On June 28, 1894 the United States Congress passed an act to establish the first Monday in September as Labor Day, following more than ten years of local custom to celebrate America’s workers. The first celebrations began in New York City in 1882, branching out throughout the country over the next decade. The industrial revolution was in full swing, workers were organizing and the value of their work was being recognized.
For me, Labor Day is very personal. My father was a labor foreman for a national construction company. He helped build many buildings throughout the Midwest. Traveling to job sites meant he had to leave early in the morning, usually before we woke to get ready for school. No matter how far away the job, he almost always came home each night, sometimes driving two or more hours. He could have stayed, his company providing a housing stipend. He preferred to be home, plus bank the stipend so the family would have more.
When I was young, my father’s work sounded so exotic. He would go to far off places (well, Akron, Cleveland and the like sounded far off to an 8-year old) to work on a hospital, office building, or sometimes a parking garage. One summer, he asked me to ride along as he drove a large truck to a job site to deliver building materials. That was quite an adventure. I could barely see over the dashboard, but still remember that day and how special it felt to go with him.
Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, Cleveland
Later, once I was grown he moved to a different company and had the good fortune to work on many local buildings. As his children were getting married and providing grandchildren, this was indeed a blessing. He could now enjoy more time at home with family. Then, in 1995 he had a heart attack at the age of 57 and was forced to retire. As I think back about the demanding work he did to almost the age of 60, I am more impressed as I get ever closer to that age at just how determined he was to keep working. It was hard work and to do so until 57 was quite and accomplishment.
Dad passed away in 2008 at the age of 69. Thirteen brief years of retirement. But we are fortunate as, along with his legacy as a father and grandfather, he left behind memorials in the form of the buildings he help create. Many of them I have been in. I cannot help but feel a sense of pride when I am in the Riffe Center in downtown Columbus, especially the Capitol Theatre as I know he personally worked on that part of the building. Or my first visit to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland a few years ago. While everyone else was marveling at the exhibits, I imagined my father there working for several months on that historic building. Or Riverside’s Heart Hospital, one of the last local buildings he worked on. It is a rare thing to be able to travel around and see the result of your father’s work in front of you. A rare and very pleasing thing.
Riffe Center, Columbus
So, for this Labor Day, I would ask everyone to stop for a moment and look around at the buildings they so often take for granted and remember that they were made by real people, often just working class folks who are simply providing for their families. Their legacy is etched not only in the stones above their graves, but also in the concrete and steel in which we live, work and play.
One response
That’s such a nice tribute to Hobe. Made me remember all of the hard work he had done and those long days he put in. He was always home at night. I didn’t understand it then but I do now. He loved his family and there was not place he would rather be than with all of you.