I’m sure most of you recognize the truck above. Most commonly, it was (and most of the time still is) your local garbage truck. This design of Mack is as ubiquitous as early 2000’s Civics are in a high school parking lot. Well… they used to be anyway. Most are being replaced by the next generation of truck called the Granite Series.
This is a personal story for me. A story of one of the most difficult, dangerous, and character building times of my life. All throughout the two years I worked at Pioneer Concrete Pumping, these trucks stood in the background and remain a constant reminder of not only the job I had, the life I lead, and continue to stand as a symbol of my future career.
Concrete pumping has been around since the 1930’s but really took off in the 1950’s with the invention of the twin piston hydraulic system used to move concrete through a network of pipes connected to a mobile platform, most often some sort of heavy-duty truck. This type of equipment is used to move concrete to an area where a mixer truck cannot pour, and is easier and quicker than using a crane to haul bucket loads of slurry up to the top of buildings (though in some cases, that method is still used.)
Of course, I knew none of this going in. At the time of late October 2015, I had followed my uncle to the yard he worked for with the promise of a new job. As I pulled my sad, beat down lump of an Accord through the gate, he quickly waved to me and pulled his Ram around-leaving me there! I parked in between two huge pickups and looked at the towering steel building before me. The shop was a flurry of activity and all around the edge of the yard were parked these strange machines. They were trucks, yes, but I didn’t know what those giant arms folded on top of them were for, or even what my job was going to be. All my uncle had said up to that point “As long as you don’t mind getting dirty, you should be fine!” and “You’ll be washing concrete trucks.” Were these the trucks?
As I made my way inside, I was sure I wasn’t going to work here. I was WAY out of my element. These men were the size of fridges, with arms like ocean liner pistons and shoulders like bowling balls. Meanwhile, I was a 140 lb twig of an 18-year-old with absolutely zero experience with this sort of environment. I got my application filled out and was nervous to hear back, because I wasn’t sure if I could really hack it.
I got my Golden Ticket a couple of weeks later. I got the job! No more working at Whataburger! No more making nasty food for people I couldn’t stand! No more slowly losing my mind at the fry station, an activity so boring you can’t focus, yet just engaging enough that you have to pay attention! I was free! I actually sang ‘I got a golden ticket’ that whole week as I worked, so happy I wouldn’t have to set foot in that grease trap again. Little did I know, I was throwing away my frying pan to jump headlong into the fire.
I started at Pioneer the day after I left Whatahell, and began to learn the ropes of operating the truck that is the subject of this article. Almost all of our pumps were of the Mack MC series, based on a design from 1978, and boy did it show. The cabin was small and cramped because it was a cab over and you were basically sitting on top of the wheels with that huge in line six diesel engine roaring away right next to you. There was a big metal shroud (we called it the doghouse) that held all the electronics and such, and was where all the various switches and buttons that controlled the pump on the back are housed. Look at the picture below and tell me if that looks like anything you’d want to spend time driving:
Most of our trucks were from the early 2000’s, yet looked much like this.
I began this job just as Winter was becoming Spring. These trucks had just one AC vent, that was controlled by sliders on the doghouse, and most of the time it didn’t work worth a damn. You’d turn that weak jet of air towards your face and pray that you’d start to cool down, because those cabins were nothing but sweat boxes. The gear lever was huge and gear map was useless, because the position of the lever didn’t match what gear the map said you were in. It was my job to the pull the trucks out, park them on the wash rack, fuel, water, wash them, and park them again without backing into anything.
I’m sure that sounds easy, and at its core, it was. However, when it came time to operate the trucks to say, gain access to the deck, my coworker was no help at all. I was forced to seek help on my own from drivers, mechanics, and the shop foreman who all took time to show me how to extend outriggers, raise booms (the arm on the truck), and even pump concrete should the need arise. My days were spent taking care of these gentle giants and my nights were spent loading them with system.
