Accidentally, my father turned me against the law. He swayed me against any kind of life of manual labor at the same time, over a two-month period. This occurred during the summer before I entered college, when I wandered jobless at age eighteen. He\u2019d mentioned more than once, from about the time I hit puberty, that he\u2019d like for me to go to college, study history, go to law school, and \u201cjoin my team.\u201d What team? I thought. Didn\u2019t he work in the public defender\u2019s office? Each morning I watched him leave in a cheap polyester coat and tie, carrying a stuffed briefcase. Did he keep a change of clothes\u2014a baseball or basketball uniform, say\u2014in that Samsonite attach\u00e9? I don\u2019t want to say that I was a cynic, or mute, but remembering back I see myself plain staring at him, with no answer or head movement. My mother\u2014what a patient, open-minded, calm woman\u2014might\u2019ve said, \u201cNow, Glen, leave Drew alone,\u201d or \u201cLet him make up his own mind!\u201d or \u201cI\u2019ve always seen Drew going to college, then working out in Hollywood, maybe as a gaffer, or grip, or best boy.\u201d She said, \u201cCaterer,\u201d maybe because I\u2019d learned to use the gas stove early on.<\/p>\n
I stared at my mother oftentimes, also.<\/p>\n
\u201cI got you a summer job with Rufus,\u201d my father said about a day after I graduated high school. \u201cHe\u2019ll pay you five dollars an hour, which is over the going rate. I\u2019ll buy you the work boots and gloves.\u201d<\/p>\n
This took place one afternoon when he came home drunk, having gotten his client off a DUI charge. They\u2019d gone out to celebrate at a bar called Hatchet Granny\u2019s\u2014I learned later this was a nickname for Carrie Nation, the famous temperance movement woman known for smashing up bars while singing hymns. Anyway, I said to my father, \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
He said, \u201cRufus Rue needs a responsible man to work for him. I told him you were responsible enough.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rufus Rue owned Rufus Rue Roofing. My father had known Mr. Rue for some twenty years, for he, my father, defended Rufus\u2019s employees about once a month, whether it be for public drunkenness, drunk and disorderly, failure to pay child support, trespassing, peeping tomming, speeding, driving with a suspended license, or obstructing justice. Rufus Rue advertised in the local newspaper, LET RUFUS RUE ROOF YOUR ROOF. FREE ESTIMATES! in little two-by-two inch squares, right there in the Classified section. Every time I watched that dog speak on the Scooby-Doo cartoon, I thought of my father\u2019s friend. I might\u2019ve been watching such a cartoon when my father came in to an announce my prospective employer.\u00a0 Domestic abuse, theft, littering, possession of marijuana, possession of a firearm by a convicted felon, possession of stolen goods, intent to distribute, fraudulent checks, second degree sexual assault, indecent exposure, prostitution. My dad took on everything. He came home half-smiling, maybe so I\u2019d see him and think he worked a decent job. Failure to stop for law, arson, carjacking, failure to return rented video cassettes, ill-treatment of animals, swindling, purse snatching, resisting arrest, cockfighting, contributing to the delinquency of a minor, scalping tickets to a pro wrestling event.<\/p>\n
I tried to imagine myself wearing gloves and boots. I said, \u201cOkay.\u201d Not that I saw myself as a pussy\u2014a word I wouldn\u2019t\u00a0 be able to use in twenty years, so let\u2019s say a \u201cwimp,\u201d or a \u201cbaby\u201d\u2014but I didn\u2019t see myself ever going out to work in the film industry.<\/p>\n
I saw myself studying art, what with my name. It seemed as though I\u2019d been predestined to draw. Or maybe I\u2019d end up working behind the bar at an ale house, manning the taps. There\u2019s no telling how my life might\u2019ve turned out had my parents named me Butler, Mason, or Peter.<\/p>\n
Anyway, I showed up on that first Monday, at a two story house with a steep roof. Already the men up top worked, or at least stood. I said to Rufus, \u201cI\u2019ve never done any roofing before.\u201d<\/p>\n
He said, \u201cHave you ever bent over to pick something off the ground?\u201d<\/p>\n
I said, \u201cYes sir.\u201d<\/p>\n
