A Blog About Nothing. Stipple
Letemdangle
Published
02/10/2012
Just wanted to jot this down, you may find it interesting or you may not. I guess I was about fifteen years old and was working for Mr. Capone, an Italian immigrant to Canada, stippling ceilings. That's the textured ceilings you see in most houses.
I mostly worked for him during the summer months, spring break and around Christmas. He lived one block from me and every morning around 6:30 AM I would enter his garage, pour a half bag of stipple into a half pail of water and mix it with what looked like a giant potato masher. I'd do this for about fifteen pails until Mr. Capone offered me breakfast before heading out.
Once in the truck Mr. Capone was an extremely aggressive driver with the pails of stipple sloshing about, I had to wonder if that was part of his technique. Seriously, this guy was the road rage poster child. In bumper to bumper traffic, he would zoom along the shoulder at 100 km an hour or more. Many times we would screech to a halt to avoid hitting a bridge embankment. To make it even more terrifying he was a fly ophoebe. When he saw a fly in the truck, he would literally leave the wheel to swat it. I'd be white knuckling the wheel while Capone would be swatting in every direction.
Toronto at that time was rapidly expanding and one and a half hours of this in the morning was the norm. I didn't know much better at the time so I just went along with it. Mr. Capone worked me damn hard. I had to take that giant potato masher along with another bag of stipple and make the final mix of stipple as we bumped along between newly constructed homes. Once on sight, he would stage his stipple machine as I kept mashing.
In most instances the staircases were not installed, so I had to carry one hundred pound buckets of stipple up makeshift ladders. It was tough, but I enjoyed it. Mr. Capone would spray the ceilings as I corn broomed the walls to clean up the excess stipple. It was hard work, but when ever the coffee truck showed up, Mr. Capone would buy me a meat pie or some other hardy snack. He kept me well fed so he could work me hard.
I didn't mind this, it felt as though it was part of my constitution. I was extremely well paid, about $15 an hour , thirty years ago, that's at least $30 an hour today. I did work extremely hard at the time. I'm sure Mr, Capone was ADHD, but it was the perfect job for him.
After work, the boss had a gambling habit. He would drive to Woodbine to bet on the ponies. At first, I would walk about watching the action, but soon got bored. Most early evenings, I would lay on the hood of the truck with my back on the warm windshield and fall asleep.
Mr. Capone was the epitome of the hard working immigrant, his daughter is a beautiful famous actress now, but I won't say who.
I mostly worked for him during the summer months, spring break and around Christmas. He lived one block from me and every morning around 6:30 AM I would enter his garage, pour a half bag of stipple into a half pail of water and mix it with what looked like a giant potato masher. I'd do this for about fifteen pails until Mr. Capone offered me breakfast before heading out.
Once in the truck Mr. Capone was an extremely aggressive driver with the pails of stipple sloshing about, I had to wonder if that was part of his technique. Seriously, this guy was the road rage poster child. In bumper to bumper traffic, he would zoom along the shoulder at 100 km an hour or more. Many times we would screech to a halt to avoid hitting a bridge embankment. To make it even more terrifying he was a fly ophoebe. When he saw a fly in the truck, he would literally leave the wheel to swat it. I'd be white knuckling the wheel while Capone would be swatting in every direction.
Toronto at that time was rapidly expanding and one and a half hours of this in the morning was the norm. I didn't know much better at the time so I just went along with it. Mr. Capone worked me damn hard. I had to take that giant potato masher along with another bag of stipple and make the final mix of stipple as we bumped along between newly constructed homes. Once on sight, he would stage his stipple machine as I kept mashing.
In most instances the staircases were not installed, so I had to carry one hundred pound buckets of stipple up makeshift ladders. It was tough, but I enjoyed it. Mr. Capone would spray the ceilings as I corn broomed the walls to clean up the excess stipple. It was hard work, but when ever the coffee truck showed up, Mr. Capone would buy me a meat pie or some other hardy snack. He kept me well fed so he could work me hard.
I didn't mind this, it felt as though it was part of my constitution. I was extremely well paid, about $15 an hour , thirty years ago, that's at least $30 an hour today. I did work extremely hard at the time. I'm sure Mr, Capone was ADHD, but it was the perfect job for him.
After work, the boss had a gambling habit. He would drive to Woodbine to bet on the ponies. At first, I would walk about watching the action, but soon got bored. Most early evenings, I would lay on the hood of the truck with my back on the warm windshield and fall asleep.
Mr. Capone was the epitome of the hard working immigrant, his daughter is a beautiful famous actress now, but I won't say who.
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