In the early part of the storm, Feeney allowed his crews to dash out and restore power to individual homes. It kept the troops occupied, and provided photo opportunities for the print media, allowing them to complete their assignments and still have plenty of time to run for cover before the heavy winds hit.
As the teeth of the storm bit the area, however, Feeney held all his men to the line shed or their assigned outposts. At that point, he’d only dispatch crews to important public buildings like hospitals, fire stations, and police stations, and to a short list of companies with enormous energy needs who called to say they’d lost power—and since most companies on the list were closed because of the storm, none called. Otherwise, the best course of action was to wait until the bulk of the damage was done and begin with the jobs that brought the most lights back on with the least amount of work. If a major distribution line went down and blacked out an entire neighborhood, obviously that would take precedence over a tree limb ripping the wire from a single house. The more juice it carried, the higher its priority.
Another reason Feeney held back his men, despite what the company would have the public believe, was the danger. Certain jobs could be done even in driving rain. But working from bucket trucks in hurricane-force winds amid branches which could snap at any moment made no sense. If a very important building lost power and very important people were screaming at the Rhode Island Electric brass, Feeney might take a risk. Otherwise, he waited.
Of course, Feeney had to balance his safety concerns with the president’s commitment to the bottom line. When a large community went dark, the company could lose tens of thousands of dollars an hour, and Feeney knew that five years from now his bosses would certainly recall how much Hurricane Jessica caused the company’s stock price to dip. They would certainly not recall the names of any women the storm happened to widow.
So the crews sat. The phones ran the customer service people ragged, ringing non-stop, and outage reports streamed through the computers. Television reported that the damage, on the whole, would be moderate. The stores department never ate better.
#
At three in the afternoon, Feeney gathered his engineers in the war room and began dispatching crews. By then, 8,722 customers were without power, not a bad figure, especially since about half would be returned in an hour or two after the local power plant repaired a section of downed transmission line in Johnston. Another 300 customers would be back on-line when Feeney’s men repaired damage to a key part of a substation caused by a hard-flying garbage can lid. For the remaining 4,000 or so homes, power would return as the crews worked their way from side street to side street. The governor did not call a state of emergency, no help was arriving, and a handful of Rhode Islanders would go three days without electricity.
Before long, trucks waited in line at the stores department bays. After twelve hours of virtual inactivity, Schulke’s men worked non-stop, unloading trucks as they came in and reloading them to go out.
At six, Schulke called the men over and briefed them on the projected work schedule.
“Most of the people in the state who lost power already have it back,” he said. “Now the house to house work will begin, and since you’re all veterans you know that means a busy stretch for us over the next 48 hours. I want to keep the department open as much as possible, so I’m staggering the sleep shifts. Claude and Frank, here’s your room key, you go first. Scotty and John, here’s yours, you go at eight. Everyone else goes at ten, which means the department will be closed from ten to midnight, when Frank and Claude return. I’ll try to stay here until two. You can figure on at least one more cycle of eighteen-and-six, maybe two more cycles if the work orders keep coming.”
At the motel, Frank removed his shirt and pants, fell asleep, and began snoring. Although he was tired, Claude had trouble tuning out Frank. Willing himself to sleep didn’t work. At last, he drifted off, but woke up whenever Frank murmured dream mumbles, and took in, he figured, only about three hours of quality shuteye during the six-hour break.
When the alarm went off at 11:59, Frank pulled on his pants, buttoned up his shirt, and poked Claude to go. They skipped showering, but Claude wanted to splash some water on his face, and lingered at the sink a little long for Frank’s tastes.
“Bugsy let’s go for chrissakes. It’s quarter past already.”
“Chill out, man. Nobody’s even in the department. We’ll be there in five minutes.”
When they arrived, six trucks idled in front of the bay doors.
“What are these guys doing here?” Claude said. “I thought Schulke was coordinating the rest periods with overhead lines.”
“Feeney brought them in an hour earlier than us,” Frank said. “Maybe these guys been sitting here since eleven.”
