Part Monkey
The work foreman’s name was Fred.
He was rather small and slight in build, but strong enough to do any of the heavy work as well as any of the rest of us—except probably Little Joe, who was a prodigy of strength as I have said.
One of the first days I was on the job one of the contract crew of ski lift workers from the head office said of Fred “that he was part monkey”. I filed that information away since the digging work we were doing for the first few weeks was on the ground and there was no need of any monkey skills.
But when the towers came in and were set up on the mountainside some work developed that was more in the line of circus acrobat stuff.
Someone had to climb the towers and, with the aid of heavy machinery and power tools, fasten rows of heavy wheels, the “shiv trains”, to arms on the tower. One of these towers was eighty feet high and all the rest were way up in the treetops to clear heavy snow in the winter.
This was very dangerous, touch and go, work. I couldn’t do it, of course, and wouldn’t do it. It was far too risky. (They never asked me to either!)
But Fred was absolutely in his element. He WAS part monkey!
He was up the towers and running around on the arms of the machinery and bolting the heavy wheels on like he had some spider blood too.
I watched him whenever I was not too busy with my work on the ground with my heart in my mouth. He was taking risks I wouldn’t even think of as a matter of course and with a nonchalance that was, to me, incredible.
I swear this next bit is true.
I was watching from far below one time when he slipped off the cross-arm of the tower and as he fell he grabbed that steel arm, which was square and as big around as your body, whipped himself around it and came up sitting on top of the arm!
He saved his own life and kept right on working without missing a beat.
By golly I REALLY admired that!
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