One of Bob’s best foreman was a German cat named Wolfgang Bauman. Wolfgang…or “Wolfie” as we usually called him, also struck me at the consummate IBEW electrician. There was nothing about electrical construction that guy didn’t know…and though he probably only passed on a fraction of his trade expertise to me, he also taught me how to convincingly cuss in German…which is a cherished skill I routinely still use today.
Bob and Wolfie were two quintessential blue-collar hard hats. They were smart, driven, patriotic, well-trained, dedicated and proud of their trade and the benefits provided by collective bargaining through their cherished craft union. Privileged to work on several high-profile jobs for with some of Los Angeles’s best marquee electrical contractors, I had the opportunity to work alongside and learn from of some of the finest men and women electricians in the business. However Bob and Wolfgang were a step above, and looking back on my time in the trade now, I cannot think of two people that better exemplified the Building and Construction Trades and the hardworking veteran journeymen tradesmen of that era. Both teamed to teach me most of anything I may know about being a well-rounded construction electrician…one committed to my employer’s success, and always being a good union man.
One Saturday we had to change out a panel in of the buildings on the huge construction site. As a matter-of-fact, if you’re ever flying into Los Angeles and you land on the south runways…you can look to your left (presuming the Santa Ana’s aren’t blowing and you land from the east) and see the Kilroy Airport Center buildings on the Imperial Boulevard edge of LAX. Bob, Wolfie and I came in early that Saturday…and began the arduous task of changing out a huge panel. Wolfgang set up a transistor radio on top of the panel, and while he was away getting material, I tuned the station to K-Earth 101FM for some good oldies rock-and-roll. The music was rocking and so were we. The job was complicated, but it was obvious it was being done both efficiently and professionally.
Later that morning my two working partners had me go fetch some tools and material (I really didn’t know how to do anything else at the time) and upon returning it was immediately obvious the pranksters were up to their usual jobsite shenanigans. While I was away they changed the radio to one of those horrific publicly-funded stations below 92 on the FM dial that nobody listens to where they play classical music and talk about books. On this particular day it was exacerbated by the fact they were playing opera, and it sounded to me like some Italian dude was screaming (I think they call it an aria) like he was having a colonoscopy with a burlap-coated fire hose.
Now, I may have been just a cub at the time, but I wasn’t a moron. It was clear the guys had done it simply to mess with the rookie, and it wasn’t going to be hard to turn the tables on them and make them actually listen to the crap they’d chosen to make me miserable. After all…what could be funnier than forcing a couple of construction electricians to listen to opera? Plus…it would be a downright game. Honestly…compared to these two rough-n-tumble hardasses, I was a product of an Emily Post finishing school. Unlike them, I actually read the classics (The Boys of Summer, Paper Lion, Sport Ilustrated, etc…), had already migrated to white zinfandel wine instead of Budweiser and could even sui generis a few big words now and then…even though I wasn’t always sure how they could or should be used (it didn’t matter…neither did they).
So…I acted like the music didn’t even register, and just kept knocking out holes with the Greenlee hole-punch set in the top of the new panel can. It didn’t take long though to realize I may have underestimated my opponents. While I pretended to like the agony playing through the transistor, my two working buddies seemed to be feigning enjoyment even more convincingly than me. Then…they really started pouring it on. Almost on cue, they feebly appeared to be mouthing words…as though they knew what the people were yelling about. Then, in a real laughable display of desperation, Bob muttered something (paraphrasing here) about the noise being from “Act II of Puccini’s La Boheme (whatever the hell that is).” As though they’d practiced the script the day before, Wolfgang then convincingly responded with something like “no…it’s not from La Boheme…it’s from Turnadot…Act III.”
Now listen, nobody appreciates a good punk more than me, but this little charade was coming at the expense of some good Elton John, Earth, Wind and Fire and Beach Boys’ music. So…having had enough…I was about to call them on it when the agonizing aria ended and the moderator came on amidst deafening audience applause and stated in that unmistakable hushed snooty public radio tone that the we had just been listening to Placido Domingo sing Nessun Dorma from Puccini’s Turnadot.
Ain’t this a bitch…I’ve seen some clever stunts before…but how did these two just pull this off? This was before all the life-altering technological advances. There was no pagers, fax machines, TV remotes, wireless cell phones, CDs, Sirius radio, internet, GPS, Google, Thursday Night Football, Facebook, smart phones or iPads…and the only computers used punch cards and were the size of the Coliseum (the original…in downtown LA…where the Rams played and Trojans still do). This was a phenomenal gag…top notch…and while I was really cracking up, I was nonetheless amazed at how they’d pulled it off. Wolfie and Bob seemed way too relaxed though, and as I laughed from the gut they looked at me like I’d just finished off an entire box of my favorite Gallo White Zin entirely by myself.
I asked them how in the hell they’d done it…and they both looked at each other and said “how’d we do what?” “The opera stunt” I responded…”how did you guys pull that off?” Well…if this story goes on any longer…I’ll have to change the title to “It’s Saturday.” At the end-of-the-day, it turned out that my two hardhat wearing, cigar chomping, extraordinarily competent electrician journeymen were also genuine opera aficionados. As Bob Krauthammer eloquently put it in fluent New Jersian that Saturday morning…both he and Wolfgang “loved the f***ing opera.”
What’s the point of all this? Come on grasshopper…now who is the apprentice?
Have a great weekend…and if you happen to see a book lying around…don’t judge it by it by its tool belt.
BTW...if you have time, honor Bob and Wolgang and take a few minutes to listen to two of the world's most beautiful arias.
O Mio Bambino
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