“Well, that’s not our fault.”
While they were gone, Schulke changed from his gray polyester slacks and white, short-sleeved shirt to a pair of baggy blue sweatpants and a black company sweatshirt. The white of his jogging shoes hadn’t been dusted up. Although Schulke had very little hair, what he had was a mess: a patch behind his left ear stuck straight out, while a patch on the other side was pressed flat against his head and had tiny bits of pretzel showing through the strands.
“Looking casual there, boss,” Claude said.
“Getting tired, too. Hope you guys had some rest, because we have some chugging to do. Feeney wants those trucks on the road, not sitting here waiting for us.”
He held a half dozen work orders. Frank and Claude moved in to see.
“These three orders don’t call for any big equipment,” Schulke said, “so we can work alone until they’re done. Claude, you take Willie and Gonzo. Frank, you take Jeff and Junior. I’ll take Nate and Dan. After that, we’ll have to get a couple transformers from the yard. We can work together on those.”
Wire, crossarms, insulators. All night long Claude trekked between the stacks and the bays, the bays and the stacks. Top pins, lobster claws, more wire. It continued to rain. Cutouts, surge arrestors, who ordered streetlights? Must be a mistake. Streetlights can wait. On second thought, give ‘em what they order. Match the sheet, and hold it high if they come back screaming.
As men returned to the department from their rest periods, so did linemen return from theirs, so the work held a fast pace. With Schulke grabbing a nap, Scotty asked for a volunteer to postpone breakfast so the only truck currently waiting could be loaded, and Claude raised his hand.
Later, as he enjoyed his steak, eggs, home fries, and coffee by himself, Claude thought about a headache. He didn’t know, but he figured Rhode Island Electric had made good progress toward returning everyone to power. That meant instead of getting just six hours at the end of his eighteen-hour stint, Schulke might send him home outright, and if that happened, his turn on the seniority-driven rest time schedule would follow quickly, giving him, in effect, two mandatory vacation days. Two o’clock, he decided. The headache would call at two.
#
Breakfast fulfilled Claude’s desires for food and caffeine, but one need remained, so instead of returning to stores by the hallway, he slipped out the cafeteria’s back door and lit a cigarette as he walked toward the department’s rear entrance. He walked quickly, since a light rain still fell, but paused for a final drag before punching the button to raise the automatic door. As he flicked the cigarette into a puddle, he noticed muffled shouts inside. Claude pressed the button, the door lifted three feet, and he ducked beneath it.
Halfway across the department, Schulke and Elton stood nose to nose. Claude halted.
“You do whatever you want once you’ve carried out my order,” Schulke yelled. “But right now, I’ve given you an order, and you better get moving this fucking second.”
“It’ll be a cold day in hell,” Elton shouted. “Roster 24 does Roster 24 work and Roster 9 does Roster 9 work. I’m not a goddamn messenger. You need a letter delivered, get someone from Roster 9 or do it yourself.”
“This isn’t my letter. This is the president’s letter. Remember Mr. Munson? He runs the place. He told me to get this downtown pronto, and you’re going to take it downtown.”
“Listen, Tomsy, you may think you’re the exalted almighty, but you aren’t. I’m not taking anything anywhere.”
Scotty stepped in to try to restore calm. “I’ll go find a messenger if you want me to.”
“No you won’t,” Schulke screamed. “I told Elton to do it, and he’s going to do it.”
“Shutup, you asshole,” Elton said.
“Who you calling asshole?”
Scotty moved in to keep the men apart. At first, he used outstretched arms to keep the two at bay, but as each pressed he resorted to using his elbows. Darezzo came over and tried to drag Elton away.
Schulke turned toward the back of the department. “Claude! Close that goddamn door.”
Claude pressed the bottom button and held it until the door hit the cement floor. Schulke collected himself.
“Take the letter to a messenger,” Schulke said to Scotty. “Don’t be too long trying to find someone, though, because we still have shitloads to do. We’ll deal with Mr. MacGibbon later. Everyone back to work.”
