Boomer

By Tom Malczyk

Todays unions are going the same direction as the dinosaur. Through the federal governments intervention creating laws against the working man, as well as the corrupt business managers stealing the memberships hard-earned money, a hardworking man doesnt stand a chance. My suggestions: first, eliminate the teachers union. Recognize talented, truly intelligent minds and guide them to competent colleges that are not sports enthusiasts. Get this nation energy self-sufficient by completing the numerous nuclear projects that are abandoned and partially completed. There is no reason to have the US military in other parts of the world. Today, there are 510,000 troops abroad at an enormous cost. Stop this insanity. Democracy doesnt work in other nations. Realize this and accept it. End the self-righteous condemnation of other peoples lives. If someone uses dope other than yours, dont let it bother you. Tobacco and booze is fine for you. Heroine, reefer, and cocaine are fine for others.


- Xlibris Podcast Part 1: http://www.xlibrispodcasts.com/boomer-1/

- Xlibris Podcast Part 2: http://www.xlibrispodcasts.com/boomer-2/

- Xlibris Podcast Part 3: http://www.xlibrispodcasts.com/boomer-3/

- Xlibris Podcast Part 4: http://www.xlibrispodcasts.com/boomer-4/

- Xlibris Podcast Part 5: http://www.xlibrispodcasts.com/boomer-5/

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 16, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462819652

Book preview

Copyright © 2009 by Tom Malczyk.

Front Cover photo by author

Back Cover photo by John Dale

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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Contents

Introduction

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVII

Chapter XXVIII

Chapter XXIX

Nothing makes you hate people as much as knowing in your heart

that you are in the wrong and they are in the right.

—Tom Malczyk

Introduction

Boomer is the story of how I survived my career as a union ironworker, starting in 1968 and concluding in 2002, working on the biggest and most dangerous heavy construction projects in the USA.

I will tell you the real deal about what is required to survive in the working world of real people. This account of the many aspects of a large construction project is an eye-opener.

Chapter I

Gettin’ Started

I began my lifelong job as a union ironworker in June of 1968. Back then I was a high school graduate who had no idea of what I was getting into. The very limited education that I received had no bearing whatsoever in this occupation that I found myself in. Being a man of limited intelligence is a big plus in my decision to work with my hands instead of my head. Those who are smart will not be able to survive in this business. They might last a day, or even a few years, but they will never be able to spend their entire lives doing this job. There are much easier ways of making money if you are truly intelligent. If not, you had better have a reality check and admit that you ain’t all that.

Becoming a member of the ironworker union is only successful for the 3 percent who last long enough to retire. The other 97 percent will go on into other occupations because they are smart enough to realize their limitations. Backbreaking, dangerous, and deadly jobs in the ironworker union construction trades are reserved for us very lucky ones. Those who are half smart will work at different jobs and accomplish very little. They will not receive a pension or retire until they’re almost in their grave.

Nineteen sixty-eight was a year of much turmoil and deceit. You could not get the truth from any authority figure. The Vietnam War raged on under a cloud of lies, intoxicated leadership, and fakery. Parading around the world as Camelot, the JFK bullshit line of thought was that he is always in the right. No bigger bunch of hypocrites ever ran the country in this murderous manner. At the time, 1968, the price of gasoline was 19¢ per gallon, and $5.00 got you a full tank of fuel and a pack of smokes or a six pack of Bud. Linden Banes Johnson and his criminal co-conspirator, McNamara, could not get enough blood money on themselves.

My opportunity to become an apprentice ironworker was at hand, and I chose to go after it. Many of my high school classmates joined the armed services only to be abused and discarded after their noble sacrifice. Our teachers acted in collusion with law enforcement and the military in perpetuating the myth of creating democracy in Vietnam. What a shame. The real reason was for creating wealth amongst the already wealthy, using the blood of the uneducated and poor minorities to die for their gold-digging ways.

I was to begin working for my uncle in Washington DC after graduating from William Tennent High School. I did not do well in school. I was a very poor student; college was not for me. Some people are meant to be outside dogs, which includes me. Working indoors was out of the question; I needed to feel the sun on my back and the wind on my face.

