Something's Happening Here - Part 2
cooking, markets, roofs, a little Evel
I’d been struggling with this newfound passion. I had never felt like this before. I have always worked hard and stayed committed to my business, but it became more difficult to focus on work and not spend time making my new passion a reality.
Cooking consumed me. I watched Jacque Pepin on PBS and tried every cuisine and new restaurant around. We headed on a culinary journey to Oaxaca, Mexico, staying at a bed and breakfast which included cooking lessons with Nora. I learned so much from her. We went to the open market. We made mole, ceviche, salsas, and more. It was an interesting and exciting time in my life.
How do I make sense of this?
I loved it so much. But at this time, I was a general contractor and had my own business, a business I started just out of college. I didn’t hate being a contractor, it had been good to me and my family, it just didn’t drive me. I saw it as a means to an end. It had all started when a college friend asked if I wanted to roof houses during the summer. The money was good and they needed the help. I said yes and didn’t even think about how dangerous it was or how it would impact my future. I liked being outside in the fresh air and the idea of getting a tan was a bonus, so I would give it a go. It was backbreaking work. You walked on an incline all day, your feet would burn like you were walking on the sun, you would carry 70 pound bundles of shingles until your shoulders and back hurt, and your fingernails ground down to an uncomfortable level. Even with all of that considered, I started a roofing business, probably out of convenience more than anything.
High school and college never provided me a clear answer of what I wanted to do with my life. I wasn’t a horrible student, just an average one with a below-average effort. I think it was the way school was structured. It simply wasn’t for someone like me. I wanted a more creative outlet, and school wasn’t the answer. Neither was roofing.
The roofing business is a thankless job. Everyone needs one, but nobody wants to pay for a new one. It’s not like they are getting a new kitchen or bath. Many times it was a tough sell. It didn’t feel rewarding; it was just a job to pay the bills. Besides doing re-roofs, we roofed new construction homes for a couple of builders. I remember roofing houses in the winter and shoveling snow-capped roofs and dealing with below-zero temps and risking my life on steep pitches, short of most safety measures – just another reminder of how I could be rather careless at times. It was flat out dangerous. Some might call it crazy. Falling off a roof years later would prove this to be true, and I have complications from it to this day. I was lucky because I happened to fall right and not land on my neck.
In a strange way, I actually think the danger is what kept me going back. Every day was like a tightrope act walking this fine line of sanity vs insanity. In my mind, it made me tough. I typically don’t back down from seeking some thrill. It started early. As a kid, I enjoyed the rush of things and have always been a bit of a daredevil. I’m a jump feet-first kind of guy, no holds barred, don’t let the thinking get in the way of the doing kind of philosophy.
My idol as a kid was Evel Knievel. How cool he was: the leather suit, the name, the coolest guy on earth. So I rode around on my bike in a new development in Bolingbrook, Illinois, practicing my daredevil future. In fact I had been assessing this rock pile from a house being built down the street for some time. What a jump this would make! With no way to practice, I decided to go for it, make the jump of all jumps. This rock pile was probably 5ft tall, so it took a couple of days to get my confidence up. When my mom called a babysitter, I saw this as my opportunity. So with my banana-seated red bike and towel tucked in my shirt for a cape, I headed out. It was the '70s, so heading out at 4 years old by yourself was very normal. I peddled as fast as I could, and when I got halfway up the pile, the front tire stuck in the gravel and sent me flying, somersaulting in the air and landing on my face. Besides the numerous stitches in my head and chin, the doctor had to pull the gravel out of my face with tweezers. It definitely could have been worse. Evel would've been proud of me.
Doing things that seemed risky has been part of my life since childhood. We will leave the other stories for another day. I knew what I needed now: a strategy.
