Opinion: Nobody throws dirt clods at the radio guy

Nobody throws dirt at the radio guy

Stuff happening around me brought back the memory of putting boots on the ground in New Mexico 35 years ago this month.

The Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta wrapped up Sunday. All of the TV coverage it got reminded me of rolling into town in my old car during the big event in 1989.

I couldn’t find a place to stay anywhere.

But when I went to a campground on the city’s west side the folks there said I could sleep on my cot in their rec room for the princely sum of $10 a night.

A construction project near my Clovis home reminded me of landing my first New Mexico job, a construction gig in Belen back then.

We were dredging river dirt and building a new Santa Fe railroad bed with it. The dirt was soft and mushy and I got stuck in it a lot.

I had run heavy equipment in the South and had no problem with getting out after getting stuck there.

This was not the case in the Rio Grande mud. I’d get stuck and Foreman Jim would have to pull the dozer off its job to come over and push me out of the muck.

One night I got stuck again.

Next thing I knew a dirt clod exploded on the inside of my cab against the windshield. Chunks of dirt flew all over me.

I looked around to see where it came from.

There was Foreman Jim, standing with his hands on his hips and glaring at me.

I turned off my rig, got out and marched right up to Foreman Jim and stood there, towering over him.

“Throwing dirt, boss?” I said loudly.

“I’m tired of you getting stuck,” he said loudly.

“No need to chuck dirt clods at me, boss.”

“I wanted to get your attention. You’re slowing down the project,” Jim said.

He walked away.

At mid-shift break I was eating and I heard the guy they called Mountain Man from Angel Fire talking about me.

“I bet ol’ Stretch could’ve kicked ol’ Jim’s butt,” he said.

I turned to Mountain Man.

“Talkin’ about me?” I said.

“Yeah, Stretch, we were expecting a good fight,” Mountain Man said.

Seemed I had a new nickname.

“Ain’t no sense in that, I’d probably get my glasses broke,” I said.

Another night during the mid-shift break, some guy named Vicente wanted to fight me.

Vicente was standing over me as I sat eating a sandwich.

“I don’t like you. I’m going to kick your butt,” he said.

I stood up and towered over him.

“That doesn’t make any sense, Vicente,” I said as I sat back down.

“YOU SITTIN’ DOWN? YOU DISSIN’ ME?” yelled Vicente.

“No, Vicente I’m having my sandwich. Look, I don’t want to fight you. I’ll probably get my glasses broken anyway,” I said.

I went back to my sandwich.

Vicente went away and left me alone.

Three nights later Vicente walked up to me at mid-shift break again.

“You and I drive the same make car, my tire’s flat … can I borrow your spare?” he asked.

I laughed a bit.

“Sure, buddy, we’ll get it when the shift’s over,” I said.

Weeks later the project ended, I was out of work, so I went to work for a temp agency.

Sometime later I found out a bunch of the crew got called back for a project right in Albuquerque.

I didn’t get called back.

But it was OK, I had gotten a job back in radio.

Radio bosses don’t throw dirt clods at you.

Not usually, anyway.

Grant McGee writes for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact him:

[email protected]