Rufus stood about five-six, that\u2019s all. He didn\u2019t have a neck. His jet-black hair might\u2019ve been best described as \u201ctornadic,\u201d and at some point a nail gun might\u2019ve backfired into his left eye, which caused him\u2014maybe self-conscious\u2014to hold his head sideways when holding a conversation. He said to me on that first day, \u201cGood,\u201d and pointed to what I learned to be a magnetic sweeper. He said, \u201cYour job is to push this thing around the perimeter of the house, picking up nails that fly off the roof. Also, you\u2019re in charge of gathering all the shingles in that there wheelbarrow\u201d\u2014he pointed\u2014\u201ctaking them over to this here flat-bed with the side bars, and heaving them in. Can you drive?\u201d<\/p>\n
I said, \u201cWell, yeah.\u201d I pointed at my used Toyota. \u201cI drove here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou might end up having to drive the truck to the dump, seeing as both Perry and that other guy don\u2019t have licenses.\u201d Over my two month employment, there might\u2019ve been forty \u201cother guys,\u201d but Perry always remained on the job. Perry told me more than once that one of his legs was three inches shorter than the other, which made it easier for him to stand on a roof. He also told me that cows living on steep slopes up in the mountains had two legs shorter than the other side.<\/p>\n
I said, \u201cI\u2019m your man, sir,\u201d to Mr. Rue.<\/p>\n
Rufus Rue said, \u201cI\u2019m counting on you. Your daddy Benton\u2019s a good man most of the time, so I know you\u2019ll do okay. I\u2019ll pay you in cash money every Friday afternoon. Benton\u2019s okay as far as I\u2019m concerned. You tell him I said that, will you?\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought about getting that two hundred dollars, and what I could buy. I thought about how, if I saved my money, I could go to college with over two grand, and take a date out every weekend to one of the better restaurants in Chapel Hill, or at least afford nice sketchbooks.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I\u2019d taken two years of Latin in high school, because my father thought I needed to know some phrases in the field of law: pro bono, quid pro quo, ad hominem, caveat emptor, affidavit, compos mentis, corpus delicti<\/em>. I underwent classes with a man named Mr. Napolitano, who held a love for Latin in a way that wasn\u2019t natural. He quoted Horace non-stop, pretty much. So there on the roofing job, I thought Perry, too, studied Latin earlier in life, seeing as he said, daily, \u201cHorace always says it\u2019s better to work a plan than plan to work,\u201d or \u201cHorace always says it\u2019s better to roof in the fall, than fall off a roof.\u201d I tried to translate these little dictums, but couldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n On about the third day I said, \u201cHey, Perry, are you talking about Quintus Horatius Flaccus, that Horace?\u201d<\/p>\n He looked down at me beneath the eaves. He said, \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n I said, \u201cYou keep mentioning Horace. Which one are you talking about?\u201d<\/p>\n I might need to mention that Perry had a hair style somewhere between halfway through chemo, and distracted barber. It was as if he\u2019d had his scalp polka-dotted, with sets of inch-wide sections randomly plopped atop his scalp. Some time around July, working at a real estate agent\u2019s roof-compromised office, he told me he had \u201ckind hair\u2014the kind of hair that grows on a monkey\u2019s ass.\u201d Perry, if anything, had a sense of humor.<\/p>\n He said, \u201cHorace Beasley<\/em>. He used to work for Rufus, until he fell off and broke his back. He was my main man. I learned everything I know from Horace.\u201d<\/p>\n I stood there holding the one-handled magnetic sweeper. I thought dramatis personae<\/em><\/a>, <\/em>erratum<\/em><\/a>, <\/em>ex post facto<\/em><\/a>, <\/em>functus officio<\/em><\/a> and habeas corpus. The one-handled magnetic sweeper could hold up to thirty pounds of nails, and I seemed close to the limit. I said, \u201cOh, that <\/em>Horace,\u201d because I felt sure I\u2019d heard my father mention the name at supper, maybe something about representing him in a workers compensation lawsuit.<\/p>\n \u201cDamn right.\u201d Perry looked over to the other roofer and said, \u201cHey\u2014I forget your name\u2014do you know Horace Beasley?