Chapter 1

As soon as the mailman came by, I grabbed my mail out of the mailbox and ran to my old pickup, ripping the thin brown envelope open and looking at the check, as if I thought they may have paid me more this week. They hadn’t.

I pulled a ballpoint pen out of the ashtray and signed the back of the unemployment check. Three hundred and twenty bucks a week wasn’t a lot for a man to live on, but I still haven’t given up hope. I backed out of the small parking lot next to the two story apartments I live in.

They’re run down and bug infested but it was all I could afford. The one I live in is a furnished, one bedroom, with kitchenette. With my water furnished I got it for two seventy five a month. It was a rat-hole in the slum part of town and if the Health Department inspectors ever came by they’d shut the whole thing down. I guess that’s the reason the old woman rents them so cheap.

She runs all five of the small apartments off the same water meter with three, 50 gallon water heaters for five small apartments. If you’re taking a shower you better hurry before someone turns their water on or flushes, you could either get scalded or a take cold shower.

I had a full schedule planned for today – first to the bank to get this check cashed – get gas in my pickup, run by and get some dry noodles, bologna, cheese, bread and a package of oatmeal. Then I had to run by the printer’s and pick up my ‘Handy-Man’ flyers I had them print.

There was a new cashier at the drive-in window at the branch bank I always go to and I had to show my ID. I was in a hurry but I sure liked looking at the girl sitting at the cashier’s desk in the window. She smiled when she dropped my cash envelope in the tray and hit the lever on the cash drawer. I looked up and smiled back at her, as she wished me a good weekend.

“You too Miss,” I said and rolled my old truck up out of the way to count my money. It was all there and I took off for the Murphy’s Oil gas station at WalMart to get gas for my truck. They’re three cents a gallon cheaper than anyone in town. If you have a WalMart shopping card and I always try to keep at least fifty dollars on that card account just to buy gas on. It took sixty dollars but I filled the old truck up this week, because I was going over to Wyman to get some of dad’s tools so I could start doing some Handy-Man jobs.

It cost me twenty four bucks and twenty cents for my flyers and I hurried home to put my few groceries up. Then I drove all over town putting flyers up in the windows of stores, gas stations and super markets where they’d let me and on their ‘community boards’ at others. I bought some more minutes for my pre-paid cell phone and counted my money. With what I already had – plus my check – I had sixty nine dollars and some change left in my pocket when I got through with all this. Not counting my two hundred and seventy five dollars rent money ... which was due on Tuesday.

I was half way to Wyman when my cell phone rang, making me jump because my phone never rings, “Hello, Bill here,” I was hoping this was a call about a Handy-Man job.

“Bill, my name is George Waller. I saw your flyer at the gas station and wanted to know how good a carpenter you were. I need some boards replaced on my porch and some steps built with hand rails,” the man said as I pulled over at an intersection so I could talk and write. I flipped one of the flyers over and wrote his name on the back.

“Well Mr. Waller, my dad has been a carpenter all his life and I worked for him all through high school and until I got out of college and got a full time job. I worked at the factory here in Meade Junction for eight years and was assistant plant manager the last four ... before I lost my job when they shut down and moved to Mexico. I’m just trying to get by until I can find something better,” I told the man the truth.

“How much do you charge Bill?” he asked.

“I charge less than the going rate Mr. Waller. All I ask is twenty dollars an hour cash and I furnish all my own tools,” I told him and cringed when he didn’t say anything at first.

“I figure it’ll take a good carpenter four hours to do what I need. I’ll pay you seventy five, if you pick up the materials yourself and can be here early Monday morning,” he said and I nearly dropped my ballpoint pen ... I was shaking so hard.

“Yes Sir, what’s your address and I’ll come by Sunday and measure it all out and be at Moorelands lumber shed when they open on Monday,” I told him. I was still shaking ... I was so scared he would back out.

He told me his address and I wrote it by his name with his phone number.

“I’ll be there about mid-afternoon Sunday, Mr. Waller and thanks for calling.”

“See you then Bill, have a good weekend,” he said and hung up.

Seventy five dollars ... if I can just get two jobs a week like this, for cash, I can make it until I get my ‘Handy-Man’ business built up. I sure don’t think this economy is going anywhere for a while and there’s just not any jobs around here to be had.

Mom and dad were sitting on the porch when I drove up, and before I could get out of the truck, they were headed my way along the walk.

“Just pull on out to the shop Bill. I got all the tools already set out for you, we’ll get them loaded up. Your mom has some chicken fried for supper,” dad said, and I drove slowly across the grass where the old drive had been when he was working full time.

I backed up to the double wooden doors, and dad opened both of them wide. The first thing I saw was his old pickup-bed topper sitting on top of some sawhorses with all his tools on the floor near the door.

“Dad, you may need...” I started.

“Bill, I’m retired. If I need something fixed, I’ll call you. You know a man can make a good living doing Handy-Man jobs and carpentry work,” he told me for the thousandth time.

