Five Minutes

     I am still not quite sure why I stopped that day.  I had driven past this spot probably a dozen times or so in the last month and something about this guy had just kept creeping into my mind. In a vacant parking lot in north Charlotte County Florida, just off the main road, I kept spotting a beaten down old rust colored truck with a topper on it.  The man had a hand painted sign on the side of the truck that said “Master Carpenter, Specializing in cabinets and counter top laminating, looking for work.”  It was back in 2007 or 2008 and we had just been bitten by one of the worst recessions in my memory.  I was intrigued and puzzled by a man who would sit on the side of the road begging for work when he could have just as easily been begging for money.  I was doing some ghost writing for a small local publication and I kept thinking that this random stranger might be a pretty interesting interview.  He could be a psychopath just looking for a handout under the guise of work.  He could be armed and looking to steal my wallet.   Or he could just be a master carpenter.  There was no way to know for sure.  This day I had a five minutes to play with and I finally decided to pull over and muster up the courage to strike up a conversation.  It was a day that would forever change my life.

At just over five foot tall, with long salt and pepper grey hair that was pulled back into a rough ponytail,  Kimball Chase had all the markings of a working man.  Calloused hands and a weather worn face.  He smoked cigarettes one after the other.  I introduced myself to Kimball and told him that I wanted to hear his story.  I spent about a half hour in the cab of his truck.  We talked about his history, the work he had done in New England, and why he insisted on begging for work instead of money.  I got a sense that I was talking to a man who had spent a lifetime perfecting a craft that few people had the patience to learn.  He was also a man with principles and ideas that were just as solid as any you could ask for.  He worked for cash, hated the government and eeked out a living pretty much on a week to week basis.  But he worked for that living and I respected that.  I parted ways with Kimball intent on writing a story about him.  I took a few pictures and his phone number and was on my way. 

I will never forget the night, several years later, while sitting on our purple sectional, in a 2600 square foot home in a deed restricted part of Punta Gorda Isles, with our manicured lawn, pool and sailboat access to the Gulf of Mexico, Melissa turned to me while I was sipping a glass of Merlot and says: “Let’s buy a farm.”  I almost spit wine through my nose and down my shirt onto the lovely plush vanilla colored carpet.   I thought about that statement very carefully before answering.  I wondered what business I had trying to learn to ride a horse at my age.  Then I wondered what my life might be like if I answered this incorrectly. “That’s a great idea” I muttered, gulping down the rest of my glass and getting up to fetch another.

We settled on a five acre farm outside of town.  The problem is it needed work—a LOT of work.  In my effort to find some help from sources that would not break the bank, I remembered the old man.  I ran it by Melissa and I gave him a call.  Kimball sounded very interested in the work and said he would come by the next day to take a look.  Several things about Kimball became very clear to me very quickly.  Kimball did not take shortcuts.  Kimball demanded an appropriate wage for his skills.  When it came to woodworking, he knew what he was talking about and if you asked him something he did not know, he would tell you he didn’t know.  And last but not least, I learned that Kimball had a temper.  Picture if you will, a Yosemite Sam with a New England accent, sporting a tool belt with hammers instead of guns and you will have seen Kimball Chase.  When things did not go his way on a job site, Kimball could spout a string of obscenities that would make a sailor blush.  It soon became clear to me why this man would have trouble holding down steady work.  He wanted things done his way, he wanted to be in control of the work site and most importantly, he demanded that things be done correctly.  He was not afraid to let you know if you violated these principles and I could see how employers might not appreciate his style, but I appreciated it and respected it.  I listened patiently and paid attention when he had something to teach me.  I think he appreciated that too.

KIMBALL IN HIS YOUTH

After the house was done, I stayed close to Kimball and used him a couple of times here and there.  I referred work to him when I could.  Then Melissas parents dropped a bombshell on us.  They were going to purchase a hundred year old cracker home in Punta Gorda.  The catch:  It was a disaster.  The whole home needed to be gutted and rebuilt.  They wanted us to do the work—and they wanted Kimball to lead the charge.  I called Kimball not knowing if he would be interested in such a massive project.  He jumped in without hesitating.  As we walked through the house for the first time listening to Kimball spout off about everything that would have to be done, I wondered if I had taken on a project that was more than I could handle, especial with this feisty little man whom I knew was going to make me earn every penny I made from this project.

It took us a full year to rebuild that house.  I spent every day with Kimball.  I tried very hard to listen to everything he was trying to teach me about construction and woodworking.  I learned that Kimball used to drive a truck for a living, but he had left that behind to play his hand at carpentry.  Things didn't always go his way. As such, I am sure there is still a cloud of Kimballs obscenities lingering over the lake behind moms house somewhere.  In the end, the house turned out way better than anyone, including myself could have imagined.  Mom was delighted.  We had more than doubled the value of the property.  More importantly, I had made a friend for life in Kimball Chase.  I knew that Kimball had never fathered any children.  I felt that it pained him somewhat that he could not pass on his knowledge to a son.  I understood the value of his knowledge and I had used the last year to soak up as much of it as I could.  I believe in the back of my mind that he respected me a little for that.

After the house was finished, I decided to go back to school and get my CDL. I needed work and there were plenty of driving jobs out there.  I think the move sparked the old man into revisiting his old career.  We both signed on as drivers late in 2014 and we hit the road.  We timed out our work schedules so that we could both be home at the same time.  The purpose for that was so that we could build a barn in my back yard where Kimball can store all of his tools while he is out on the road.  Kimball became a regular fixture around the house and we like it that way.  He is as much a part of the family as my son or daughter. 

This week, I made a run to Texas.  I was heading back to Jacksonville Florida when Kimball called.  “Where ya at?” he asked.  I told him I was skipping across Dallas back to I-10.  He told me he was coming back that way from San Antonio and asked if I wanted to meet up and run together.  I thought that would be an awesome idea and we met the next afternoon in Lafayette LA. Many of you know that I lost my father last year.  He had always hinted to me about driving a truck.  My only regret about taking this job is that I did not do it in time to be able to run with my own father.  When Kimball and I got up the next day and ran across Louisiana and Mississippi in tandem, I felt like it was the closest I could come in this lifetime to being able to do just that.  The wise old man leading the green (old but still younger) man down the road and teaching him a thing or two.  I felt a sense of my own father in Kimball and it was the best 400 miles I have driven to date.

When we split up in Cottonwood Florida, I drove away contemplating the circumstance.  All of this, my friendships, my home, my family, my life has all been blessed by this little temperamental man that I now consider to be a father figure.  Everything in my life has been touched and changed because I decided to take those five minutes and take a chance… Now I ask you...

What are you going to do with your five minutes today?