\u201d<\/p>\n The other guy kind of slid on the asphalt shingles. He\u2019d made the mistake of wearing a wife-beater t-shirt, which meant his skin would begin to bubble around two o\u2019clock. He said, \u201cI\u2019m partial to lemon meringue pie,\u201d apropos of nothing.<\/p>\n Perry turned his back on me and said, \u201cWe need to replace this piece of plywood. That\u2019s gone cost more for these people.\u201d<\/p>\n Horace once wrote, \u201cDon\u2019t think, just do.\u201d He also wrote, \u201cThe pen is the tongue of the mind,\u201d and \u201cMix a little foolishness with your serious plans. It is lovely to be silly at the right moment.\u201d That\u2019s why I thought Perry quoted the Roman, not an ex-roofer with a broken back. There\u2019s nothing more \u201croofer\u201d than a man acting fool while concocting serious plans.<\/p>\n I thought, in extremis<\/em>, and in flagrante delicto<\/em>, and nolo contendere<\/em>. During my short stint on that job I thought, over and over: mortis causa<\/em>, which meant the right of death.<\/p>\n Anyway, I did my job for a couple weeks. I loaded up the pick-up truck with nails, screws, and old shingles, drove them to the town dump four or twenty miles away, and unloaded them with a wide, flat-blade shovel normally used in one of the more northern or midwestern states during snow times. I drove about twenty miles an hour to the dump\u2014I had to do so, seeing as the back end almost dragged the asphalt what from the weight\u2014and maybe ten miles an hour back, after stopping by Felton\u2019s, on Rufus Rue\u2019s demand, to get a twelve-pack of the cheapest beer for day\u2019s end celebrations, a convenience store that didn\u2019t check IDs.<\/p>\n \u201cIf you\u2019re old enough to work roofing, you\u2019re old enough to drink beer,\u201d Rufus said to me on the first day. I have to say\u2014by the end of that second week, roofing looked like a viable alternative, at the time, to going to college, studying history and more Latin, becoming a public defender, wearing polyester suits, marrying a woman who put up with me only, and siring a smart-ass, delusional child with little ambition. I thought to myself, What\u2019s better than not having to think much, rolling a magnetic device around people\u2019s perimeters, off-loading rubbish, then drinking beer? Later on I would ask that question to my friends and colleagues, and they had zero repartee. One of my co-workers drove a garbage truck one summer, so he nodded, but I got nothing else from everyone else there at my shop, Drew\u2019s Coin and Bullion.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n On Fridays, my father went to the bank and bought one hundred dollars\u2019 worth of pennies, dimes and quarters\u2014like a hundred rolls of pennies, six rolls of dimes, and two rolls of quarters. Sometimes he switched it off\u2014five rolls of quarters, and so on. He always said it depended on a feeling. On Saturdays, he made me sit there at the kitchen table, unrolling coins, then looking through them for wheat pennies or silver Roosevelts and Washington quarters. I flipped pennies over, looking for those stalks on the back. As for dimes, I took out a loupe and scoured the dates, in hopes of finding something pre-1965. I didn\u2019t know it at the time, but he wanted to discover a rare 1944-D Lincoln penny, a 1914-S Lincoln penny, some kind of 1969 Double Die Obverse coin, and so on. Then there was the elusive 1932S quarter, not to mention all the ones from the 1800s that went for thousands of dollars, as if we\u2019d find one. My father ventured to discover a number of coins. He said there was some kind of \u201cBarber dime\u201d that could fetch more than a million dollars. I didn\u2019t listen that much, and wasn\u2019t sure why he trusted me to take my index and middle fingers on my right hand, go two-two-two-two, then set fifty coins aside to replace in a paper sleeve that held either fifty cents or five dollars or ten dollars for him to return.<\/p>\n I did not think of my future. I thought about sergeants in the Army ordering useless privates to dig a hole, then fill it back up, over and over.<\/p>\n On that first Saturday after I got paid cash money, plus the beer, my father said, \u201cIf we find one of these, Drew, we can retire. You and your mom and I can move to Myrtle Beach, goddamn it. Do you know how nice it would be to no longer represent people who don\u2019t have a chance in life?