Frank climbed down the ladder and went over to talk to Elton.
“Hey,” Frank said, “don’t let this brew into something bigger than it should be. The union never loses cross-rostering cases, and once Clarke hears the details he won’t even bring it for discussion. But for now, drop it. Do something mindless, and just forget about it. Don’t give Schulke any ammo to shoot you with.”
Elton agreed, and Frank continued on to the office.
“Geez, boss, things got a little testy down here at the lower altitudes.”
“Mind your own damn business,” Schulke said. “When I want your input I’ll ask for it. Until then, get back to work.”
Hmm, you are an asshole, Frank thought. He meandered out the front door to the line shed and returned with a cup of coffee.
“What’s with Schulke?” Claude whispered at Frank passed.
“If he was my grandson, I’d say he needed a nap.”
At eleven Schulke called the department together. The group gathered, but each man kept his distance. Elton remained at the back of the group, Darezzo, Claude, and Gino to the side. Only Scotty stood within ten feet of the boss as he spoke.
“Here’s the update on the restoration efforts,” Schulke said. “All major problems have been corrected, and the house to house stage is moving along. The state’s roads and railways are open, and the airport is back in service. The weathermen say we’ll have sun and blue skies by tomorrow morning. The linemen still have a lot of work to do, and Feeney says we’ll have a steady stream of trucks the rest of the day and maybe into the night, but the worst is over. Substation has cleared all their problems and is going off emergency alert this afternoon. We’ll keep hustling to get the incoming trucks unloaded and reloaded, and we’ll start restocking. When there aren’t any trucks in the bays, I want you guys on the phones ordering replacement supplies and arranging to have those recycling bins emptied.”
Claude worked. As he and Scotty loaded a vehicle, Claude paused and rubbed his eyes.
“You all right there?” Scotty said.
“Feel a headache coming on.”
“I’ve got some aspirin in my car. I’ll get a couple for you at lunch.”
Claude thanked him, and when they punched out for lunch followed Scotty to his car, cup of water in hand, and swallowed two pills. In the cafeteria, Claude and Scotty ate with Frank, Darezzo, Gino, and three guys from underground lines. Although the others got a little raucous, Claude said nothing. He tried to keep his head down. When spoken to directly, he smiled and nodded.
As the men finished lunch, Schulke marched into the cafeteria, paused to scan the room, and headed toward their table.
Gino rolled his eyes. “Another big breeze blowing our way, boys.”
“Three huge shipments just came in,” Schulke said.
“Hey boss,” Frank said, “we’re eating.”
“I can see that,” Schulke said, “but I’ve got to go upstairs and face the music. Feeney’s already on my ass because some of his trucks had to wait while we were closed. I hope I’m only there a few minutes, but it could take an hour or so. I wanted to let you guys know so you can get cracking when you get back. Scott, you match the invoices with what’s actually delivered.”
“Righto.”
“Claude, you go to the shelves and drag what’s left forward so we can rotate it properly.”
Frank waved both hands in front of his face. “Excuse me, boss,” he said. “Did you tell any of this to Elton?”
“Well, no, I didn’t,” Schulke said. “I told John.”
“Then John will tell us when we return. Now go get chewed out so we can finish lunch.”
Schulke didn’t move, and looked befuddled.
“Go,” Frank said. “We’ve unloaded a million trucks. We know what to do. Go.”
“You’re right. See you in an hour or so.”
Schulke turned and walked away.
“Did you ever?” Frank said with a smirk.
“How do you guys stand that dink?” one of the guys from underground asked.
“Aw, he’s not so bad,” Scotty said.
#
Back in the department, Scotty oversaw the deliveries while Claude and Darezzo pulled boxes and equipment from the shelves so the new items could be stored beneath or behind them. As they worked, Darezzo slapped Claude’s elbow.
“What was that for?” Claude said.
“Hold still,” Darezzo said. “You’ve got a spider on you.”
Claude obeyed and Darezzo flicked the bug away. When they finished their task, they went to Scotty and told him the guys could start bringing boxes to the shelves.
