The rooftop was getting hotter. All day it was the same with Bob, the chief of our four-man crew, who barked orders for materials: "Nails!" "Shingles!" He yelled at everyone, especially me, the low man. I was a 20-something student on a break from college, earning money for school. We were putting a roof on a suburban home on a hill overlooking Coraopolis, northwest of Pittsburgh. Bob's shouting punctuated the days.
"Water! Where the hell is that kid with the water?"