\u201d<\/p>\n I said, \u201cI didn\u2019t want to mention it, but that magnetic sweeper thing might not work so great. I stepped on a nail walking right behind it. And these boots might not be all that great. Do I have a recent tetanus shot?\u201d<\/p>\n He didn\u2019t hear me. He said, \u201cOh, man, I have an idea. When Rufus isn\u2019t watching too close, why don\u2019t you run that magnetic sweeper around people\u2019s back yards, you know, acting like you\u2019re just taking a little walk. A lot of people around here\u2014especially old timers\u2014buried coins on their land. They\u2019d put them in coffee cans and such. A giant magnet would pick that up.\u201d<\/p>\n I thought, That\u2019s some really great advice, Mr. Public Defender. I flicked a plain old regular 1958 wheat penny his way, to add to the other two found out of, what, five thousand?<\/p>\n I said, \u201cIf it turns red, I\u2019ll take my foot down to the emergency room.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou know, you should take your pay down to the bank, turn it in for coins, and do what I do. Save the rare and valuable coins, squirrel them away for later, and go turn the rest of the regular change in to your bank. Then start over. Over and over. If there\u2019s one thing I want to impart on you, Drew, it\u2019s \u2018over and over.\u2019 That\u2019s the best advice I can give, in regard to life. Ad infinitum<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n I said, \u201cHow much is that wheat penny I just added?\u201d<\/p>\n My father looked at it. He said, \u201cTwo cents. That\u2019s double your money, Drew. Double your money!\u201d<\/p>\n I thought to say, \u201cWho\u2019s going to buy it, though?\u201d but didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n My mother came into the kitchen and said, \u201cIt\u2019s good to see you boys working together. Brenton, honey, I told your little story to the girls today, playing tennis. They didn\u2019t think it was funny at all.\u201d<\/p>\n My father smiled. He said, \u201cIt\u2019s supposed to be a joke.\u201d<\/p>\n I said, \u201cWhat joke?\u201d<\/p>\n My mother said, \u201cNo,\u201d and went to take a shower.<\/p>\n I said, \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n My father said, \u201cI guess it wouldn\u2019t be all that funny to Christians. I came up with this one myself: \u2018If Mary were truly a virgin, when Jesus came out, he should\u2019ve been, you know, eight or nine pounds as usual, but about four feet tall and skinny, like he came out of a clay extruder, or a pasta maker, what with her being a virgin.\u201d<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t get it. I looked down and saw a steel penny. I said, \u201cI don\u2019t get it,\u201d though I did.<\/p>\n My father said, \u201cNeither did a judge I told it to. Maybe it\u2019ll be a better joke around Christmas time. You\u2019ll get it after you go to college.\u201d He said, \u201cI know you didn\u2019t ask, but I can go to a number of coin shows, or flea markets after I retire, and someone will buy a wheat penny, no matter the year, as long as it\u2019s Fine or Extra Fine, like this one is. Hell, they might pay two cents for a Poor, Fair, or Good, just to shove into their loafers.\u201d<\/p>\n My foot hurt, I thought, but later on in life I realized that I suffered from a certain hypochondria. I figured out my father\u2019s supposed joke\u2014something about an overly-tight birth canal. And although my high school psychology teacher said to never use this word\u2014he might\u2019ve been the very first person ever to show signs of being politically correct\u2014I said, \u201cOr maybe Jesus should come out of the womb as a pinhead,\u201d instead of using the term used nowadays, whatever that might be. Something between microcephalic and hydrocephalic.<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t wait for you to come join my team,\u201d my father said, which made me proud, oddly.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Once an old roof got scraped over the eaves and the roofers tap-tap-tapped new shingles on, there wasn\u2019t that much for me to do for, say, one working day. Oh, I continued to roll that magnetic sweeper around, and sure enough found stray nails I\u2019d somehow missed. I found scraps of old tar paper, but not much else. So, with my father\u2019s voice in my head, I did, indeed, start walking around people\u2019s back yards, feigning to go pee off behind a Leyland Cypress or wherever. I don\u2019t know how strong a magnetic sweeper\u2019s field may be, but twice over the summer I pulled a collar out of the ground that once belong to a buried dead dog. I thought, Man, people around here are of the \u201cshallow grave\u201d mold, and, feeling bad about it, shoved the collars back into the hole.