from each law book and tried to do some home work sitting on a pile of lumber; but, soon after, a large quantity of enameled bricks began to arrive, each one wrapped in heavy paper. They had to be carefully spaced in large stacks. Charles (Dr. Paterno as they all called him) had given me a solemn lecture on the value of those bricks and on the serious loss if they were chipped. I carried his recommendations out to the letter, watching the unloading “like a hawk.” I even helped in the handling and stacking.
For all the building materials we could use one-third of the width of the street, part of which was taken up by a three room office shanty. Spaces had to be reserved for unloading the steel, for driveways, dumping sand and cinders in the cellar; for limestone, face brick, common brick, cement, window frames, flue pipes, etcetera. We had a street frontage of 225 feet; but when the mason work got going we were submerged by an ever-growing avalanche of materials. To run short on any item meant interruption of work. To let materials overrun on the street would block traffic and bring police intervention. I was planning, organizing, running from end to end all day long. Law books passed into oblivion!
Joe Paterno made me understand from the start how valuable it was to keep the operation fully supplied and that other builders did not seem to have the knack of it. It was the logistic of the building game. He complimented me on the efficient fulfillment of my duties. Joe was always considerate. On very cold days, he would relieve me for a few minutes at a time, to let me go in and thaw out my hands. Often, at the end of the day, he would take me to a bar for a drink.
When the 114th Street buildings were topped out, the ones on 113th Street were getting into stride. Shortly, the congestion of materials on 113th Street became so entangled that I was assigned to go there and solve the logistic problem.
Sand was brought by boatloads and there was no need for checking the quantities, but common bricks were purchased by the thousands and delivered in horse-drawn trucks, each containing 1,500 bricks.
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Charles had cautioned me to count the bricks once in a while, if the load did not seem full. One morning I checked two or three truckloads and found a shortage of 100 to 200 bricks in each. According to a contract clause, 150 bricks were deducted from each load for the entire week, amounting to about 450 loads. That cured the larceny, but put me in “Dutch” with the truck drivers.
The coarseness of the truck drivers in general and of some of the contractors would frequently get under my skin. I once told Joe how disrespectful they were and he said laughingly: “You will get used to it.”
The contractor for the steel erection was a ruthless, uncouth slave driver, Mr. “H,” who had provoked many distasteful arguments and was hated by his own men. One day he was lifting some steel, close to a stack of enameled bricks. I begged him to be careful and, from sheer spit, he drove a big girder right through the stack, smashing hundred of bricks. At my frustration, he turned with a bilious, sneering face and shouted: “Go to Hell!” That was the last straw. I went into the shanty and told Joe and Charles that I had reached the limit of my endurance. I could not stand anyone talking to me in such a vile manner as Mr. “H” did, and I would have to resign; I was not cut out for that kind of work. Joe’s laughter annoyed me, but Charles looked out, saw the damage and, both to appease me and because he had represented those bricks to be so valuable, he took a very stern attitude and said I was absolutely right. Mr. “H” was called in and received a thorough overhauling by Charles, who told him that not only would he have to pay for the damage, but that if he raised his voice once more with me, he would never get another contract. Mr. “H” did not open his dirty mouth and went out squirming. Feeling that full moral reparation had been given me I went back to work.
Mr. “H” did not speak to me again. A few days later while setting a steel beam over the boiler room walls, he saw me looking and his bad temper flew up. Cursing at himself he slipped and went down the boiler room. He came up bruised, but without serious injury. I did not wish him any harm, but he was paying a small penalty for his ill nature. Years later I saw Mr. “H” in rags. “He who rules by the sword shall perish by the sword.”
The building activities fascinated me but, although in good health, I was starting to feel the strain of long physical work and insufficient…
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…sleep. My staunch friend, Joe Paterno, was repeatedly telling me to drop out of law school, but I couldn’t think of it.
By this time my finances permitted me to dine often for 40 or 50 cents at some Italian restaurant in the Village before classes. On those occasions – after a strenuous day and a good meal – the warm, soothing atmosphere of the classroom and the Professor’s droning more than once lulled me to sleep.
