just a nice story

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I was at a political fundraising even in Boston recently, well, actually in Jamaica Plain.

I had not been back to that area since 1985 when I moved to California then Oklahoma, and even though I have been back in Massachusetts for 5 years, I just never had the time or reason to go to JP.

When I was born, or there about, my father had returned from WWII, and, like most returning GIs, took the opportunity to better himself though the GI Bill taking courses to earn an associate’s degree in engineering. It should be noted that from about 1949 to 1985 most of Boston, and the infrastructure of the state of Massachusetts was built by returning GIs with the will and practical know-how to do the work. That was until Governor Dukakis decided image trumped reality, and seeing that all the work that brought modernity to the state was done by men who did not have PHD or MS after their names, forced them to retire so that MIT types could join the ranks and create an image.

The problem was that the cub engineers did not have any working experience, the kind the previous generation had had to have, and from which they developed their knowledge and skills building roads, bridges, and the other infrastructure that helped the U.S. win the war on two fronts, or the older guys to learn from. As a result, it was suggested that, in spite of their having been thrown out the door onto the curb, these guys voluntarily answer the questions of the new guys had, the answers they had because those guys had learned by doing.

One example of this was that while my father built most of the skating rinks in the Boston area that were owned by the state where there was a never a problem with pressure in the pipes, and in one instance, after building a new rink next to one of his, instead of tearing down the old one it was kept open because it was not experiencing the problems the new one built by the new hire.

Over time my father had found that if he took a dime and followed the threads on the pipes, it would have to go around the pipe a certain number of times, or he would reject the pipe as not being good enough. After my father was forced to retire, a young engineer, finding pipe pressure problems was informed of my father’s trick and his record that none of his accepted pipes had ever succumbed to pressure, my father was asked to tell the man with the degree from MIT how many times the dime had to circle the pipe. He refused because he, like his peers who had not wanted to retire, felt the knowledge he had learned from experience was not to be so freely given to those with the degrees. If the degrees were that good, then the new engineers should have learned this information in class.

The other engineers forced to retire kept their secrets even when the state told them they needed to pass them on.

If the state wanted the secrets, the state could give them their jobs back as they had had no desire to retire at 65. They loved their work, and loved doing it. They did not want to be put out to pasture.

Now a story I have as it was told to me, even it was told to others differently was this:

Around the time of my birth, my father was given his first engineering assignment after having spent some time holding the pole for the surveyor and then assisting the head engineer. He was to build a brick bridge that would anchor the Jamaica way, a road along the shore of Jamaica Pond, with another major road. It was to last, perhaps, 5 years until it would be replaced as the two roads became bigger and more traveled. It was to be constructed of brick with a concrete and macadam road bed with a utility garage underneath for snow plows and road equipment.

Apparently, seeing the bridge could be stronger and last longer with some adjustments, like smaller windows toward the top of the supporting walls, my father made those adjustments.

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Anyone driving through Jamaica Plain had to drive across that bridge, and because it eventually became a brick bridge in a concrete world, it was very noticeable.

Any time we crossed it ourselves going into the city to visit family, my father would point out he built the bridge, and with a smile would remind us it was only suppose to be there for 5 years.

Over time, as the city grew and infrastructure needed to be modified, the bridge was finally slated for demolition to make room for the transit authority, the MBTA, to build a major hub where commuter rail, subway, and bus routes would interconnect at a hub. The bridge was in the way.

At the  political event I attended, I casually mentioned to one person present that my father had built the bridge now replaced with construction, and its not being there threw me off as I drove what I thought would be a familiar route to the Jamaica Way. It was just supposed to be small talk at a party.

This person in turn went and brought another person over to me and had me tell the story my father had told, and he in turn did the same until a rather large group of people were listening to the story, and then explaining they had grown up with that bridge and its demise was a loss of part of their childhood into their elder years.

Although the house where the function was held was a good half mile to a mile from the demolition, although they had been assured that the demolition would be a quiet and quick event with only the thud of a swinging ball to interrupt the peace of the area, after a few attempts the demolition called for explosives as the bridge would just not come down.

Not only had the bridge with a proposed  5 year life span become a focal point at the cross section of the roads for over 60 years, but when it was to have simply collapses with a little coaxing, it took explosive to finally bring it down.

In fairness to my father’s peers, their constructions are still around and have only required a little modification to keep them useful. Eventually if they are found in need of demolition, they might also need more than what is assumed to be necessary to bring them down.

And this was done by men who learned their trade from experience in war, common sense, and a desire to learn what they needed to do in order to be successful.

Sadly, on the flip side, some of the infrastructure engineered by the people who replaced the older guys has already needed to be replaced as they were not lasting as long as a degree from places like MIT claimed they would.

But I have to admit, hearing people not only express appreciation for the information about the bridge and my father’s involvement with it, but tell me how it was part of their lives and how much it had taken to bring it down, did my father’s son’s heart good.

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