DIY

When I reflect on the many painful learning experiences that I have absorbed during my thirty five year career in the trades, I am always amazed by the number of people who think tackling a home remodeling project would be a way to have fun and save loads of money.  Can you really take a Saturday morning class at Home Depot and then install a glass tile kitchen backsplash that's impeccable?  Like many things in the grown-up world, the answer is a qualified yes.  Are you good with your hands?  Patient?  Humble?  Willing to tear out work that was unsuccessful?  One must understand the difference between the journey and the finished product.

One of the joys of construction is its overt, tangible nature.  Its usually quite obvious what got done on a given day by five o'clock, unless you're a plumber or electrician running lines which will be quickly concealed inside the walls.  White collar clients  enjoy coming home and seeing progress, since working in a large corporate structure often makes it impossible to see the fruits of one's labor, or the failures.

As to saving money with the DIY philosophy, here's an anecdote:  I spent a few days doing a kitchen tune-up for a client who spends much of her time doing research in the medical field out of her home office.  One afternoon she walks into the kitchen to get a snack, and expresses concern that the neighborhood teenager tasked with mowing the lawn hasn't shown up.  Maybe she should go out and mow the lawn herself in this beautiful weather, and spend a few hours with the walk-behind mower trimming the half acre lot. And save some money.  "Sure," I said. "It would be nice to be outside today.  But let me ask you, what do you bill your time at?"  $100/ hour.  "And what do you pay the kid to mow?"  $10/ hour. " So at the Wharton School they teach that if you mowed your lawn, it would cost you around $180 QED.
 

Two Men Could Build A Bridge

Some obscure cosmic logic dictates that similar jobs come in waves.  Three chimneys, four stone retaining walls, five tuckpointing projects.  This is good for the crew, as they increase their familiarity with one technique or process and repeat it with confidence (and speed, OK?).  At the intersection of Main St. Canandaigua and Gibson St., just north of the center of town, turn of the century churches occupy three of the four corners.  We have worked on all of them.

One year we get a call to reset some loose stone and repoint deteriorated mortar joints on First United Methodist Church, a six story tall mass of sandstone from 1903.  Repointing historic masonry should be done about every twenty years, as some joints deteriorate from weathering and begin to allow water to penetrate the façade.  Left untouched, water may freeze behind the brick or stone and start to dislodge these pieces, to the consternation of pedestrians below.  Of course most institutions don't adhere to this schedule, and we call that job security (which cannot be taken away by an engineer in Bangalore).  This kind of job is typically done from a man lift, a large purpose-built machine with a two man basket which can extend up to any height desired, up to around twelve stories.  They are expensive to rent (or own, if kept in good condition), but still cheaper than erecting scaffolding.

Stretched thin for labor, I decide to send one of my guys to execute this job in Canandaigua and hire some local talent to assist.  An ad in the local paper yields several masons with experience interested in the work, whom I start to interview one by one at a local coffee shop within eyeshot of the church.  As I describe the scope of the project, which I estimate will take all summer, some concern is expressed about the size of the crew.  How many masons?  How many helpers?  How much scaffolding?  Skepticism abounds.  Finally I meet John, whose hair is more gray than mine, who describes his itinerant career laying brick and stone all over the country.  'First thing I do when I come into a new town,' he says, 'is look for the cranes'.  When I explain my proposed method and crew size, he smiles:  'Sure, that'll work.  Two guys could build a bridge'.  And by the end of the summer, they had.
 

Constructive Criticism

I like big cities.  Having grown up in New York City, I enjoy walking around discovering things I've never noticed before, or observing amusing vignettes of urban life.  As a lifelong mason, I can't resist stopping at construction sites to study how things are organized, or not.

I am walking down 42nd street near Grand Central where a huge skyscraper is nearing completion.  Most of the sidewalk has been fenced off to allow a crew to set large granite paving stones at the entrance to this monolith.  I pause at the barricade to record the scene.  A burly man with kneepads and gray hair like mine is laying the large format tile in a mud base, professional term for the same cement and sand mixture that the Romans used to build roads throughout the empire.  His three helpers are easily thirty years younger and look like football linemen.  They mix the mortar and shovel it in front of him, hand him the pavers, and try to keep up with his need for tools and water.   Eighty pound pieces are carefully laid to a taught nylon string line, and adjusted with a rubber mallet not to mar the surface.  Despite the cold wind they are cheerful, chattering away with heavy Irish accents reminiscent of the population of Sunnyside, Queens, where I grew up.  As I linger observing their installation method, he becomes aware of my presence.  Who is this guy, he wonders.  He's not from the developer or he'd be wearing a suit.  Doesn't matter, he keeps going.

At the end of a row he repositions himself and looks me right in the eye.  Thousands of pedestrians have scurried past behind me in the time I've been there, but I haven't moved.  'You're doing that all wrong, you know', I offer.  He smiles broadly, and replies 'I know, my boys tell me that all the time'.
 

Chaise Longue

Contrary to popular belief, there is money in small jobs.   Contractors shy away from them because it takes as much time to organize a large project as one lasting a few hours, so why bother?  This creates a niche market.

I pull up to a smart suburban house where I have bid a small patio repair.  A Saturday job, a filler, for the lucky self-employed who can dictate how many hours a week they want to put in (over 50).  I announce my arrival to my eighty-something client, who is very pleased to see me  since the last three handymen she called never showed up.  Let's hope she didn't give them a deposit.  I pull my bag of hand tools and a pair of kneepads from the truck and lay them out carefully on the stone work.  This pleases me and makes up for the fact I have forgotten to bring coffee.  Behind me I see the old lady hobbling toward me dragging a lawn chair.  As she sets herself up on the lawn not far away to watch me work, I'm thinking this is going to be trouble-- the backseat mason.  A few hours pass, and to her credit she utters not a word.  For some old age really does bring wisdom.  She smiles while handing me a check, and says 'I can see you've done this before'.
 

Audition

Alan lives in the pantheon of great carpenters.  To recognize this, you have to get past the tattoos, pony tail, and Harley XLH exhaust rumble which announces his arrival on the job site at 7 AM.  We first met on a large commercial project converting a turn of the century warehouse into office space.  He quickly proved his mettle:  rough framing partition walls, carrying a fourteen foot sheet of drywall himself when the helpers couldn't keep up in the morning; cutting and fitting a perfect miter on a three piece built up crown molding in the afternoon.  The skills of a renaissance man.  Alan shares a story about an interesting hiring experience from years ago.

Its late fall in Aspen, Colorado.  A developer has started a twenty four unit townhouse project for the luxury market.  Foundations have been poured, and a light snow starts falling as trucks unload the lumber package.  In response to a classified ad in the local paper, dozens of men and two women have arrived to interview for the carpentry crew.  Soon the skiers will arrive, and the only available jobs will be waiting tables, so a lot is riding on this.  In front of the trailer which serves as the site office, the developer announces to the assembled company what the interview process will be.  Take a set of blueprints and your tool belt and start framing the first floor platform, the laborers will give you each a spot. Show me what you can do, and we'll pay you for your time.  Soon the morning is filled with the staccato of pneumatic nail guns and whine of worm drive saws. 

Out of the corner of his eye Alan sees the developer walking on the partially completed first floor deck.  The man leans over to a candidate and says 'thanks for trying, here's your money, you can go now'. And again.  And again.  By lunch time, half of the crew is gone.  By four o'clock only Alan is left.  As he cashes him out the developer smiles 'be here tomorrow at 7, the job is yours'.  Hesitantly Alan asks ' so how many guys were you looking for?'  'Just one', the developer replies.  'The right one'.