Salad Days Volume 71 Lucille the Wonder Pig

The following excerpt is from the soon to be published memoirs of my years as a Construction Worker, tentatively titled either, "Everything I needed to know, I learned on the Job-Site", or, "Men Have a Penis and Women are from Bars".

It was the best of times, it was the best of times. It was, as usual, some time in the mid-80's, and me, in my natural prime, had now been working for my Uncle Frank's 'ZVI Rolling Thunder Revue and Construction Company' for nearly three years. We had, to this point, participated in many various hijinx, some previously mentioned in this blog, some either neglected or selectively ommited for taste. We currently found ourselves in Newton Mass., the hub of prep schools, upward mobility, and most importantly, just 20 miles from the Home Office in Brookline Mass.. Now, When we had been out on the road, certain things could be overlooked in the interest of the bottom line, as in 'what happens in Toledo, stays in Toledo' ( that's another story, by the way). As long as the job was getting finished, and under budget, then a few incidents, arrests, property damages, or bar charges could be overlooked. Especially with Frank's crew, the less the home office knew, the better.

But, here we were, right in plain sight of not only our bosses, but the home offices of Northeast Apparel, the largest wholesale buyer of Women's Clothing in the U.S., and our biggest client. Now, as you may have guessed from previous entries, the ZVI 'Rabbit-Killers' were not model citizens, nor were they skilled craftsmen, for that matter. This job was again no exception. There was the instance of Muddah and Cousin Bill's ill-advised trip to Cape Cod for a little 'betting on Billiards', eventually landing them for the weekend in Plymouth State Pen (long story). Then, there was the time we got shut off and kicked out of the local Papa Gino's on a particularly spirited Friday afternoon (another long story), to the aghast stares of the women and children patrons of this fine family establishment. All good things, brother, good things.

But the fondest memory, or infraction, of that particular job was a charming and wondrous Pig named Lucille.

Lucille came from a small farm near New Bedford Mass., also home of one crazy Portugese bastard, Mark Cote, Nee 'Animal ', one of my esteemed cronies on the job. 'Animal' thought it would be funny to buy Uncle Frank a pig for his birthday. Frank had certainly been known to frequently associate himself with pigs, and had even dated many (I'm speaking in metaphor, here). Animal and the whole crew thought it was a splendid idea. And it was. Lucille came to the job-site, one day late in May, wrapped in swaddling cloth, nursing from a bottle, and being cuddled by the crazy mellanzanna Cote, who snuck her there under cover of darkness.

She soon became the hit of the job-site: Guissepi, the Italian Brick Mason, who I was scared to death of because I was sure he was MAFIA, would bring in little pieces of Italian bread to hand feed her every lunch. The carpet guys would often be spotted fawning over her in her little pen by the entrance to the store. Store, oh yes: I forgot to ,mention. We were constructing a fine upscale women's apparel store, and we were nearly finished. The rugs were being laid, the paint was going up, and the final shelves and fixtures were popping up in place. Nothing incongruous about a posh little pig-pen right in the middle of that, is there? I didn't think so either.

Nobody on the site seemed to mind either. She became kinda like our mascot. All the different trades guys loved Lucille, and never a day went by when at least 5 or 6 crews would be sneaking her in treats from their lunch. She soon to exponentiated in size, and was no longer a demure piglet, but a husky sow of over 100 pounds. She was kind of a distraction, I'm sure , but also a big morale booster, not to mention a pretty big fuckin' novelty.

But all good things must come to an end, and it was the same with Lucille. As the job neared to completion, there were less and less grubby construction types, and more and more clothing store executive types frequenting the Future home of "Show Off" fashions. Suprisingly, they took umbrage to the image a Pig would imply upon the patrons of a women's clothing store. So Lucille's carefree days of roaming the sales floor were about to come to a close. One day, Rick Sternberger, a suit from Northeast Apparel, came in to make an inspection on the job's progress. Now, I was aware that some people might think a pig on the job-site unusual, but even I was shocked by his reaction. Maybe it was because he was Jewish, or maybe he was not an animal lover, but his reaction was swift and decisive: Lucille the Wonder Pig could not stay.

So sadly Frank and I loaded her into the ZVI van and headed up to my parent's farm in Newport. I sat in the back and comforted her through the 4 hour journey, and she was a trouper throughout, let me tell you. The fellas on the job all sadly bade farewell as we drove away, crying and waving their hankies, tears in their eyes.

But the ending is a happy one, brothers and sisters. Lucille spent the rest of her natural days in repose on my parents estate in Maine, being hand fed goodies and lying in the cool dirt, like a good pig should. Never was the time, no matter how long it was between visits, that when she heard your voice, she would not grunt and squeal with delight and run to see you. She grew, under my Mom and Dad's care, to what I'd say was over 4 spins on the scale. Not bad for a city girl.
And though Newton Mass. never became known for having the first women's apparel store with a pig mascot, I'm sure out there somewhere, there are still electricians, or ceiling guys, or tin-knockers who'll remember Lucille, the wonder pig, and bring her up at a shit-shootin' session or coffee break, and not be able to crack a smile.

To think, I could have been working.