By
Bob Harris
Contributing
Editor
In our recent company newsletter, we
talked about the trials and tribulations of a high-end countertop
pour at our studio. Like a finely tuned sports team going into
battle to win the big game, we had strategized with the pump
company, the ready mix producer and the helpers, stressing that this
pour had to go absolutely as planned.
Roughly 30 seconds into the big game
(or in our case, the big pour) the pump blew up. We had the
equivalent of about five wheelbarrow loads of concrete
inconveniently resting inside our heavily reinforced $3,000 form.
Now what? We literally had to wheelbarrow the remaining concrete
into our showroom and scoop the concrete into the forms using 3-gal.
buckets. I'm pleased to say the pour was a huge success.
After a few of our customers/friends
read that story in our newsletter, it jolted some on-the-job mishap
memories of their own, both of which involved their concrete
contractor fathers. Although I could fill a book of all my own fond
and not-so-fond memories as a young man growing up with an extremely
motivated concrete contractor father, I thought it would be fun to
share a few recent stories that I was honored to be on the receiving
end of for a change.
Domenic Mattei Jr. with his father Domenic Mattei
Sr.
As told by Domenic Mattei:
As I read your most recent
newsletter, I couldn't help but chuckle over the headaches that you
went through with your pump company while installing the concrete
reception desk. Please don't think that I was laughing at an
unfortunate situation. I am merely sympathizing with your heartache
as I was also brought up in the concrete business.
My father's concrete company owned and
operated three concrete pumps.
While these pumps may have been the
latest and greatest in 1967, this was not the case the last time the
pumps saw any action in 2005. The boom's reach was a max of 60 ft.
without any articulation or a capacity to help the end user (always
me!!!!) with moving the hose. These trucks literally had to be put
together by hand with wrenches and nuts and bolts.
I had many sleepless nights before a
big pour dreaming about the day of HELL ahead of me. It was my job
to run the business end of the hose without any helpers. I think to
this day it has contributed to the cartilage deterioration in both
of my shoulders (I'm only 37).
Well, I just thought I would share
some of my horror stories from my childhood. I'm glad the countertop
was a success. I just would like to have been present when the
choice words started to fly. When my father's pumps acted up and
jammed, believe me, my cooler head didn't always prevail.
In the future, I would like to offer
my services to you any time you find yourself short handed or need
someone to help with one of your projects. I would consider it an
honor to work with you.
Domenic Mattei
Custom DesignCrete, Inc.
Pittsburgh, Penn.
As told by Dominick
Cardone:
My dad was a ready-mix concrete
driver for 25 years and was also a concrete flatwork installer. He
taught us to place concrete at the age of 6. Although some of my
dad's methods were slightly unorthodox, we got the jobs
done.
At the ripe age of 13 or so, my 12
year old brother Pete and I helped dad pour a project in the Bronx,
N.Y. The hectic part of this pour was that my dad was to bring the
concrete to the site, the three of us were to place it and he was to
run the truck back to the yard (about a mile away) while we were to
wait for finishing.
Upon placement of concrete, our dad
left with the truck and we waited and waited and waited. The
concrete was setting and to top it off, some serious black clouds
were moving in - like two barely teenagers needed the additional
stress. My brother Pete and I, who would quarrel over every little
thing as most brothers do, were now in a state of panic. We needed
to conclude this situation in the most responsible way. We needed to
work together in harmony, contrary to our normal methods of working
together. Pete grabbed an edger, I grabbed some wood floats and
kneeboards, and like two seasoned finishers, we went at it. Pete
followed up with a broom finish like a surgeon, probably the most
precise he had ever done in his life. I applied our final center
cuts and we got it done.
The two of us now had another issue to
deal with - those black clouds that were moving over us were here,
and it was beginning to drizzle. Dad still had not gotten back and
we had no money in our pockets. We asked the owner to loan us some
money to get some visqueen and told him our dad would reimburse him
when he got back. There was a hardware store around the corner that
we jetted to and bought a roll of visqueen. We then jetted back to
the site and made up a huge tent using surrounding trees, fences and
bull float handles.
When it was all said and done, Pete
went back around the corner to the bodega that we both had our eyes
on and got us some refreshments. We sat on the owner's front stoop
under an awning while the drizzle turned into showers and were
drinking our Coco Rico's (soft drink) and eating Slim Jim's when Dad
pulled in, white as a ghost and in a state of panic. It turned out
his truck broke down on the way back to the yard, which delayed him.
He looked at us with a fiery, lost
look and said, "What are you guys doing sitting there?" while he
contemplated the rip out. We directed him to the pour area and he
returned glassy eyed and pleased. Pete and I still bring up that
day, especially when we have a disagreement … or two. That was our
day of entering manhood. Thanks, Dad, we love ya!"
Dominick Cardone
The Concrete Impressionist
Brooklyn, N.Y.
As earlier mentioned, I could
tell countless stories as the son of a concrete contractor, as my
father frequently reminded me that being an 1⁄8 in. off on the
formwork was not good enough and that it had to be perfect. One of
my favorite stories of my dad did not involve me. Dad was the
concrete legend in his senior living subdivision, which afforded him
the luxury of working only when he felt like it. His neighbor had
asked him for a quote on a backyard patio and sidewalk. Dad
mentioned he was pretty busy but he would try and get to it when he
could. The next morning around 6:00 a.m. (of course, Dad routinely
awoke around 4:00 a.m. every morning), the neighbors were awakened
by what they thought was a burglar. When the police arrived, they
found my dad setting up the forms getting ready for his 11:00 a.m.
pour.
When the project was completed in its
entirety, the neighbor asked what the price was and Dad simply
smiled and said, "Don't worry about it." This is one of the
countless great memories I have of my dad.
We've been looking at generations past
in the concrete stories in this article, but I want to take a moment
to look ahead at future generations. At a recent large class in
which my 11-year-old son Robby helped, a friend made an observation
of which I was completely oblivious. "Look at your son up on that
ladder carving the vertical stamp mix," he said. And then it dawned
on me that Robby is a 4th generation Harris finisher. Pretty
cool!
In talking with Dominick and Domenic,
I would have to agree, thanks to our fathers, we can uphold
tradition, excellence and a heck of a lot of pride. Where would we
be without mentors like them?
Hats off to you, Dads!
Bob Harris is the founder and
president of the Decorative Concrete Institute, Temple, Ga., which
provides hands-on training in architectural concrete. He has
personally placed or supervised the placement of more than 3 million
sq. ft. of decorative concrete and is the author of a best-selling
series of decorative concrete books. For more information, call
(877) DCI-8080 or visit www.decorativeconcreteinstitute.com.
CALL
1.888.268.1196 FOR YOUR CONSULTATION TODAY!
or
call direct 724-457-4110 Office hours 8:00 am -5:00
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