Bud by Bob

Bob's been gone for a few years, so I don't imagine he much cares whether I tell his story or not. Besides, what's he gonna do about it? Throw a hex from the other side?

I met Bob when he was still in his teens. He'd already developed an affection for the "weed 'o wisdom," and he was a decent go-to guy if your other avenues happened to develop logistical problems.

Bob was also a car guy. When he was still in his teens, Bob got a bank loan to buy an ex-SSD race car, much to the dismay of his father. It was a '69 Nova SS. Due to the NHRA rules it even had a roll cage. The car came without the power-train, and Bob refitted it with a mild 350. Driving around in something that struggles to break into the 13s and has a roll cage makes you look like a bit of a dork, in my opinion.

Not that Bob was a dork. Far from it. He had a good work ethic and some entrepreneurial flair. After high school Bob went to work in a manufacturing plant. It was one of the top outfits to work if you couldn't get into the top tier factories.  Bob worked there for the rest of his life. Over the years, all those top tier plants drifted off to Mexico or to "right-to-work" states in the southern US, while Bob kept his job.

He also kept that Nova for the rest of his life. It was joined in the garage by a hemi Challenger when that brand had its second coming. The hemi was his winter car. Bob was a car guy to the end.

I remember Bob coming to me in his early twenties with a conundrum. There was a truck-driving job available at his workplace. Being a guy who liked driving stuff, Bob heard this job calling his name. Decent equipment and a decent hourly wage. What's not to like?

At the same time, there was a millwright apprenticeship that just opened up. Bob had started with the shit jobs, as you always did in the factory, unless your Dad was the plant manager or something. Bob had worked his way through grinding, moved on to welding, and was seriously considering applying for that apprenticeship.

In what is probably the only time I've ever dispensed sound advice, I told him to take a shot at the apprenticeship. Get that millwright ticket and you'll be golden. If it doesn't work out, you can always explore that truck-driver gig the next time there's an opening.

So he became a millwright. Then he became the maintenance foreman. That was the highest paying job on the plant floor.

By then Bob had proven himself a green thumb in his own right, but also had a network of innovative pot growers and sellers. He was very much dialled in to the weed market. This was back in the day when you used to go to jail for having a joint on you.

The beauty of his maintenance supervisor gig was that he had complete and unquestioned run of the entire premises. Of the 400 or so employees, he knew which ones wanted weed, and they knew where to get it.

Bob never got rich, but he wasn't the kind of guy who was motivated by that. He had a house and a family and a couple of fast cars in the garage. He moved at least a couple of pounds through that place every week for over thirty years.


Here's to you, Bob. I'm twisting one in your honour right after I hit publish.