Work Force Call


By Fast Eddie

When I was a young man I had a massive superiority complex. Yet, it was tightly collected. For the thing I prided myself on most, about, was my ability to work hard. And often. And as much as there was, at least where I could find it.


All well and good, perhaps. But here at least there was a catch. When I moved to San Francisco, call it early 1970, I started working with another Philly guy I met. He was a plumber and an electrician compatible to say the least, with a carpenter, a sheetrocker, a painter. Also a roofer. His name was Dave Duncan. Everybody called him “Biggy Davey.” He was 6’5. He weighed a flat 260. No fat. He had just finished playing four years power forward. At Dartmouth in basketball.

Davey could work also. In fact, Davey could outwork me, which was unusual. But, lo and behold, Davey wasn’t the only floating partner I had in those days. I also worked with Phil Schechter. We moved people. Especially if they were going from the top of the hill to another hill, but in a different neighborhood. It helped if they had a piano. Or a large railroad station type desk. Hudsons, currently not starting. No live elephants. We had to draw the line somewhere.

Well, this was a long time ago. But I have not given up my attachment to work. I claim no more selectivity necessarily. But I am going to continue, and I will urge you to continue as well, to overthrow the Bush League Junta.

Obviously, no easy task. And yet, the bigger they are, the harder the fall. And, trust me, sometimes they do fall simply because they are so big.

So let us lick a few wounds. And a few may whine - quietly. More importantly, let us work a little bit smarter. And let us decide and let us understand where we must focus the aim of our weapons: our belief in democracy, our direct antipathy to war, to genocide and racism. And pearls of supernatural wisdom cast down from on high to them. Creating a cadre not necessarily self-canonized. But close enough for Government work.

A bit smarter is what I ask. And plan to do. And never quit. Never, never quit. Junta aside, and plutocracy uber allies aside, these guys like to pick on women and children. That’s sick. But they do. Here in the urban complexes. People of color the clear target. A different animal altogether than them. We’ve heard all this before.

And also overseas. Your tax dollars at work. In, I’m told, about one hundred and twenty-five different countries. I wonder do they have a secret extermination squad even in jolly old England.
Ferste?

Let’s beat them. Let’s give them the Boston Red Sox treatment and let us make sure they leave the game with all, all their wounds intact.

Let’s get back to work now. Let’s beat them.
Merci beau coup. Vaya con Dios.

Onward hopeful soldiers.

Posted: Wed - December 1, 2004 at 02:45 PM          


©