I’m twenty living in a small town in Pa. called Lebanon, married to my high school sweetheart Debbie, and our son Scott. It was nineteen seventy two and I working at a Scovell (plastic factory) for a dollar sixty an hour. After working twelve hours a day, my coworkers and I would hit the bars, and get good and drunk. This particular night was no different; we started out at the Old Tunnel Inn across the street from work. The people I was with Joe, Pickets, and Berkey, were a lot older then me, and unlike me old enough to drink. Being the youngest they loved to play tricks on me. When I returned from the bathroom I noticed a funny look on there faces. This could only mean one thing; I soon noticed the taste whiskies in my beer, a boiler maker as it were. It had been raining all day and as we left the bar it was still poring. At the bar the word flood was spoken a few times, but no body could imagine what was to come. Sure enough Agnes struck the eastern part of Pennsylvania.                                                                                  A city up north called Wilkes Barer was hit the hardest and a call for help was put out. It wasn’t long until me and my two friends Sam and Roy were on our way. Some of my buddies were already there, making big money, hooking up suers and water to the thousands of mobile homes placed by Texas Mobile Homes. There leader Indian Joe, was a big husky man that wore cowboy boots and hat. The story goes, and there many more to follow, that when Joe came to town he booked rooms in the Host. He walked into the lounge in full garb, and not knowing who he was the manager soon was looking up at the almost seven foot three hundred pound Indian. “I’m very sorry sir but we have a dress code, jacket and tie required.” Squeaked, the bald headed manger. “Well shit stain!”  Joe said as he scoped him up and carried out to pool. “I have reservations and as of now I’m running the show!” Indian Joy said as he through him in the pool, dress code and all.                                                                                                                                  The first night Roy and I arrived at the Holiday Inn, where Miscavage Corp. (the people we were going to work for) booked the whole place for there offices and the crew’s. We were greeted by a red faced man in his sixties named Bob Burloo. Bob did the introductions. “This Is Bob Cisco, Larry Chinkove, an of course the Godfather Joe Miscavage.”  I was thinking these guys were right out of the Godfather movie. I said: “We heard you were in desperate need of men to hook up natural gas.” “Yea that’s right, you boys got what it takes, experience and all.” I said; “Hell yea, just point us in the right direction.” Burloo said “See that board on the wall behind me? Full of gas jobs, up to now nobody will touch them. Afraid getting blown up, I guess.” “Not us it’s our specialty.”  I said. I looked at Roy and thought if they only knew, this would our first time. Joe (Godfather) pulled a roll of money out of his pocket, and started flipping of hundreds, when he got to five he stopped and as he looked us over, handed me the bills. “This should hold you guys over for the night. Find your self a room and come and see Bob in the morning.”                                                                                                                             Morning came early with a hangover from drinking Yellow Birds in the Aztec lounge. I was the first one up and so I headed down to the office to see the two Bobs. Burloo already on his daily bottle of J&B sat in the first office smoking a Chesterfield. Our role model I thought. He pointed to the board as he coughed the words out; “Wright this address down, your first job, good luck and see you when it’s done.” Cisco sneered at me through the door in the next room; his gun in the shoulder holster was in plain sight. “Good morning Bob” I said. As he ducked back in his office I heard. “What’s so dammed good about it?”  A good boss bad boss scenario I thought. As I jotted the address down Bob said “If anybody questions you tell them you’re under top priority from the President of the United States. Got it?” “Yea sure.” I said with a big smile. “I mean it, no joke! Now get out of hear.” He said still coughing.                                                                “Were under top priority from the Prezz, so get the hell up and let’s roll!” I said when I busted through the door to our room. Knap hated getting up and he was usual morning rage. He needed a can of Coke and a Camel, to settle him down. We grabbed the case beer and headed out to Sam’s car. All loaded up we drove past our bosses Cadillac’s parked out front, and headed toward town. Down town looked good as most of the businesses were open and people were shopping. In the square was a traffic cop, not just any cop, a dancing cop. We named him the dancing bear. He danced us through the intersection and after a few blocks we figured out we were going the wrong way. Sam quickly turned into a parking lot. Five dollars park all day, read the sign on the little hut. Sam u-turned and as we headed toward the exit a man ran out yelling. “Did you have a nice trip?” “Were under top priority from the President of the United States!” I yelled back. Dancing bear pointed again to lead the way, and we soon arrived at our destination.               Two mobile homes sat on a huge lot were houses once stood. We looked and couldn’t believe our eyes; all the pipes were laying there but not hooked up to the homes. We thought it must be a trick not knowing what to expect, we hooked them up and I changed the orifices on the furnace. Done I thought, but Sam said “The paper we got tells us to hook up in the street” So that’s the catch I thought. Back in the car past dancing bear, next stop, the Borrow Hall to look at the records. “Eighteen feet out and eighteen feet down!” said Sam. “That not good.” I said. So we headed back to the Holiday, to see the Bobs. This time it was Cisco waiting, Burloo was in the bar. “Are you done already?” he said “No were going to finish up tomorrow, we must dig up the street; eighteen feet out and eighteen down. The look on his face told the story, and it didn’t have a happy ending. “I don’t care if you guys have to dig it up with spoons! Don’t show your faces till it’s done! Got it?” he yelled. Well off we go, and thank God, away from him.            Lucky for us another crew pulled in the lot with a back ho, and they let us borrow it. We were burning daylight so off we went as fast as we could.                                 When we got to the job site, and an old man was inspecting or work. In his hand was a railroad lantern as the sun was beginning to set it was getting hard to see. We didn’t eat all day and we were down to the last of the beer. As the scoop tour up the first hunk of Macadam, we knew we were in for along night. Carefully Sam scooped up the ground like picking up eggs he maneuvered around the gas and water main. Ripping them up would have put us in a world of shit believe me. The old man held the lantern, and we stared in the ditch looking for the sewer pipe. It was midnight when we hit pay dirt. There it was, twenty feet, almost out of reach of the backhoe, we used a shovel the old man gave us to clean up the area around the pipe. Now all that was left was to knock a hole in it and run our pipe down and cement it shut, close up the hole letting the gas and water exposed for the city to hook up. We put some barricades with flashing yellow lights around the ditch we thanked the old man and said our goodbyes. He said “Don’t worry boys I’ll contact the utilities in the morning for the hookup.                              We were told the barricades were picked up a few days before we got there. The story goes; Cisco called all the crews together and said; “The first crew to bring back four barricades gets a hundred bucks!” It didn’t take long till about a hundred barricades showed up at Holiday.                                                                                We could hardly wait till the next day to see the look on Bob face when we told him it was done.