“I know Dad, and I sure am glad you showed me how to cut angles ... doorstep stringers, and frame a room. If I can make this work, I may just stay with it. It scares me to think about working for another big company that could shut down and go to Mexico overnight,” I told him the truth and it made him smile that I was seeing things his way after all this time.

“You can make it Billy. Your daddy made us a good living ... paid for your education and paid off our home on Handy-Man and carpentry pay,” mom said.

“I know it Mom, and I thank you and dad for helping me get started this way. I already got a job for Monday that will make me seventy five dollars.”

“Bill that’s great. You’ll make it ... I just know you will. Go see the bankers that have foreclosed on all those homes, they’ll need good repairmen to get them back in shape to re-sell,” Dad told me.

“Look son, I’ll never use this old bed topper and you’ll need it so you won’t have to load and unload your tools. The side doors still open and all three locks still work,” dad told me as he lifted the back and I grabbed the front. I walked backwards to my tail gate and set the topper shell down and climbed in the truck bed and backed all the way to the cab, then jumped over the side. I crawled up inside it from the rear and fastened all four hold down fasteners.

We started loading all the tools then, some were new, some were ancient, and dad wanted me to have them all, even the electrical extension cords, and sawhorses. We loaded all his hammers, squares, tri-squares, chalk lines, folding rules and tape measures, and countless boxes and brown paper sacks of nails and screws. He had six cordless drills with batteries and chargers that he’d bought in the past few years and he wanted me to take those also.

Dad had all Sears power tools ... just as mom had all Sears appliances. He had 2 cut-off saws, three rip saws and one ten inch, sliding ‘chop saw’ with a laser marker that cut angles with precision for framing doors and windows and wall trim. He had just about one of every tool Sears sold. Routers, drills, jig-saws, ‘saws-all’ saws, sanders and every hand tool imaginable.

We put the three extension ladders and four step ladders on top where he’d made a ladder rack years ago. It looked like a professional rig now ... and I smiled.

My old truck was squatting a little in the back with all the weight but I had good tires on the back axle and I knew the old rig was solid and could carry the load.

After we had eaten an early supper – I had stuffed my belly with fried chicken, potato salad, beans, corn and fresh rolls – mom put the rest of the chicken in a gallon plastic zip-lock bag.

I think there was over a whole left-over chicken in the bag but mom was smiling and I had learned to never fuss when mom wanted to give me extra food ... it was her way of feeling good ... making sure I had enough to eat. Besides I like cold left-over chicken.

We said our goodbyes and I hit the road back to Meade Junction. I was excited and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was heading in the right direction to get me out of the financial hole I was in.

I was like a thousand other former employees of Wellbourne Manufacturing that had suddenly lost their jobs last spring. I was two years into a five year loan on my new Ford pickup when it was repossessed and six years into my twenty year mortgage on my new home ... when the bank foreclosed.

I lost it all.

Some had it worse than me though – they had kids and even more equity in their homes that had suddenly lost value when over six hundred new foreclosures hit the local market. When they were foreclosed on, they got barely a few hundred dollars equity instead of thousands.

When mine went down, I only cleared twenty five hundred dollars in equity – with no home and no vehicle. I bought this six year-old truck from a man who had worked under me at the factory. He needed fifteen hundred to keep it from being repossessed. He sold the pickup to me and made a thousand. I now had transportation. He and his wife and kids were moving back to his folks’ farm and try to live off the land until he could find work.

I spent Saturday morning going through the different electrical tools, checking the cords and making sure they would work. I plugged all the cordless tool chargers in and put the batteries on charge. I was ready and I was nervous and I was excited, all at the same time.

I didn’t sleep at all Saturday night and finally got up before dawn and listened to the radio until daylight. I have a small TV, but I don’t have cable connected ... the basic cable is twenty three dollars and eighty eight cents including tax.

I was at the Waller’s residence at 1:00. I knew I was early but I was about to have a nervous breakdown ... waiting.

“Hello ... Mr. Waller?” I asked when the older man came out on the porch.

“Yes. Are you Bill?”

“Yes Sir, I came to measure for your steps and the boards that need replacing,” I said as we shook hands.

“You can see over here, Bill ... I need four boards replaced where the rain has blown in. Then these steps have just about rotted out so bad, we’re afraid to use them,” he pointed out.

“Yes Sir. Would you like me to use treated wood to build your steps? That way you’d never have to replace them again,” I asked.

“Is that a lot more expensive?”

“Well, some ... but in the long run it will pay for itself.”

“Let’s do it Then. What about the boards on the porch?”

“Well, you don’t have treated lumber now and it would look odd with some treated and some not. The two don’t age the same.”

“Then we’ll just replace with what we have and hope for the best.”

“If you wanted, I could get some sealer/preservative and spray on the whole porch, then the wood would last a few years longer.”

“How much does that cost.”

“About twelve to fifteen dollars a gallon, and two gallons would cover the porch.”

“Do it.”

“Do you have an account at Moorelands?”

“Yes, just have them call me if there’s any question about you charging the materials to me.”

“I sure will,” I told him and made all my measurements and wrote them down.