I got my stuff packed and prepared myself for the journey to Washington DC. I would have to get on a Greyhound bus in center city Philadelphia and travel to DC. I was a bit apprehensive about this experience; it was new to me. Before I got on the bus I grabbed a bit to eat. I got a cheesesteak in Phila and enjoyed a bag of chips with it. No need to starve myself. Philly has the best hoagies and cheesesteak sandwiches in the entire world. It’s the hard water that makes the finest rolls and bread in the world. Without hard water, you will never be able to bake great bread. And in order to make a hoagie or a cheesesteak, you have to use hard rolls of quality. The hardness of the water varies throughout the world. In the metro DC area there are no quality sandwiches to be had. The folks in DC actually believe that grits are delicious; how very absurd. You have a large segment of people in DC who are barely able to read and write. The reason is the poor quality of food that they eat. Stupid rebels raised on grits got brains made out of shit.

The bus ride took forever. I could hardly wait to get off. A big, fat woman squeezed into the seat next to me, pushing me closer to the window. This was bullshit from the get-go; what’s going to happen next? I tried to amuse myself by watching the scenery go by, but there was not a lot to look at. I knew we were getting closer to DC as there were many more blacks than white folks in my view. The bus left Philly at 9:30 a.m., and I did not arrive in DC until 1:15 p.m. Boy, what aggravation this was becoming, and I just arrived.

It was a great relief to get off the bus: the hot humid air hits me. I got my small bag of work clothes and looked for my uncle. He was driving a white Pontiac LeMans. He spotted me and blew his horn. We shook hands, and I put my sack of clothes into the trunk.

I asked my uncle, Is it always so humid?

Ya, you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet. You hungry?

Ya, I replied. I sure could go for a cheesesteak or a hoagie. Any delis around? I asked as we headed to a hamburger joint.

No delis here in DC. All they got is White Tower boogie burgers. And so I got in line; I was the only white person in the building. The line moved slowly, but finally it was my turn to order. Behind the cash register was a young, overweight black girl. She looked at me and then her fellow worker and informed him that she would not take my order. The black man was also the manager. He told her to get in the back and get to work, and then he summoned another young girl to take over. She looked at me and asked, What do you want? I told her I would like three cheeseburgers and a soda. She then said to me, Is that with or without? I was puzzled; I didn’t know what she was talking about. With or without? she asked again. About that time I was getting nervous; the other blacks were giving me ugly looks.

I asked her, With what?

She says, Fries, honky.

Yeah, fries, I said, sure, a small fry. I paid her and exited before I could get cooked up and sold. These cannibals were difficult for me to understand: their use of the English language was modified. You could sense the friction that I encountered over a goddamn hamburger order. What’s next?

As I walked over to my uncle’s car, I witnessed another strange sight. There was a white Caddy parked in front of the White Castle and inside were four black men and one blonde white woman. The car radio was blasting out a song by The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band, Do Your Thing. I could smell the reefer smoke, and I glanced a little to see more of what was taking place. This goddam city is a zoo. Get me out of here, outta here. I thought to myself. I got in my uncle’s car, and we proceeded to drive on over to his apartment. It was located on the outskirts of DC in the state of Maryland, and this was my new residence. I could see right off that I was not going to like living there.

Early the next morning, my uncle and I took a ride over the Potomac River to Arlington, Virginia. Two very big buildings were under construction; the name of this place is Crystal City. It was one of several jobs that my uncle’s contracting company was working on. I was not sure what to make of it. The next day was Sunday. It was very early in the day when one of my uncle’s foremen dropped by. He was drinking one-hundred-proof bourbon out of the bottle for his breakfast. What a guy! After about an hour, this character left, and Uncle was on the telephone with a business agent of Ironworker Local Union 201. We were going to get signed up with the union.

It was Sunday at 1507 Rhode Island Avenue N.E., the location of the union hall. We parked at the back of the building and met Ronnie Vermillion, the business agent. We entered the office, and I signed a bunch of forms. When we got to the physical exam form that required a doctor’s signature, Ronnie filled it out and then signed a name where the doctor’s was suppose to sign. I was in. I was now an apprentice and would be coming to work the very next day.

There were basically two ways of becoming a member of the ironworker union. The way I was entering, through an apprenticeship, or the other way, buy a membership. The bought method was a lot quicker; however, you do not get the in-depth training in blueprint reading or training in other areas. Being an apprentice, I would have to attend schooling two nights per week. At apprentice school, I learned the engineering aspect of structural forces. The design of rebar for various concrete structures, post tension cables, and rigging were part of the apprenticeship.

I had never been on a bona fide construction site in my life. I had no idea of just what I would encounter. My uncle was a partner in a subcontracting business with a specialty in rebar placing, and he convinced me that this opportunity should be taken advantage of. I had no desire to join the military or go to college. I was an outside dog and realized it. The requirements to become an indentured apprentice ironworker were that you need a high school diploma and be no less than eighteen years old and no more than twenty-four years old. It would also help if your IQ was no more than moron level, not a real need for smart people. The job was my only chance for a decent life. I thought.

