I had occasion at the end of a day to stop by and visit with a couple of men on a jobsite. One was about my age. The other was considerably older.

They were just getting mobilized on the site. As I approached, I could see the men pointing at various places on the ground. At first glance, the men were just winding down a day and preparing for the next one. But in reality, they were in that spot where working-men always go to — they’re making the transition from looking at blueprints to pouring concrete. The outside observer would think it’s a short leap from drawings to finished product, but it’s not.

The drawings tell a man what he’s required to build, but they hardly ever tell him how to build it. The drawings tell him where he wants to end up. But getting there requires experience, talent, brains, and sweat.

This period of transition from plans to work is the period when all the wheels in a man’s mind are turning. Missing something on the plans can be costly. All jobsites have considerations, which can become safety issues, and the time to foresee these things is before one begins.

I love talking to calloused, weathered men when they’re just standing there looking at a piece of ground, when they’re making preparations to create something out of nothing. It’s at this point that these men are at their absolute finest, because they are engaged in using every ounce of their wits. It’s a period when so-called common men are seeing the future. It’s when a workingman’s soul truly shines.

I approached the men. I could tell they were confident and capable, because they didn’t even look up at me until I was standing right there at them, extending my hand and introducing myself.

“Hello boys, how are things going?”

We shook hands and exchanged names. I looked at each man in turn, and they watched me close. I turned to the older man. “If I had to guess, I’d say you were probably the ‘man on the ground’ on this job.”

He already stood tall and erect, but he drew himself up just a bit. He stared off into space for a long second, and then he faced me square-on. “I am the man on the ground.”

He wasn’t cocky about it. He was simply stating a fact.

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, how old are you?”

“I’m 74.”

“How long have you been in construction?”

“Sixty years.”

“I guess you’ve got this thing figured out.”

“Yessir, I think we got it.”

He was raised in south Alabama. “Yessir, I’m half Creek Indian. Grandmama was pure Creek. She lived to be a hundred.”

“I bet she took a lot of knowledge with her.”

“Yessir. We keep taking from these old folks. Every generation is like peeling an onion. You take off a layer, and then you take off another layer. At some point, ain’t nothing left.”