On The Proper Handling And Storage Of Ladders

      About eight years ago I invited ‘one of those days’ upon myself by taking advantage of a warm afternoon on a late winter day to touch up the paint on the side of the house where I live. This is in a downtown area, but I refer to it as ‘downtown lite’. I think that it is an okay neighborhood, but many others claim that it is a bad one. I believe that, for this area, it is a claim which feeds upon itself, but that’s another subject- perhaps another story.

      That afternoon I set the task before myself, and put two coats of paint on a large, high section which I had prepped and primed the day before. The section is fifteen feet up and I was using an eighteen foot aluminum extending ladder.

      Then I telescoped the ladder back down. Now it was nine feet in length. The thing weighs 50 pounds. There is a lot of potential power in a ladder like that when it is being tipped back down. I take care during that task and remind myself to stay focused. On that narrow strip of residential backyard, in a neighborhood so populous, I always check first to make sure that there is no one around. If anyone would be hurt during this tricky maneuver, then, it would just be me.

      So, at that point I looked over my shoulder and saw that there was a small tough-looking man strutting north down the alley past the house. He looked like he was about the same age as I was. In his forties.

      I tipped the ladder flat by grabbing the rungs one by one as I walked back. I thought that if the one person I saw would come into any danger through that, well, it would have to be through his own effort.

      And so it was. This was during the crucial point in this ladder-lowering where I loosen my shoulders, and, while maintaining a firm grip on the ladder, lower it to my right to the level of my waist. Then, suddenly, I saw that the man was with me, under the ladder which was swinging down toward him. He addressed me with a shout.

      “Workin’ Man!”

      I reacted by pressing upward against the lowering ladder and wrestling it down with a clatter to my left, saving us both. I spun back to him and shouted the first thing that came to mind.

      “Go Ah-way!”

      Which brought a hurt look from this little rough man. I could tell from the expression that, although he had been careless, it was simply because he cared. And, although I had reacted badly, he hadn’t lost that compassion. He seemed to be the type of man who was ready to fully commit to work or play, depending. A second had now passed, and I understood more of what was going on.

      I explained to him that he had come in at a very tricky point in the process, and apologized for shouting at him…

      “…but, Geeze!”

      He accepted my apology in his own way, and also explained. He just wanted to help ‘the workin’ man’. He told me that he worked in our local industry for twenty years, and now he would help me, if needed. Of course, that was an initial offer. A fee of a couple or so dollars was implied.

      As he made his explanation and offer, I wryly thought that with creative recollection of seasonal and temporary assignments, (in widget making, service and related industries) along with a generous expansion of time, (all of which I’m nearly certain he did) I could also lay claim to the work experience he was boasting of, there in that downtown alley. But I didn’t.

      All of this did form the shell of a friendship, which could be filled. I just don’t play as hard as I think he did. We were from different worlds which had nearly collided. I was finished painting, and he left, not having interfered much with this workin’ man.

      Our next and last meeting came when I was back out there a week later. He walked up into our narrow backyard carrying a harmonica. He had a new assignment, the details of which he shared with me. He was going to play that harmonica on a street corner down by the shops, since he was, he told me, one of the original Blues Brothers.

      Although I had my doubts concerning his likely success, I certainly didn’t discourage him. I’ve done plenty of busking as a juggler, and I like to think that I have a good eye for what works on the street and what doesn’t. It can be a pleasant surprise- what draws and keeps an audience. That small, tough-looking man certainly had my attention during those two short encounters.