Concrete Problems

In 1975, I was working at Springdale Gardens, one of the largest apartment complexes on the east coast of America. There were close to 3000 garden apartments, meaning three floors, and townhouses spread over 100 acres. The site was one of 12 or so apartment complexes the Johnson family owned around the Philadelphia-Washington area. My job was Assistant Grounds Supervisor. Aside from the Grounds Supervisor and myself, we had 17 laborers to get all the grounds work done, plus evictions. We did the evictions because we had the labor for them, and had a large stake body truck for hauling. One day, the Assistant Property manager, Bruce, drove past where I was directing a mowing crew, and waved me over. As usual, “Mister Busy” didn't even get out of his car. “Here”, he said, as he handed me a yellow sticky note. “Find the German, and show him these addresses. The patios at these addresses have to be broken up, and debris removed today, replaced tomorrow. Rush job, no questions”. I took a quick look at the sticky note, which had three sets of numbers that I recognized as building addresses, but no street names. He started to take off. I ran a few steps and pounded on his car. ”Hey, Bruce, Stop. These numbers don't have street names. All of them could be on multiple streets We could easily break up the wrong ones”. “Figure it out yourself”, he said, “I have an appointment, have to go”, and sped off. I laughed at him calling what he was headed for an “appointment”. It was with the female custodial foreman who he has been “seeing” on a regular basis, you get the picture. They have “appointments” on a regular basis, usually when the Property Manager and/or the Custodial Supervisor are off the property. We only know about their “appointments” during the work day. I'm not sure what they do on weekends, and I sure don't want to know, except to add to the gossip about it.

Bruce hasn’t been here at Springdale long, He was hired at another complex, worked there about a year, and transferred to Springdale. We were told it was a promotion for Bruce, but after a while, we didn't believe it. Some of the more cynical people wondered what he had on someone to be able to keep his job. Word got to us eventually that Bruce is always short on details, but we figured that out on our own. My supervisor, Mark, kept teasing me that it was my fault Bruce was here. We had been without an Assistant Property manager for several months, and it was starting to cause problems. Once the position was offered to the public, I applied. Within a week, Bruce showed up. I guess I don't do work as good as I thought I did.

The “German” is Frederich Wagner. He and his three sons do all our concrete work. They are big, strong men, and especially with Frederich, you have to be careful shaking hands with him. He will unintentionally squeeze your hand off your arm. The amazing thing about the German and his sons, is that we have concrete patios on all three floors of the buildings. They use buckets to lower the broken concrete from the upper floors, then haul new up. All by hand. They have arms thicker than most people's legs.

I located the German, handed him the paper, and told him “Bruce gave me this, but wouldn't give me street names. Any idea which buildings these numbers go to? Do they relate to any patios you are to replace?” The German said “I know of one, let's drive around, see if we can find the others”. An hour later, we had identified a possible second patio, with the correct building numbers that looked like it needed replacing. While looking, I stopped at the Grounds office to call around. Our construction manager, who was responsible for rehabbing apartments, and sometimes used the German, didn't know of any patios that needed replacing. He suggested I call the maintenance manager. He also didn't know of any concrete work needed. I even tried the Property Manager, but he was out of the office- probably why Bruce was in a hurry. This was before pagers and cell phones were popular, so I just had to work it out myself. The German and I re-checked all the streets, looking for addresses that matched the numbers given. We couldn't find the last, and couldn't decide, so we picked one.

The next day, I came to work, and Mark asked me to close the door and sit. When I did, he asked, “How did you decide to have the three patios broken up?" I told him the story, that Bruce was in too much of a hurry to bother, and getting the German involved. I mentioned that I had told Bruce there could be multiple addresses for them. Mark said “well, only one was correct, the two that are not were broken up, someone will get their paycheck docked. Total cost for one breakup and re-pour is $750.00 Plus, we still have to get the right ones done, it's probably going to cost someone their job”. He then asked “Did you ever think to hold up on the two wrong addresses, and maybe get them done the next day?” “No”, I said, “I didnt even think about that, but wish I had, it would have been the right thing to do. I want to say I was a little irritated at Bruce not taking the time with me to get it right, so I went ahead with his bad info. I wasn't trying to get him in trouble, he doesn't need my help on that. I was just trying to get the job done as ordered”. Mark then asked if I had the note.

This was one of those situations where you do the right thing without knowing it. I had dropped the sticky note in the trash can, not thinking it was important. I fished it out, and handed it to Mark, who said “you can see it's Bruce's handwriting”. That little piece of paper saved my job, and my wallet. Bruce had to pay, and 3 months later he was out of a job.