SEAN OF THE SOUTH
PHOTOGRAPH BY FABIAN FAUTH ON UNSPLASH
The Ballad of Bubs McFee New York Harbor, 1885. Only 20 years after the Civil War. New York was the epicenter of the world. Bubs McFee had traveled all the way from Maryland to be here, hoping to get hired as part of the auxiliary metalworking crew that would help assemble the world’s most famous statue. Competition was stiff. Everyone wanted this job. A big-bellied foreman surveyed the long line of hopeful young laborers, sizing them up like an infantry. When the foreman’s eyes landed on Bubs, he laughed. “God sakes, son,” said the foreman. “You don’t look old enough to shave. You sure you’re in the right place?” “Yes, sir.” The other applicants laughed. “What are you, 12?” said the foreman. Bubs said nothing. At age 23, Bubs looked like he was an adolescent. But he had worked the steel girders on exactly 28 buildings and three truss bridges in Pittsburgh. Bubs had been laying rivets since his 14th birthday. He could climb anything, lift twice his weight, and swing a ninepound hammer so hard you’d feel its impact from three states away. “Your mama know you’re here?” said the foreman, whose belly jiggled with laughter. “Yes, sir.” This got another laugh from the group. But Bubs did not break a smile. He merely stared at the foreman. The foreman looked at his clipboard. “Bubs, huh? That your real name?” 16 Bham Family June/July 2022
“Yes, sir.” “Well, Bubs, you have any idea how many beam-walkers die each year on my clock? Have you ever laid a rivet in your life? Can you even lift a hammer with that puny arm you got?” “Yes, sir.” The foreman shook his head. “You’re naturally gabby, aren’t you?” Bubs took the Fifth. The foreman squinted and leaned in. “Well, I think you’re a liar. I don’t think you’ve ever worked with iron in your life. I don’t think you’d know a rivet from your own butt.” The foreman held up a hammer. “You want this job, I’m gonna need a little proof, kid.” In a few moments, a full-scale competition was underway to separate the wheat from the chaff. A gaggle of competing ironworking applicants crowded beneath a tall unfinished steel skeleton, ready to prove themselves. Young Bubs buckled a leather harness around his scrawny waist and prepared to give his audience their ticket’s worth. Nearby ironworkers were already running bets on how many rivets skinny young Bubs could lay down. The foreman shouted the ground rules. “Gentlemen, you have three minutes! First man to climb the iron and give me five good rivets gets a job!” This was a tall order. Five rivets in three minutes? Even your average veteran riveter could only install one CONTINUED ON PAGE 17