The teaching seemed elementary from my viewpoint and, having gone through more difficult courses, I was confident that by studying the textbooks I could pass the examinations.
One evening, stopping for my usual after supper call, Joe Paterno prevailed on me to drink a glass of wine and then engaged me in conversation about the building operation. It was a cold evening and, after a while, drowsiness made me lose concept of the time. When I looked at the cuckoo clock, it was almost 7:30. Too late for school and Joe was elated. He asked me to join him for a walk. While strolling around, Joe said: “Anthony, why don’t you forget law school? If you keep going the way you are, in a couple of years, you will know enough to build.” Then pointing to a five story building in the block he added: “Even if you put up one of those buildings, in six months you can make $20,000. A young lawyer cannot earn that much in five years.”
I went to bed at 9 o’clock with those words ringing in my ears. The following evening, the class work seemed less interesting that ever. I was still hearing Joe telling me to quit law school. A few weeks later, I was entering New York University for the last time and from then on I slept steadily from 9 P.M. to 5 A.M. I could have slept for forty-eight hours at a stretch.
When the building materials at 113th Street were under control, I was sent back to the 114th Street, where the partition work was proceeding. The superintendent, Mr. Hildenbrandt, was requested to instruct me on the general lay-out of the apartments, plumbing, heating and electrical work. He took great pains in showing me as much as I could grasp and the jumble in my mind began to clear. Every figure, line and dot on the blueprints had a meaning. They all had a vital part in the growing structure; they were live things. A careful study of the plans would show exactly where everything belonged.
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With a six-foot-rule in my hip pocket, I started to analyze the apartments, position of doors, room dimensions, pipes and electrical outlets. I surveyed and checked from morning till night. I listened with tense ears and sealed lips to the many discussions and disputes between the superintendent and foremen. After a while, I was quote familiar with the interpretation of the plans, but my greatest difficulty was to master the technical terms. In that also, Mr. Hildenbrandt was most helpful by compiling a long list which I memorized, adding to it as new words came up. Later, I took a night construction course at Columbia University, given three times a week. I also bought a construction encyclopedia of several thick volumes, which I diligently perused for a long time.
When the partition work reached completion, I was promoted to Assistant Superintendent and given full supervision of the westerly building, 520 West 114th Street, under Mr. Hildenbrandt’s guidance. My salary was raised to $25.00 per week and I was enabled to repay the balance of the loan on the shelved lawbooks.
The plastering was started in early March 1909, and I shall never forget the hordes of plasterers, each with a bag of tools on his back, cluttering the entire block from daybreak, waiting to be put to work. The 1907 depression was still raising havoc, and unemployment was rampant. The plasterer’s wages were 55 cents per hour. At 10 A.M., when the mortar had been heaped on the numerous scaffolds, fifty or sixty men were selected out of the hundreds waiting, placed to work for a few hours, paid a couple of dollars and discharged. The same operation was repeated each morning. I could not understand how such economic distress was possible in a rich country like America and I ventured the opinion that some day we would pay dearly for that disregard of human beings; that the time would come when we would wait at the docks for skilled workers to come from abroad. The plastering contractor agreed with me. It was not foresight but a sense of social values. Twelve or thirteen years later we were paying plasterer $20.00 per day and very few of them were coming from other shores.
Before starting the next and last chapter, I must allow myself a short diversion, to again acknowledge one of the many debts of gratitude I owe to Joe Paterno. One evening, he had me meeting Jule, his fiancée, whom he was about to introduce to his family. She was a beautiful girl, with friendly, unsophisticated, charming manners. They took me to…
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…dinner, I believe, to the Waldorf-Astoria and I was quite dazzled, but the natural warmth and kindness of my hosts put me at ease. Jule had a fine diction and I understood her well, although Joe could not resist interpreting and commenting. The two of them were most gracious to me and I still prize the memory.
Next: Chapter 36