“Don’t move,” Scotty said to Claude. “You’ve got a spider on you.”
“Another one?”
“Geez, you’ve got three or four on you. Hold on.”
He brushed off the spiders. As they scampered for cover Darezzo decided to play soccer with one, and everyone laughed until Schulke arrived.
“What’s going on here?” he said.
“Bugsy’s got spiders,” Darezzo said.
“Knock it off and get to work.”
Claude and Darezzo each hopped on a forklift and began piling boxes near the shelves for Frank to lift with the crane. The others worked on a truck in the far bay, bringing boxes to the shelves on the other side of the department from where Claude and Darezzo worked. Frank maneuvered the crane from side to side to clear the piles as they rose.
While tackling the fourth pile, Frank stopped, and peered from the cockpit. He leaned on the horn, and when nobody looked up to him, he gave it three more blasts.
“What’s up?” Schulke called as he emerged from the office.
“Man down, over there, in the stacks.”
Schulke walked to where Frank pointed, with Scotty hurrying close behind. They saw an empty forklift parked at an odd angle in the aisle. When they stepped around the forklift, they saw Claude on the floor, squirming slightly and clutching his head.
“Games are over,” Schulke said in a firm voice. “Get up and get back to work.”
Claude didn’t respond. With Frank watching from above, Schulke leaned over to Claude.
“Are you all right? Did you fall off the lift? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”
Claude rolled to his knees, folded his arms on the floor, and pressed his forehead against the back of his hands. His toes dangled a few inches from the cement. Schulke and Scotty knelt to his side.
“Hey man, it’s Scotty. Are you ok? What happened?”
“Headache,” Claude said softly as he rocked gently on his knees.
“What?” Schulke said.
“Headache. Somebody take me home. Now.”
Schulke knelt upright and looked at Scotty. The boss’s upper lip tightened arou
nd his front teeth, and the inner ends of his eyebrows furrowed sharply toward his nose. Scotty turned his palms up and shrugged. Schulke stood, slammed his clipboard onto the vacant seat of the forklift with a loud smack, and walked back to the office.
“Bugsy,” Scotty said in a low voice. “No fooling around. If you can get up, you better go tell Schulke you’re sorry. He’s in no mood.”
“Take me home.”
Scotty looked up to Frank and shrugged. Frank shrugged. Scotty shrugged, and jerked his outstretched palms once in frustration before rising.
“Hold on,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Scotty trotted to the office and asked what to do.
“That cocksucker,” Schulke screamed. “We don’t have time for this shit. We’re down a man as it is.”
“That’s all well and good, Tom,” Scotty said, “but he’s not getting up. We can’t leave him there. He could be having a stroke or something. Let somebody take him home.”
“Bullshit on that,” Schulke said with a slight smile. “Call an ambulance.”
Scotty did, and Claude left the department on a stretcher with both arms firmly planted across his eyes.
Chapter 30
Scotty tried to reach Joan but got the answering machine, and since he didn’t want to leave a message that Claude had been taken to the hospital, he fumbled a bit before asking Joan to page him as soon as she heard the message. When he hung up he realized what he said wasn’t any improvement over what he wanted to avoid saying.
At 4:00, his pager buzzed, and he dialed the Amognes’ number. Jamie, not Joan, answered.
“Hi Mr. Williams,” she said. “Is everything all right?”
“I just called to let you mom know that your dad had a bad headache at work today, and as a precaution they took him to Providence General.”
“For a headache?”
“Yes.”
“Must’ve been pretty bad.”
“I’m sure he’ll be okay,” Scotty said. “His truck is still here, though, so you’ll probably want to swing by and pick it up. We haven’t been released from storm duty yet, so we might still be here when you come by. If not, I’ll leave word at the front gate so you can come in and get it.”
“Sounds good.”
Jamie hung up and called Home & Yard. Mr. Abeles charged Joan 45 minutes of unpaid personal time, but let her go.
The Jig of the Union Loller Page 25