Too bad I was not exposed to other opportunities. Driving tractor trailer trucks or working for the railroad would have been appropriate. High school never presented job opportunities; only college or joining the armed forces were talked about. My high school education consisted of the Jewish outlook. The grades-nine-through-twelve curriculum discussed the Holocaust and stressed pity for the Jews. Never in their teachings was the outlook of the German people ever explored. There were reasons people get to hate each other. Perhaps, just maybe, the average German got fed up with the manipulation of the money changers. In the 1920s, Germans had to rent their homes from Jewish warlords and work to support the Jews’ lavish lifestyles. It got old. That was why Hitler was loved and supported by the average German. The main reason being that Jews would have to give up their well-off ways. No longer would the Jews be able to live off the sweat and toil of the German people. After the war, the Jews would come to control the finances of the USA, manipulate the poor, uneducated black folks, and sell them encyclopedias and worthless insurance policies. Be the same bloodsuckers that they were in pre-World War II Germany. Is history repeating?

Chapter II

My Apprenticeship

The drinking age in DC at the time was eighteen years old. How nice. I just wonder why? Seems the power that ruled the inner beltway wanted it to be. The so-called music being played on the radio was somewhat censored, as was the Washington Post and the Times. Both were very unreliable, a reflection of the era. Absolutely no Janis Joplin, Led Zeppelin, or other antiestablishment music was ever heard on any DC stations. There was nonsense pop music, and I was aware of it. I am from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, where they are jamming them 24-7. Also around this time, Vince Lombardi, the football coach, was in the hospital with a case of the flu, as reported by the Washington Post. Up in Philadelphia, the Philadelphia Bulletin reported Vince Lombardi was in the hospital and was being treated for terminal lung cancer. Just goes to show you not to believe any DC publications.

I thought that never having handled rebar before, I was in store for a challenge. Anyone in the building trade will certainly tell you that rebar placing is one of the most difficult jobs of them all. Just 3 percent of the total who get started get to finish and live to collect a pension; ninety-seven percent quit. It’s too much to handle, a mentally and physically abusive job. In my position, I was one to give it a try. I was up to it, got to make money doing something. I was not interested in dying in Vietnam for good old JFK, LBJ, or any other warmonger, so I chose to work. I was not good indoors, and I was a very poor student. I could not quit. No job could be that tough or so I thought.

It was Monday morning in June 1968, my first time on a real job. My boss, the foreman, is a big man. He had been around over thirty years in the trade. Bulldog was his name. He explained to me just what was going on. We were in an open cut trench fixing to build a tunnel. Cool. I thought. I had to climb down a wooden ladder. It was at least thirty feet or more to get to the bottom. A section of the tunnel had been built, giving me a look at the finished section and enabling me to see what it was we were doing. The temperature down in the pit was over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. I was having a miserable first day on the job. The sweat was stinging my eyes, and the filth was coating every inch of me. Fine dust filled the air everywhere I looked. The excavation contractor was using a small crane to hoist crushed stone, which would slowly lower the gravel into the pit and then the clam bucket would open, releasing the gravel. Laborers would spread the gravel and tamp the gravel using a gas-powered tamper. Rock dust was everywhere. This nasty job was fixing to kill me. I lasted the day, went home back to the apartment, and thought things over. Just how was I going to survive? Being stupid sure helped out. You have to be a retard to work like this.

The foreman, Bulldog Jimmy, and I enjoyed talking about cars and ladies. I had to listen carefully; the southern accent and unusual terms were new to me.

Heroin addiction in the DC area was keeping the police busy. Seems every other day there was another gun battle in the city. Crime was rampant in DC; the population there was very uneducated. I have met people who can hardly read a newspaper’s headline. Seems teachers in DC are in it for the fun of it because it was just a joke to them. My uncle’s first wife, who divorced him, was a teacher in the DC school district. All she ever did was make love to young black men she was supposed to be teaching. I guess she taught them but not the proper curriculum. Some ladies cannot get enough. Anyhow, the black men never learned how to read and write worth a shit by her. However, the overall population around DC was uneducated. And it was quite evident. Even I could see that stupid people were in charge. After the blacks got done rioting, the federal government acted on social order. A new law was enacted concerning unions. It was called the Philadelphia Plan. This law mandated that blacks would be granted membership into the trade unions. Up until now, 1968, the ironworkers unions were white only as far as membership. Perhaps there were 2 percent of the workforce as minority full members. The remaining 98 percent of the minority workforce