<\/p>\n \u201cHorace always said, \u2018Leave some of the tar paper scattered around in case someone needs to use it for toilet paper,\u2019\u201d Perry said about once an hour on these days, tap-tap-tapping. I tried to translate this mantra into Latin, but couldn\u2019t. Charta. Papyrus<\/em>. I never could figure out the word for \u201ctoilet,\u201d and then got stuck wondering where Horace, or Cicero, or all those others relieved themselves. Probably wherever they wanted, kind of like roofers.<\/p>\n I found horseshoes. I found lost screwdrivers, one key, more than one pocketknife, old barbed wire fencing, what may or may not have been part of a chastity belt (according to my dad), the mouthpiece of a cheap tuba, one of those old-timey fountain pens, a few fishing lures that I guess flew off when someone practiced casting, pull tabs from the 1960s, sharp tuna can lids, and so on.<\/p>\n \u201cYou might want to get a check-up,\u201d Perry said at least once a day. \u201cYou ain\u2019t drinking beer on the job, are you? I\u2019ve never seen a boy pee so much. Horace said he always peed down a chimney doing winter roofing, if the owners built a fire that smoked him out.\u201d<\/p>\n And I said, always, \u201cParva vesicae,\u201d for I\u2019d looked up how to say \u201csmall bladder.\u201d<\/p>\n Then, finally, sure enough, I found that old Folger\u2019s can filled with nothing but silver coins. I\u2019m talking Morgan dollars from the 1880s, and Walking Liberties from the 1920s. I didn\u2019t even have my magnetic sweeper with me\u2014I\u2019d actually gone off wandering behind a giant oak tree, wasting time, and caught a glint below my feet. One of the tree\u2019s roots had shoved the can upward, it appeared.<\/p>\n I took the can and put it in the trunk of my car. I thought, I wonder if my father came onto this job site and hid this cache, testing me.<\/p>\n The new roofer, not Perry, walked past me soon thereafter, his right hand filled with scrap pieces of tar paper. I said, \u201cThere\u2019s already a nice hole to use, behind that oak tree over there,\u201d and pointed.<\/p>\n He said, \u201cLots of squirrels on this property. I might come over here later with my .22.\u201d<\/p>\n I said, \u201cWe haven\u2019t met officially. I\u2019m Drew.\u201d<\/p>\n He stared at me about three counts and said, \u201cSquirrel ain\u2019t bad if you cook it right.\u201d<\/p>\n I said, \u201cIt\u2019s about time for me to go get the beer.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s Friday,\u201d Squirrel Guy said. \u201cWe get paid. I\u2019ll have about three dollars left over after paying child support.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Of course I got out my dad\u2019s latest issues of\u00a0 COINage, Coins, Numismatic News, Coin World Weekly<\/em>, and those other ones. If my father set aside the money he used to subscribe to these magazines, he might be able to buy at least a condo down at Myrtle Beach. As it ended up, that coffee can held a hundred silver dollars and another hundred fifty-cent pieces. All of the coins\u2014not that I owned any kind of appraisal-worthy abilities then\u2014showed wear, from barely to somewhat. None were uncirculated. Just on the price of silver alone\u2014at the time\u2014I could turn these things in to a number of pawn shops and get upwards of anywhere from, hell, I couldn\u2019t do the math. I might\u2019ve known some Latin after graduating high school, but there was a reason I scored nearly perfect on the Verbal part of the SAT, and only 490 on the Math section. I fucking knew that, in Latin, the word for \u201csilver\u201d happened to be \u201cargenti,\u201d but I didn\u2019t know, without a calculator, 150 ounces times .90 for silver content, times going rate of silver.<\/p>\n But I knew enough about math to know about poker, and to know about \u201ctells\u201d and \u201cbluffing,\u201d so when my father came home in his polyester suit, sparking static electricity on anything he touched from doorknob to metallic martini shaker, I said nothing. I sat at the kitchen table, waiting for him to unleash his rolls of coins. My mother stood in the den, looking at a goldfish bowl that offered no activity, though she\u2019d sent off to get a pack of those shrimp, or sea-monkeys. During my childhood we\u2019d had one dog and one cat, but both ran off, I think because they didn\u2019t like to be shocked on the nose when my father tried to pet them.