Track Review: 'Drugs or Jesus' by Tim McGraw (Part 1 of 3)

Last summer, from late May until the first week of September, I worked as a foreman on one of my father's construction sites. The building was the former location of my hometown's newspaper, The St. Augustine Record, which had moved across town to a bigger building next to a shopping center and a hospital, off of US1. Anytime I drive down the section of a town where all the Chili's and Barnes&Noble's and Blockbusters and Home Depots are congregated, I always refer to it as the, "you know, the US1-part of town", regardless of where they grew up, or if they even know that US1 runs up the east coast and harbors its fair share of traffic from the Chili-going public.

Anyway, I'm not being completely truthful by saying I was a foreman for the summer. At least, the whole summer. My dad hired me as foreman, because the building was a small project for his office and the fewer checks you sign the better. See, a foreman shows up early, opens the locks, gets out the tools, and then tells everyone what to do, and makes sure that they keep doing it until break. Sometimes he goes and buys doughnuts for everybody. Well, i got most of those done, except for the showing up early bit, and the locks, and the tools. But all the crews had their own tools, and their own keys to the place, anyway. Actually, I don't think we had doors at that point. The place had been gutted by the demolition crew by the time I got there.

So, perhaps, I was not the best decision for the job of foreman. He is, in many ways, The Boss, but only in that he takes orders from the contractor, or the architect, and delegates. Delegate and maintain. Crews come in (Demo crews, Roof crews, Plumbing crews), and you tell them where to go to do what they do. You also have to be something of a handyman, as there are always sidejobs to be completed; actually, all the jobs that you don't hire a specialized crew for, you and a couple of day-laborers punch it out in between the delegating and maintaining.

There's a fun bunch. Laborers are often viewed through broken glass, (if anything's ever stolen on a site it's usually the day-laborers that get fired first) and in plenty of cities in the nation they get blamed for racism even murder. The laborers in St. Augustine are a more humble bunch, at least the ones that came through the services we used. The overwhelming percentage are fellas looking for enough cash to fuel a weekend bender, but there are a few really good workers in the mix, who may have a rap sheet they aren't proud of, or just haven't found the right employer. I met a guy who weighs 250 pounds and has 3 DUIs, but could build (and demolish) a house in a week.

Anyway, I get fired as foreman. By my dad. I was staying at a little house on the beach that summer, with a couple of friends my age who lifeguarded full-time. They were always out of the door by 7, into the big yellow pickup and onto the sand. I always kind of prided myself at not getting up till 8, and showing up at work only after a big fuckin bowl of some highly sugared cereal. It's the only thing that gets me up. Well, pops wasn't keen on this. He's always been the one pushing me out of bed in the morning, for work or surf, and one morning, after the Count Chocula, I get a bell asking me why I'm not on the site. Then i get fired, then he asks if I want to be the assistant foreman, and then he asks me to remember to bring back his surfboard to the house.

So I stay on the job, but now i have to get up and be there at 6 (construction workdays: 6-3:30, with half-hour for break and two fivers at 10 and 2. Clockwork.). I won't say that i didn't die a little everytime i woke up late and had to rush out the door in wet sock without my sugar-soup, but i won't say that i didn't benefit physically from lifting bricks and 2x4s for eight hours. Builds character, too, apparently. But I would never say as such. Officially i was a carpenter, but I was put on any job that needed doing. I remember the spackling, the carpentry, the jackhammering, loved it after a while. But I'd be amiss to not say that everyone didn't consider me a bit odd being there. Not being the architect's son; nepotism on a site is standard, and if anything that got me more respect.