Growing up, there were small sawmills in almost every community. In Mt. Vernon, the Anthony's had a sawmill. It was less than a mile from our house. The name of mom and dad's road, is Anthony Mill Road.
Some of the older boys on our school bus worked there stacking boards. They were strong and tough. I wanted to be like them. I remember hoping to stack boards too, when I got big enough.
Sports kept us busy, and working at dad's grocery store. We ran the roads watching Sheri play basketball, and softball, and Melanie in the band. I never worked at the sawmill.
Fast forward thirty years. I was working for Marvin Neely, and Guy Christopher at Respond First Aid. We sold and delivered safety and first aid supplies to businesses.
One of my good customers was Pallatec in Fayetteville. Randy and Rocky Cowley are brothers. They own and run Pallatec. Rocky used to be in the grocery world at Red Food. And he and I knew each other from my Kraft Foods days.
Randy and Rocky were good to me, and really smart business people. They kept the supplies in the office, so that's where I went to make sure they had what they needed.
As they grew, they rented more warehouse space in Fayetteville, and expanded their Mill. With more locations, and people, they needed more supplies.
One day Rocky told me, "Go to the mill on Vanntown Rd, and set them up. Gloves, ear plugs, safety glasses, and a first aid kit like we have here. See Frankie. He can sign for whatever they need."
I drove south on 231, toward Huntsville, and took a left on 275. seven miles later, and you're in Vanntown. The mill is close to the intersection.
The driveway goes between stacks of pallets to the front door. Sawdust was flying through the air toward a big pile outside. (They even sell the sawdust) The different saws and lines were running, and as I got out of my van I knew why they needed ear plugs.
I waved and nodded to let them know I was there. They pointed to a man over by the biggest, loudest saw. Frankie was in his late thirties, about five-ten, and lean. He was tough, and looked confident, like he knew what he was doing. He shut the power off to the line he was running, and walked over. I shook his hand and introduced myself. He said Rocky told him I'd be there.
The sights and sounds at the sawmill took me back to my old neighborhood. The names were different, but I knew those hard working guys.
Frankie and his crew got what they needed. I promised to come see them once a month, and keep the supplies stocked up and ready for them.
The nature of the work at Respond First Aid meant we had other places to get to. I never wanted to look like I was in a hurry, but I was.
I asked Frankie to sign the delivery ticket. I always put a little "x" on the line where the signature goes. He took my pen, and looked at the paperwork for a few long seconds. Then he gripped the pen tightly, and slowly, deliberately, printed his first name.
Time slowed down. I was reminded there are lots of kinds of smarts. Frankie knew the mill inside and out. He ran a crew of men. They cut the boards for the pallets at a rate that kept Randy and Rocky happy. Maybe he never got an opportunity to be good at reading and writing. Maybe it didn't click, or come easy for him.
It seemed right to slow down for a minute and recognize the blessings of the day, and meeting Frankie. We talked for a couple of minutes. I thanked him again, and left.
Those guys had my respect. Twenty something years later, I still remember Frankie. He made a lasting impression on me. His story, became a little part of my story.
Fast forward to a month ago here at work. We got in a load of lumber. Fourteen and sixteen foot pine boards. 105 in a bundle. The fork lift will barely pick it up. The first load went back out a bundle at a time. When the next load came in, and we started selling single boards.
Yesterday, I hand loaded and delivered fifty, 16 foot pine boards to a guy building a fence in Manchester. The boards are heavy and because of the length, awkward.
The work here doesn't bother me. I'm usually smiling or singing a song to myself. Yesterday, I laughed out loud. Because, at nearly sixty years old, I didn't miss out on stacking boards after all.
Frankie, and the guys on the bus would be proud of me.