<\/p>\n I waited for him to say, \u201cDid you find anything? Hmmmm?\u00a0 Hmmmmm? Hmmmm?\u201d like that.<\/p>\n He didn\u2019t. Instead, he said, \u201cMan, it was just like Perry Mason! Out of nowhere this guy sitting there stood up and said, \u2018I did it, I did it!\u2019 You know, while my client was on the witness stand saying how he was up in Asheville, touring that Biltmore House during the murder. How often does that happen? Answer: Never. Well, the judge banged her gavel and said, \u2018Case dismissed,\u2019 I think. It happened so fast. Anyway, my client\u2019s free for now. Oh, he\u2019ll probably mess up in the future, but still. Do you know him, Drew? He used to work at Rufus Rue Roofing. Guy named Horace.\u201d<\/p>\n I shook my head No. I didn\u2019t feel like going into all the things I\u2019d known Horace to say, even though I\u2019d never met him. I said, \u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n My father made his drink and came to the table. He said, \u201cHow\u2019s everything going?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFair,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cMan oh man. It\u2019s days like these that make me know, more than ever, that you should join my team in about seven years.\u201d My father swirled the shaker in his left hand. He said, \u201cIf you become a lawyer, Drew, do you know what you\u2019ll never be?\u201d<\/p>\n I thought for a minute. I had a lot of smart-ass answers, ranging from \u201cmoral\u201d to \u201csuicidal.\u201d I said, \u201cPoor.\u201d<\/p>\n He said, \u201cWell, yeah, probably.\u201d He cleared his throat. He said, \u201cI forgot what we\u2019re talking about.\u201d Then he asked me, \u201cYour mother told me you got a letter from your roommate-to-be. How\u2019s he?\u201d<\/p>\n I said, \u201cFine.\u201d<\/p>\n Then I realized he was on to me. He asked me questions that I could answer solely with numismatic grades: Poor, Good, Fair, Fine. I almost wanted to hear what he\u2019d ask that might prompt me to say \u201cExtra fine\u201d or \u201cMint.\u201d So I said, of course, \u201cYou were right! I found a coffee can filled with silver dollars and half-dollars.\u201d Then I ran to my room, went to my closet, pulled off my extra quilt from the floor, opened a cardboard box, and pulled out the can of coins. Back at the table, I spilled them out slowly.<\/p>\n From the look on my father\u2019s face, I could tell that he\u2019d not planted them for me, earlier. No, more than anything his face offered a look of divine helplessness\u2014like he realized he\u2019d wasted every Friday night, and sometimes Saturdays, in search of a worthy penny, dime, or quarter, and never found one worth more than my worst Walking Liberty. He said, \u201cGoddamn,\u201d which could\u2019ve been one of the coin grades, either most worn or better than uncirculated. My father said, \u201cPlease tell me this won\u2019t make you want to be a roofer for the rest of your life. Or a landscaper. Where\u2019d you find these?\u201d<\/p>\n I told him. He said, \u201cDon\u2019t tell me you might want to be a tree surgeon after college.\u201d<\/p>\n My mother showed up from the non-existent sea monkeys, still dressed as if she\u2019d been to a garden club, bridge club, whatever\u2014and saw my bounty on the table. My mother looked a lot like one of those wives on a 1950s sitcom. Later on in life, I would notice a number of \u201ctradwives\u201d who came into my shop, wanting to purchase sets of Proof coins for their children from whatever year the kids got born. She said, \u201cY\u2019all found all those in a roll of pennies?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The job came to an end at the end of July, for Rufus Rue had no more roofs scheduled. At the house where I\u2019d found the can of silver, I scoured all around the oak tree, only to find that Perry\u2019s helper used it for a bathroom more than a few times. He might\u2019ve suffered from large intestine problems. It didn\u2019t make me want to go to college and later become a gastroenterologist.