Irwin and Me

After high school, I took a job at The Miner’s Lumber Company. A traditional, old time lumberyard that was originally formed to serve local building contractors and residential carpenter crews in Missouri’s Lead Belt mining region. The guys whose names were painted on the pickup truck door would be there at 6:30 in the morning, with a scrap of paper covered in pencil marks for material they wanted delivered to their jobsite that morning.

So, there was a little routine to start every day; “Hey, Art.” “Hey, Chris.” “Gonna be a hot one today.” “You bet.” “Here’s what I need.” “Hang on a second. Okay. Shoot.” Then, transfer that list of scribbles to a Miner’s Lumber  Co. order sheet, fill paper bags with 8 and 16 penny nails, bolts, odds & ends and getting directions to the job. “We’re down on “E” road, about a mile past Elmer Huber’s place, but before the old Lutheran church at Farrar. There’s a gravel road turns south off the blacktop. Take that about half a mile. You can’t miss it.” This was back before GPS stood for anything.

By 7:00 a.m., we’d have one of our green, 2-ton flatbed trucks backed up to the lumber shed and be started loading material. On good days, I’d get to work with Irwin Frentzel. Irwin was 72 when I started there, but could out work any young buck in the yard. Always came in with a cheerful attitude. He looked at the world as a good place to be alive in. Never saw him get mad or cuss anyone or grumble about the work or the heat or the cold. He made each task into a sort of simple-minded game. It didn’t irritate him when I’d hum to myself, which I did unconsciously when I worked. Even made him grin when I’d sing “Beautiful Katy” or “Froggy Went A’Courtin’” out loud.

He had worked as a butcher in a Chicago meat packing plant for nearly 40 years before moving back home with his wife. Never had any kids, and I didn’t know it then, but it would turn out I never would either. Like a large segment of the little county we lived in, his Lutheran ancestors had immigrated to Southeast Missouri from Germany in the mid-1800s, to avoid religious turmoil at the time. “Reformation” they called it. Ironically, the other half of our German population were Catholics, who had fled Germany for similar reasons. Irwin never talked that much, but he taught by example. Proved to me you could accomplish more by working at a steady pace, than by trying to get everything done in a whirlwind.

Of course, being 18, I tried to set a new world speed record on any task I did. He taught me every job had a rhythm and how to find it. It didn’t mean you were lazy if you took your time, as long as you worked smart. [Not to say we never took a little extra “windshield time” on delivery runs or stopped for a cold bottle of Dr. Pepper and a Snickers bar, for the ride home.] But, most of all, Irwin showed me it was easier to work as a team. Like a seasoned pair of draft horses, things went smoother when you pulled in unison. No jerky starts or stops. No wasted energy by pulling out of sync. No trying to outdo the other or letting the partner take more of the load. Got to keep ego out of it. Life lesson, for sure. Loved that old man. Back to poem.