System is what we call the various pipe, hose, and clamps a pump needs to carry for its current job. When Lambert would leave early (as he did most nights) it was up to me to finish loading the trucks. Each hose and pipe I moved weighed approximately 50 to 80 pounds, and sometimes I’d have to move thirty or more in a night. The forklift was helpful, I wouldn’t have been able to complete my job without it. I’d watch 50-70 hour weeks come and go as I worked six days a week for nearly two years (closer to one and a half). One moment in particular really stands out to me though:
About six months had passed. I was working an eleven hour shift and it was about ten o clock at night. The issue with having an industrial type job is, you come in a certain time and have no idea when you’ll be going home. I was alone, as per usual. The Wash Guys were almost always the last ones to leave. I had finished the last truck and was getting ready to clock out when a sinking feeling came over me. I reached into the top pocket of my blue uniform shirt and took out a crumpled piece of paper. I still had system to do! In a fit of rage, I hurled my Army surplus Boonie hat into the dirt and sat down on the bumper of one of these MC Series trucks.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to chuck this job in the bin and lit out for pastures new. In that moment… I even wanted to go back to Whataburger. At least that job wasn’t trying to kill me. At least I got enough sleep and worked with a roof over my head… Out of that dark pit, I felt something in me. A light. A force. A roaring inside my soul.
NO.
I am stronger than this.
I will NOT be beaten.
A flood of emotions washed over me and as the headlights of the trucks watched over me , like the eyes of T.J Eckleburg, I roared to the moon and anyone else that cared to hear me. As the echo of that primal howl ripped across the dark night, even the coyotes yapping in the distant woods stopped to listen. I snapped my hat up from the dust, pulled it low, and got back to work.
I was washing a pump one day in late May of 2017, utterly convinced that I was going to work at the yard the rest of my life, with a slim chance of getting into the Parts side of things, where I actually wanted to be. Lo and behold, for on that day, I was promoted to running a parts warehouse for my company. It was an odd set of circumstances that allowed such a thing to happen, and the warehouse has brought its own set of challenges, but overall my hard work finally paid off.
PS: I know I tend to meander in my articles, only relating to the vehicles in a very tangential sense, however I hope you readers enjoy them. As a person with a fairly negative outlook, and who’s creative life is plagued by the fear that my writing is never quite good enough, that I’m howling into a pointless void, and that so many writers before me have done it all so much better, I appreciate the chance to write for this site and hope I can allow myself the confidence to continue.
Inspiration for this article’s title:
Hi,
One of the most enjoyable articles I’ve read here. Great work.
Alistair
Write what you feel. That’s how it has to be. If your involvement with these beasts was only peripheral, that’s more than almost everybody here has had.
For instance, I can’t remember the last time I looked at a garbage truck!
My late next-door neighbor was in concrete pumping, starting off much like you did and working his way to near the top of his company. He was gruff and unpolished and loud…and big. But his heart was as warm as a puppy dog’s. Too bad…a couple of years after he retired, he was broadsided by a blithering idiot nurse on her way to work, fueled with caffeine and, as it turned out from her police-administered blood test, methamphetamine. She ran a red light at 45 mph, totalling his pickup, putting him into the hospital, and killing his dog, who was riding with him. He followed less than six months later.
When I saw the first photo I thought “that’s not like any Mack I’ve ever seen”, but I now realise it does appear to be the model which collects our garbage.
Your writing brought back quite visceral memories of jobs I’ve had, especially around that age.
I hope no one writing a COAL feels limited to technical matters-what can make or break an ownership experience is circumstance and emotion, and it adds so much to read about those. Great read, look forward to more!
Please keep writing, I enjoy reading your stories.
Dude, your writing is fine. Everyone has doubts and fears and the feeling that nothing you can do is right; the key is to keep on keeping on and move through the hard times. That sounds simplistic but achieving and maintaining a positive attitude can do wonders. There have been several times in my life when I felt totally overwhelmed by relationships/jobs/life/whatever. It would have been easy to give in and quit but I didn’t. A couple of times it meant making some drastic changes in my life and moving away from my comfort zone. It wasn’t always easy but I forced myself to concentrate on the light at the end of the tunnel, hoping all the time that it was not an oncoming train. Life doesn’t always work out the way we hoped and planned but the worst thing you can do is just give up.
MC Mack, yep theres one or two of those old girls still in use here and several sitting in a truck sales/junkyard not far away from me, concrete pumps are mounted on much later operator friendly chassis than ugly old Macks these days, I’ve been on the pouring end more times than I care to remember when I drove concrete mixers, certainly a great way to do high up pours or large continuous poured floors, a mate of mine operates one mounted on a 2017 450hp DAF chassis, nobody but the operator cleans those ones, and the company he works for has nice clean well maintained units,
One way into truck driving here is to start on the wash sooner or later they’ll put you in a truck full time and sponsor your licences.
