At the bottom of my economic bottom, in 1999, I went to the Want Ads and looked for work: “Plumber Trainee, No experience necessary. We train. Must have own tools and truck.” How hard could that be? I’d always done my own home plumbing and that of my parents since I was 15 so I applied. After half the necessary paperwork, we stopped for an “Observe.” I would go out with one of their employees, see the kinds of work he did for a few hours and if I liked it, then come back in and finish the paperwork. Sounded OK to me. I was introduced to someone at least half my then age of 56 and we drove in his truck to the nearest apartment complex. How did we know we were at the right place? The parking lot was a sea of toilet paper and stopped-up sewer products! OH NO! It’s THAT KIND OF PLUMBING JOB! My driver went in to meet the apartment house manager while I waited in the truck. He returned, put on his “Ugly Gloves” for handling the coiled up largest of his three cables and rolled his equipment out into the lake of sewage. He found the clean out drain hole, inserted his cable, hit his toe switch, inserted maybe 50 feet of cable and the former “lake” drained in seconds! I nearly threw up! But I needed this job! A few more hours of this and we returned to the shop, finished the paperwork, and I started work the next day.
I learned how to handle my three cables and their cutting knives, to clear toilets, mainlines, kitchen and laundry and bathroom sink lines, and shower drains. All manner of kitchen and home fixtures. For three years and three counties, Solano, Contra Costa, and Alameda, I was their guy. In a year and a half I graduated to the next bigger firm who had vans, uniforms, better equipment and gas cards, but the time of travel between jobs from West Contra Costa to East Contra Costa was still mine to deal with. I could do kitchen floor drains at Beni Hana’s and remove shrimp shell casings, unplug theater Men’s room urinals, and fix copper tubing wall leaks at a Red Lobster Restaurant between noon and dinner time working shifts. In time, dig  3’ deep holes in front lawns and stall 4” mainline clean outs. Bring back Kotex pads from 100 feet out on my Cable knife and video camera lines and propose that senior crew members come back to replace that entire root-infested line. When enough independent weekend customers liked my work and invited me to do their curtain installations, fence and gate-fixing, install new locks or replace broken clothes closet poles, I left the sewers behind and became the Handyman I’ve been for the past 16 years. Check it out: www.Handymanservicespeterbray.com. Only now at 75 I only do Honey-Do lighter weight work and Graphics for the Benicia First Tuesday Poets, but still write and publish “Taproot & Aniseweed,” “The Naked Oyster,” a Friday BLOG, and this column. My Nightshift is still as busy as ever.

PB as a young engineer in 1968 (Left) and poet on the move in 1970 and ’71 (Center and right). (Photo collage courtesy of Peter Bray)

Young Engineer

I’d already made my break
from the Military-Industrial
Complex, all my “product”
had gone to Vietnam and worked,
and I was clear and running again.
I was an Illustrator at UCB’s “RFS-SERL”
aiding others in communication,
harvesting algae from Clear Lake
and South Lake Tahoe, illustrating
water sampling on the SF Bay,
filling the 2-story man-made tower
with research equipment for recycling
human waste to usable drinking water,
chicken waste to pond-grown
and harvested algae food products –
Illustrating home habitats for rural
India with algae ponds on the roof.
When the Lab changed Directors
and “downsized,” I was ready to fly
and did, with a new first book of
poetry also under my wing.
My Nightshift was a busy place.
©Peter Bray 8/19/2018
All rights reserved

Leaving the Lab

Leaving the lab, headed for home,
then downtown to the southwest side of the city,
good freeway-access, up a flight of stairs, a gloss-orange wall,
wooden ceiling beams that I recycled, a gunny sack-covered office chair,
Neil Diamond was playing at the LA Greek Theater,
and I’m working seriously at my evolving craft:
Graphics & Crunchy Granola Suite!
Cathy was 5, Christopher was 4. 1972! Soolaimon!
©Peter Bray 7/18/2018
All rights reserved

Goofy Doofus

Goofy Doofus in the hills,
isn’t popping pills or popcorn
but is rehashing all his publications
for every sparrow on the wing
he can sing a chorus to.
He even has roll-up-and-down
window shades, the 1950s style
with all his publications imprinted
in large type and rolls them up and down
every time an El Condor Pasa passes by
as if he’s teaching all birds of his flock
on his block a secondary poetic language –
Maybe to boost sales of
long out-of-print publications.
Like his Batman watch with its already
scratched chrome, copper plating showing
through, he’s a digital masterpiece
and a piece of work.
©Peter Bray 8/17/2018
All rights reserved

Peter Bray lives, writes and works in Benicia and has written this column since 2008.

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