Sunday was worse than Saturday ... now that I knew I had a paying job. I finally slept maybe two hours and was sitting in front of the doors when Moorelands opened at 7:00am I had been in Moorelands Hardware, Lumber, Plumbing and Supply before, but it was when I bought my home and did some repairs on it. That was over four years ago and did I ever get a shock when I walked in first in line to be waited on.

“Hi, may I help you,” the girl asked as I stepped to the counter with my list.

“Hi, yes ma’am, I’m Bill Sherman, and I need a few things for a repair job I’m doing for George Waller over on Gilmore Street, he said he had an account,” I said as she smiled ... she looks good.

“Let me look up his account,” she said as she opened the computer terminal. “Here it is ... his account is active, but I’ll have to call and verify this – sorry but we’ve had a lot of bogus billings in the past year and Mr. Mooreland makes us check everything.” she smiled as she dialed the number on her screen. I was about to hand her my paper with the number on it, but she was way ahead of me.

I walked over to the paint section and found the sealer I wanted. I got two – one gallon cans and came back. She was entering my order from my notes and asked me if there was anything else I needed.

“No, I guess that will be all for now. I’m just starting my Handy-Man business ... would you mind if I put this in your window,” I asked as I pulled out another flyer.

“Put it over here on our board. Do you have a business card?”

“No. But I’ll have some printed up and leave here, if that’s alright.” I looked up and she was smiling, when I returned from posting my flyer on the cork bulletin board.

“So what’s your name, and what do you call your business?” she smiled, and for some reason ... I knew she wasn’t just being friendly to a customer. I mean she was talking to me as a person.

“I’m William Sherman, but most folks call me Bill or Billy,” I said, looking directly at her face.

“I don’t have a business name yet.”

“Then I’m sure we’ll see you in here again. I’m Carol Macklin, by the way,” she said and stuck her hand out. I shook her hand and she never stopped smiling. I wasn’t sure if she was just being friendly ... or what ... but I sure like the way she looks.

“Thanks Carol. I sure appreciate your help and you can bet I’ll be back,” I said as I grabbed my two cans of sealer and my receipt. I drove around back and had my boards loaded on top of the ladder rack and tied them down with rubber straps.

By noon, I was through with the steps and handrails and was finishing the porch repairs. I had used the long coated screws for outdoor decks, and Mr. Waller was pleased as he looked over the new steps. I put two applications of sealer on the entire porch and asked him to keep off it until tomorrow.

Mr. Waller pulled a hundred dollar bill from his front pocket and shook my hand as I gave him change.

“Bill, I’ll tell my friends and neighbors about you. You’ll get more jobs. I hope you do well in your business. You do quality work and you work fast, I like that,” he said as I loaded all my tools.

I was driving out his driveway when my phone rang. I always jump when it rings ... because it never rings.

“Hello, Bill here.”

“I was calling about your flyer for Handy-Man jobs. Do you make plumbing repairs?” the woman asked.

“I do plumbing repairs inside the home ... none under the house.”

“Good. I have a shower, two sinks, and a commode that I can’t make stop leaking and my boyfriend won’t even look at them. How much do you charge and when can you come look at them?”

“Well, I normally charge twenty dollars an hour ... and I have a minimum of sixty dollars.”

“My name is Sheryl. I live at 16 Westwood Drive, can you come tomorrow morning? I’m off on Tuesdays.”

“What time? The earlier the better for me. I’ll have to go get the parts more than likely.”

“My boyfriend leaves at 6:30. I’d rather he wasn’t here. All he does is bitch when I talk about the leaks ... you can come at 7:00 if you like.”

“I’ll be there.”

I rang the doorbell at 7:00 and when the door opened, I introduced myself to the girl standing there.

“Hi, I’m Bill Sherman. You called about some leaky faucets,” I said as I looked at her. She’s dressed in a long tee shirt and I swear it looks like nothing underneath. Her hair is wet and she’s barefoot. Man, she sure has some big breasts.

“That was my sister Sheryl. I’m Shelly, come on in. The house is a mess, so watch where you step,” she said as she led me into the living room. There was a big screen TV and chairs all pulled around in front of it. There were beer cans all over the floor, and paper scattered everywhere. I saw three large pizza boxes on the floor and dirty paper plates stacked on the coffee table.

“Sheryl’s in the shower ... she’ll be right out. She said to show you the faucet in the kitchen while she dressed, so come this way through the mess and I’ll show you what it’s doing,” she said and stepped over a pile of trash piled by some chairs.

“Harold had a football party last night with six of his ass-hole buddies over. They all got drunk and trashed the place. He and Sheryl had a big fight after the party and again this morning ... he’s such a bastard. I wish she’d kick his ass out. This is her house and she can do a lot better than his sorry ass anyway. Are you married Bill?” she kept a steady chatter about a lot of things I’d really rather not know.

I ignored the remark about me being married.

She cleared enough of the dirty dishes away so I could see the faucet and determine what type it was. It was an old washer type ... so I knew I could fix this one with new washers.