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Over the years we had some early success, not only just doing residential hardwood floor work, but we had done a project in a 246-year-old home later purchased by a photographer from Rolling Stone. We sanded and installed in a very old home-turned-monastery for Carmelite monks on a 100-acre sanctuary. We worked in two multi-million dollar homes for Deam Kamen, inventor of (among many things) the auto-syringe, portable dialysis machine and the Segway. This all led to our small flooring company growing and bringing us commercial work, which is where this story begins.
Regarding hardwood flooring, not only does St. Paul’s school have thousands upon thousands of square feet, in 1884 it also became home to the first squash courts in America. That summer our team (between 12 and 24 installers depending on the schedule) installed, sanded and finished more than 42,000 square feet, every stitch of it 2 ¼-inch strip. Ouch!
What I’m getting to was a the day when there was a nearly fatal safety issue (for me).
Anyone that has every worked any kind of commercial construction knows how different it is from residential work. Mandatory rules WILL be adhered to: the morning schedule and safety meetings, steel-toed boots, hard hats, safety glasses, guards on all tools in place, all electrical devices in working order and properly grounded, HazMat and OSHA documents filed on site, insurance bonds secured, and on, and on! And, when you get into the swing of things, you find that these things are extremely important and not to be taken lightly. We had OSHA show up for the first time in my career. We had always been warned about OSHA, but no one had ever actually seen an OSHA representative ... until that day. You would think the U.S. president had arrived. The job foreman literally came running up to the second floor of a dormitory apartment and said, "OSHA is here! Get guards on those table saws or get them and your guys out of here, NOW!" We took a count of how many table saws and miters were missing guards and I ran to an industrial supply center and bought all new ones (after the project ended we removed and put them in my shed). A violation could have cost us thousands!
Walking up the last set of stairs to the fifth-floor apartment, I stepped onto the landing and made a left turn, but someone was coming down a flight of stairs that led to some sixth floor area. I politely backed away so these guys coming down could get through. I remember they were carrying some long planks and they looked exhausted. As I backed away, this massive bull of a man—the job foreman we had worked with for weeks, the guy with the two-way radio on his hip, the one that told us OSHA was coming—shouts, “STOP! Nobody f^#@ing MOVE! STOP NOW!” He lunges at me and grabs me with both fists by my jersey collar, pulls me in like he’s gonna head-butt me, looks me straight in the eyes and says calmly, but sternly, “Don’t…you F’ing…move.” I could tell he was unbelievably serious and he was not angry at me, nor was he going to punch my lights out. I didn’t get it. The two guys over his shoulder slowly set their planks down on the stairs and looked like they were going to be sick. The foreman firmly grasped both my shoulders and said calmly and softly, “Kid, turn around.”
I saw the foreman head down the stairs in a hurry. His face was almost purple and his hands were shaking. I went to the window for some fresh air and grabbed something to drink. I could not comprehend what had just happened. I even started to set up my compressor and hoses etc. Then I saw him! The foreman had now briskly made it from the first floor exit to the sidewalk and he was haulin’ a$$ and shouting at who, apparently, was the elevator guy. The man had a toolbox in his hands and was heading toward the foreman, shocked and confused. The foreman grabbed the toolbox out of the man’s hand, grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. He then kicked him with his size-12 steel-toed boots like he was kicking a field goal and pushed him straight back to his truck. He yelled, “You get you’re a$$ in your truck, you take your $hit (he threw the tools in the man’s truck) and get the hell off this campus! NOW!”
The man was stunned and confused, but obviously knew this was serious, so he got in his truck, asking, “What’d I do?! What did I do?!” The foreman yelled, “You took down the safety barriers over the fifth floor shaft and you went back to your truck leaving it open! You almost killed someone! Leave! Now!” The foreman stormed away.
You know, it never sank in. I never thought about it again for many years. Maybe it happened so fast or maybe I was in some form of shock. I met with the foreman again as I worked that summer at St. Paul’s, and we never mentioned the incident again. It was years later it occurred to me that he had likely saved my life. It also occurred to me why the safety rules exist, and why they need to be followed by everyone. That was why the foremen were so demanding of us. I’m blessed to be here to share my story. Stay safe and stay well, my fellow floor guys (and all contractors, for that matter).