Don’t worry about the vehicle being tangential to the overall story. Like others have said it is the story itself that is the most compelling.
This story also reveals you found an inner strength that many don’t find for a long time – if ever.
Your writing is quite engaging, so don’t worry about it!
Wow! This by far has been one of my favorite article’s to date. Mainly because I can relate to it in a few ways. Long story short, 3 years ago I left a high paying office job in municiple transit to go to work as a fleet mechanic for large but locally owned landscape/hardscape/construction company in my mid 30s. Starting wage: $10.50. After a run of “less than stellar” employees, the starting rate was dropped in an attempt to dissuade free loaders. One has to earn their keep. (This method actually works, I’ve seen first hand the caliber of employee go up greatly since its implemintation). In my first year I had many moments where during a 10-12 hour shift, I too had to dig deep get “primal” as we call it in the shop. We start at 7am and can regularly go to 9pm. I kept questioning why I was doing what I was doing at this point in my life for the aformentioned wage. Granted, I was able to make it work by refinancing my mortgage to a lower rate, keeping my high mileage DD on the road (still drive it daily as of now), cut expenses, and live modestly. It paid off. Now I make a much more sustainable wage and still love my job and the perks that come with it. Hard work pays off!!!
I also appreciate your writing style, it’s in a fashion to most conversations I am involved in, just meandering along.
Finally, after spending some time in a cab of one of these Macks, I affectionately call them the “Sweatboxes” and try to avoid them if there is something else to drive. I do however, like the super short wheel base ones similiar to the header pic with a fifth wheel for yard jockey work moving trailers and whatnot. Tight turning radius FTW.
Thanks again for this wonderful article!
The dairy farm down the road from me recently acquired one of these old girls. They put a 4000 gallon tank on it to spread liquid manure from the shit pit with. I enjoyed your story, and understand your worry about your writing. That’s natural. Don’t sweat it. Keep writing. I picked up on your reference to T.J. Eckleberg. For those not in the know, that is a reference to “The Great Gatsby” by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald died believing himself to be a failed writer. Not so. His writing just didn’t garner the praise during his lifetime that it did after his death. Keep writing.
The MR lives, and it’s latest incarnation is still a favorite of the concrete pumping industry:
https://www.macktrucks.com/trucks/terrapro-series/
Great article.
Count me as another fan. Your writing brings back memories of long-ago jobs that were much more taxing than anything I do now. Although there are still days when I would rather be driving a forklift in a sweltering warehouse.
Anyone can quote facts and figures found on Wikipedia. That is not what this site is about at all.
This site has a broad tent pole, and your story took me back to some of the menial jobs at the start of my career. Interestingly enough, one of them was working with concrete, performing slump tests and taking test cylinders. Even though I only barely handled the stuff, I can still remember how it dried out my skin, and how the smell seemed to linger around me, and how hard it was in general to work with. That is real work!
I almost didn’t click on this story … not really a Mack guy, nor particularly interested in that class of low-end cabover. So glad I did! It was a compelling read. Thanks for sharing.
The title was, to alter an internet meme, anti-clickbait. I’m glad I read it and can relate to pushing through. That sinking pit feeling has happened to me in every job I’ve held and I’m glad you made it through.
I’m looking forward to your next story.
Great read.
Oh one of those… We had quite a few in Israel back in the day and they were used as regular trucks MORE than as a cement pumper or any of the roles they normally have in the US. Few survive, here’s one used a water cart, the fate of many elderly trucks in Israel. Next station is probably the scrapyard (pic: Matan Zilberstein).
And there’s nothing wrong with your writing.
I’m reminded of the scene in Finn Murphy’s truck driving memoirs, where his moving van gets stuck, his client is yelling at him and he hits his moment of illumination, calmly pitches his cigarette butt and informs his client that he is getting the biggest tow truck he can find to fix the issue.
As for the trucks, I remember them being ubiquitous in the Northeast but much less common in the Northwest. Probably a combination of regulations, street sizes and regional preference since Macks are from Pennsylvania and Freightliners are nominally from Portland.
Late here, but wanted to echo the compliments above: a great read, engaging and enjoyable, thank you.
“Perfect people” are quite boring. Most of the vehicles here are quite boring to me as well, yet I am here reading.
Why?
Because of writing like yours. It’s somewhat comforting to know that the demons I face I don’t face alone. Thanks.
Great coming of age story. Thank you for sharing it with us.