Scratch Beginnings_ Me, $25, and the Search for the American Dream - Adam W. Shepard [101]
A “C+.” Yep, that’s probably what I was, if that. I was average—not terribly strong, not terribly quick, not terribly knowledgeable. All I had going for me, really, was my ability to listen and my stamina, the fact that I could work all day with only a jug of water and a bag of trail mix as fuel. Derrick brought the best out in me, no doubt, but even then, I still couldn’t hang with him. I was just another guy in the shop, fighting to make a living while dragging behind Fast Company’s finest.
I packed my belongings on the last Sunday in April and prepared to leave Charleston. I thought about what I had done, what I had accomplished, and the challenges to come. I was not, by any means, looking forward to moving furniture in Raleigh. One might have imagined that after my nine months in South Carolina, I would have grown used to the difficulties of moving furniture every day, unaffected by the tediousness of the job and the sore muscles and joints that followed in the evening. But that wasn’t the case at all. It had been incredibly demanding on my body, increasingly so with each passing day. My back would burn in the morning when I woke up, and my legs would follow suit in the afternoon. There was no immunity to it, no moment when things would “click,” and my body’s defense mechanisms would ward off the aches and pains of bending and lifting. At least if there was, it hadn’t happened to me yet.
So there I was, the bed of my pickup truck packed with boxes of toiletries and wall decorations and lamps and bags of linens and clothes, ready to hit the road to begin life anew, again, with new people and challenges to meet and new ambitions to pursue. While paying monthly expenses and buying food and fuel and funding my own social agenda, my bank account and cash on hand totaled just under $5,300 from wages and tips, more than enough to finance whatever my next dream would be. I was pumped. I looked at what I had done, and I looked at what I had experienced. From my first night on the streets of Charleston to living in the shelter to working with Shaun at Fast Company and then finally working my way up to join Derrick’s crew and live with BG, I was proud of what I had accomplished. But, in truth, I really looked forward to tomorrow. In the future, no matter where I stood financially, I could rest easy knowing that things were going to be okay.
Look at what I’ve done with $25. Imagine what I can do with $5,000 and the money that I’ll continue to earn as I complete my project.
The coming months wouldn’t be easy, but I was happy to be able to care for my mom, no matter where my financial situation stood.
I knew that Derrick’s future was bright. I didn’t have to see his beautiful house or his whopping bank account to know that. He had that killer instinct, the hardworking aura that showed that he was ready to meet, head-on, any challenge that stood in his way.
The last time I saw Derrick was the Saturday night before I left for Raleigh. He was having a belated housewarming party, and he invited a few people over for food and drinks. In his world, a “few people” could easily turn in to busloads, which it did. As soon as word got out around Kingstree that Derrick Hale was having a party back in Charleston (free food and drinks everybody!), his house was full of people. For me, it was uneventful, not exactly my scene. I showed up, had a hot dog, and talked with his wife. Derrick was preoccupied in the garage, shooting dice with his friends. He shook my hand in passing to the bathroom but quickly returned to his game. I left the party shortly thereafter, a very undramatic exit.
After I got back to Raleigh, Derrick and I would exchange stories of our moving woes over the phone. Working without Derrick, even for just a short time, would turn out to be one of the more difficult experiences of my life. Aside from the emotional drain of dealing