If a fence falls in the backyard, can you fix it?

Robert Frost’s cold companion was right: good fences do make good neighbors. On the other hand, 50-mile an hour winds and fences are mortal enemies.

On St. Patrick’s day, an ailing fence in my backyard finally fell, exposing the backside of my house to my accommodating neighbors. These gracious folks permitted me to work on their side of the fence, to fix up the rickety old planks. They even let their friendly dog out to help. Accepting that bungee cords and old reliable duct tape wouldn’t quite do the trick; I called up great uncle Frank Reith.

Syracuse Wire and Fence Company; founded by John Frank Reith, and carried on by his sons— brothers Frank, Henry and my grandfather, Chuck; flourished in Syracuse for 65 years. Throughout their years manufacturing and servicing chain link fences, the Reiths always worked without pay for any religious establishment, be it Synagogue, Church or Temple. They provided pro bono labor to their extended family, including my grandpa Russell Morton, who offered money every time, which Frank and grandpa Chuck Reith refused every time.

In Frank’s dictionary there’s a void between ‘retinue’ and ‘retook’ where the word ‘retire’ should be; at 80 he’s still hard at work. Decades of laboring from daybreak to sundown have taken their toll on Frank’s back, so I had to swing the sledge[hammer]. At first I was awfully shy with the sledge; if fencing is in my blood, I think it skipped a generation. But with the fence’s salvation on the line, soon I was hitting the fence posts good and square, living up to my name. So, anyone need a fence fixed? That is, after the soreness subsides.

Thanks to video games, the Internet and other diversions that coop us up in the great indoors, handy work is mostly lost on my generation. Sure, we mow the occasional lawn, but desperation sets in when we see woodwork in disrepair. For example: I did call my 80 year-old great uncle.

I learned more than how to mend a fence; I witnessed a chapter of my heritage first hand. Without great grandfather John forging Syracuse Wire and Fence, my family wouldn’t be where we are today.

At sunset, the fence was stable again, so we called it a day and warmed up with the help of my
four-cup Krups. America’s blue collar has frayed. The factories and mills of Syracuse’s salad days have wilted, the city’s small businesses are suffering and a new era is reported perpetually on the horizon. In just a score shy of a century, Frank has seen his fair share of changes, but my great uncle still takes his coffee black and still tells it straight. Exported labor makes it hard to make an old fashioned living. And homemade dollar disasters, such as Destiny, USA, worry Uncle Frank. Nevertheless, his example proves economic shifts are no match for an honest day’s work.