A Stevedores Breakfast

Thursday morning. Before the sun, the city folk or even my wife was awake, I was already dressed in boots, a fleece button up and a heavy jacket. My lucky number was called and I, for the first time in three days, had work.

As tradition on such a Thursday the boys met up at Cathy's for an egg and beer, a stevedores breakfast if you will, to fight the previous night's hang over. Could it really even be called the previous night when really all I got out of my bed was 2 hours sleep?

It didn't matter much, I was senior and sat at a desk. A checker. Cargo leaving the port, 18-wheelers with the paperwork to transport the containers. Wasn't rocket science and I didn't need half a brain to do it.

"Here's to the pretty motherless fuckers who," began a stubby fellow in overalls.

"Fuck Clif keep it down," another said rubbing his temples, "it's too early for you to be screaming."

They called him Clif because on the first week at the docks he was pranked into climbing a container three stories high to call out some numbers. He ended up falling off the towers getting back down and the nickname stuck. Only one "f" because these bunch didn't even know how to spell even their own names right.

The grumpy fellow, who was nearly double the age of the rock climber, was called Ralphy Red. He's known for his red cheeks and angry put on. But the guy was more a ball buster than an actual threat.

"Here's to the ones who actually know their mothers," Ralphy call out louder than Clif's attempt. And everyone cheered on the morning call. Each of us took down a pint of beer with a lovely floating raw egg, chase by a shot and a hurrah to our pickup trucks.

Cathy may have owned the bar but really it was an extension of the union. Her late husband was a dock worker, he died during the heat stroke in '87 and ever since has taken care of us. A home away from home if you will.

The sun was began to peak over the waterway of cranes and waiting container ships. No one on the streets. Just labor men a little buzzed getting their mind rights for a day of hard labor; from water to land.

Some guys moved boxes and heavy sacks while others moved 2-ton containers with machinery, really whatever the bosses wanted. If your number was called you had a job for the day and you were happy. No one on the docks wanted a day off - no one could afford it. We all had more days off than on but today... my crew of 12 had work and there's nothing better than that.