<\/p>\n I did my regular tasks on that last day, and I came across nothing worthwhile scouring the people\u2019s yard. I took my last paycheck in twenties, and drank beer with my co-workers per usual. Rufus said, \u201cYou done a good job, Drew. Next summer, come see me if you want to sign on again. I\u2019m hoping for a number of tornadoes and hurricanes between now and next May so we\u2019ll be flush with insurance work.\u201d<\/p>\n Perry said, \u201cHorace said, \u2018On the last day of any job, you should drink more than normal.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n So I did. I stood there in the driveway of a house owned by rich people who\u2019d already moved to their beach house for the Fall and Winter, and I slammed six PBRs, one after another. In less than a month I\u2019d be up in Chapel Hill, I thought, doing the same with my new roommate, who promised to bring some kind of quadrophonic stereo system, complete with Old School turntable.<\/p>\n Soon thereafter, on the side of the road after trying to drive home, a highway patrolman shined his flashlight in my eyes even though it wasn\u2019t dark outside. I realized that I wouldn\u2019t go to college, study history, go to law school, then get out in order to take on a life as some kind of rehab specialist. I\u2019ll go ahead and jump to when I had to go to court, with my father defending me.<\/p>\n There on the roadside, I knew that I\u2019d have to pay some court fees, that I\u2019d have to take my silver down to a pawn shop\u2014as it ended up, silver\u2019d gone up to twenty bucks an ounce, so I had just enough money to pay what the judge thought necessary instead of my going to jail a week before the entire scheduled orientation.<\/p>\n When I handed over my silver, I thought only E Pluribus Unum<\/em>, I swear.<\/p>\n As we walked out of the courtroom, my father said nothing. I thought, Is this how things will be in the future? Will I get jobs, only to save money that\u2019ll be lost later on? Would it be just like all these poor, sad folks who finally saved enough money toward retirement, only to spend it on a damaged roof?<\/p>\n My mother waited for us out in the courthouse\u2019s parking lot. She didn\u2019t smile, but she didn\u2019t shake her head sideways, either. Later on, she\u2019d tell me that she thought how much sons become their fathers. Later in life, after my father\u2019s tragic death caused by his ramming into\u2014get this\u2014the back end of a Brinks truck stopped to deliver or take money from a bank, my mother told me how she thought, There\u2019s no way Drew is going to get a job in Hollywood.<\/p>\n I felt bad about letting down my parents, certainly. But I didn\u2019t think of much else. No, for some reason I daydreamed about my very first history class I\u2019d take in college. Somehow I knew that the professor would start right off, after passing out syllabi, with that quote from Santayana about not remembering the past, and being condemned to repeating it. I kind of foresaw the professor actually quoting it in Latin, for some reason, and asking if anyone present understood what he or she meant. And then I\u2019d raise my hand quickly and hard, maybe find a way to bring up how Horace once wrote, \u201cMake a good use of the present.\u201d<\/p>\n Or I might think it necessary to bring up how I\u2019d never want to step on a nail again.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Horace once wrote, \u201cDon\u2019t think, just do.\u201d He also wrote, “Mix a little foolishness with your serious plans. It is lovely to be silly at the right moment.\u201d That\u2019s why I thought Perry quoted the Roman, not an ex-roofer with a broken back. There\u2019s nothing more \u201croofer\u201d than a man acting fool while concocting serious plans.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":18775,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-18756","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-george-singleton"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18756","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18756"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18756\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18776,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18756\/revisions\/18776"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/18775"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18756"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18756"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18756"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}