AN OILY BUSINESS
We were working at the refineries. Not the Old refineries that surrounded us, but the New refinery in the footprint of the portion that had blown up the previous year. They had a small fire house across the street completely vaporized by the explosion, never to find a hair of some people.
Mario was a good hand and a good co-worker. He had his quirks, like a lot of us developed by too much party. This was the late-80's and Peruvian snowflake had a grip on construction workers making big money overtime. I never took to it and found other means. I acted like I never knew his proclivity. It's awfully hard to do your blow on a spiral staircase attached to 70' high round vessel on a windy day. A few years older, he was thorough in his measurements, and we worked along well with many funny stories in between tasks. We had to be exact because much of this job was concentric bending, putting many small bends into a conduit 10' long, or less. The bending part was Hazelwood's job.
We were installing the lighting on the staircase landings, you know, all the twinkles you see as you drive by at 65mph. As we advanced up the vessel we communicated with Hazelwood at his bending table by pulley wheel, rope and bucket. Put a note in with dimensions, a crude drawing, request for hardware or a call for a bottle of water. He would half-hitch attach the bent piece to the rope and he didn't want to see it come back down. It took us a good 100' feet of conduit run for Mario and I to figure out a few things and Hazelwood sure didn't take to us city boys. He'd cuss us out if we returned it. We'd laugh it off, knew it was an act, and we got along well the rest of the way.
Hazelwood was a 'traveler' in the trades. He was a long way from Arkansas. The best physical way I could describe him was square. Square head and square body on a 6'2" frame covered by oily square overalls. His arms were muscular but short like a Trex. Neither could brush their teeth. He'd spit snuff juice all around his working area to keep people away. He was what we northerners called a Good Ole Boy Ft Smith Razorback with a cheese cutter belt buckle. a Mason. He was an excellent mechanic, a good man and a good hand only ornerier than hell.
We had duties to do in between piping, but as we advanced up more and more time became ours. The most demanding part of the job, by far, was the climbing necessary to attend a safety meeting or a 10 horn blast run-for-your-life-kiss-your-ass-goodbye alarm which happened more than once. We'd bring our lunch and stay on the landing, save steps and sleep in the sun until H would tug the rope.
It took a couple of weeks to pipe the vessel's staircase, the wire pullers and trim crew came next. (Bend Pipe, Pull Wire and Terminate. I'm sick of this shit). Mario and I were off to different assignments. Later in the summer Mario was fired. He was spotted taking pictures from atop one of the vessels. They painted it as if he was doing espionage work. Never took a picture while we worked together. He was probably taking a picture of his house. (Jesus yells to John, "I can see your house from up here!") They just wanted him off the job. Hazelwood took his Big Money, every penny, back to Arkansas, I'm sure, to become King of his county with his young Philopena Queen.
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