Devon

Devon is one of my best friends. He’s possibly the hardest working guy I have ever met, but he has charisma and character to go with it.

We met close to 15 years ago. I was a grouchy, disillusioned framer and he was just starting his own cribbing company. Cribbing, for those if you who don’t know, is the concrete foundation forming. I was working on a tiny home with a basement that was 20′ wide and 32′ long, 4 corners. We were both Contractors building for Trico Homes. He had walked down the street to talk to me…

“How’s the basement,” he asked, “Is it square?”

“Well I sure hope so, it only has four corners,” I answered.

“It’s one of my first basements and I want to make sure you are happy.” He explained.

“It’s ok” I muttered.

As he walked away I realized I was an ass. I started grinning because I remember when I had framed my first house with my brother, and I had taken a lot of time straightening the fascia. When I asked the soffit guy how he liked my fascia, he said, “It’s the same as every other house.”

The moral of this is never expect a pat on the back in construction. You will always be too slow, too expensive, and the customer/trades will always find something you should do better. Always.

Around this time I was about to build my first home for myself in Crossfield, Alberta, and I needed a Cribber. I couldn’t think of a better guy to ask than the guy who cared so much about his work, that he’d come and ask a framer how square it was. He came out with his crew, and his puppy Pocco. (Sp) We were rained out one morning and split the bill for breakfast for the crew. After that, a friendship was born.

I was a drinker back then. We’d work very, very hard, and then on a Friday afternoon we would meet at a pub, often in NW Calgary. This was unwind time. We never hit on waitresses, we never disrespected anyone, but we would typically find the guy at the bar that we just knew sat there every single day, and we’d listen to his stories. Learn something. That’s what me a Devon both shared. A love for lost people and an understanding of how wise they are. How authentic and real they often can be. Of course it’s easy to love these lost people for a few hours. I’m not blind to the pain and misery they’ve likely caused their families.

Years later, we went to New Orleans for Devon’s bachelor party. I could literally write 4-5 blogs about that weekend, but to highlight our commonality I’ll tell you this one.

The NOPD was at our door. Weirdly they didn’t knock. After a very brief discussion we found ourselves on the street with no accommodations. It might of had something to do with the fact that me and Devon had climbed the roof of the Inn, and were having drinks up there, looking out and laughing over the French quarter and the Mississippi. I vaguely remember the Innkeeper screaming at us. Of course it didn’t help that I had gone to the convenience store and bought a bag of candy that looked like pills and spread them all over the coffee table. I was trying to be funny, mocking all the drug use in New Orleans. Apparently the Innkeeper didn’t get the joke. So….there we were. 4-5 of us vacated from the suite. While the rest of the French Quarter powdered their noses, paid prostitutes, and took their clothes off for beads, 4 prairie boys from Alberta were evicted for doing something we do on job site every day; Climbing a ladder.

As we gathered confusedly outside the Inn with our bags, Devon decided he’d just jump in a rickshaw. I’ll never forget the image of him just throwing his bag in and taking off to nowhere in particular. Great! The rest of us figured he’d be back or answer his phone so we got another room. Well, Devo never came back and his phone was dead. Together with another friend of his I decided to go look for him.

“How are we going to find him?” His friend asked. It was a great question. We were downtown in the heart of the French Quarter.

“He won’t be on Bourbon, Royal or any other Main Street” I told his friend, “He will be down some back alley chatting with a homeless fellow having a great time.”

Sure enough, after turning down the first grungy alley I could find, there was Devo, laughing, sharing a sip out of a brown bag with a drifter and his mottled dog.

From there we had the best night of the weekend roaming the far corners of the Quarter.

These last few years we don’t see each other much. He still works as hard as ever, but he’s got a young family now. Between the recession in Alberta, my struggling business, his two young children, my teens, we don’t get a lot of time. But when we do hang out, it’s just like old times. He invites me to things, I say I will go, but I never get there. I’m either waiting for a draw, overbooked, or just too tired. This weekend was one of those times. He and his wife throw a games party at the end of every summer. It’s epic, loads of fun. I was looking forward to it. But, it was also the first night I could spend with my daughter in 8 days and she wanted to stay home. so we opted to just stay home together.

There are many many stories I will likely tell if I keep writing, that involve Devon. There’s a motorcycle trip for the ages with his brother that still makes me laugh to this day. Those good times are great, but it’s the bad times, when he has always been there for me, that mean the most to me.

I’m very thankful he’s my friend.

If you read this far, thank you.

Tris.