The summer of 1954, after graduating from high school, I was working at Howard Motors, our Chevrolet/Buick dealer there in Augusta, Kansas.

My Dad, Al Thomas, was a self-employed bricklayer. One morning, he told me that the job he was starting that day would be to apply a brick wainscoting to a home that was being remodeled. He also told me he had hired Virgil to work as a helper for him. A bricklayer’s helper mixes the mortar and keeps a supply of bricks close at hand to the building.

Dad and I both liked Virgil. He was a local farmer, in his late thirties, who was a hard worker with a sense of humor. If there was no work to do tending the crops, Virgil would hire out as a day laborer to pick up a little cash.

The day Dad mentioned the new job and Virgil, I had gone to the 7^th Street Café for lunch. After a bowl of chili, I still would have time to stop by the job site and say hello to Dad and Virgil. I got there and greeted and shook hands with Virgil. I said, “How’s it going, Virgil?” He scratched his head and said, “Well, David, this drought is mighty tough. The well is about to go dry.  The corn is burning up in the field. The cow isn’t giving milk, and the hens aren’t laying. I’m lucky to have something to fall back on.”  “What’s that?” I asked. “My ass,” he replied.

Dave Thomas

12/12/2024