Amazing Grace
Great moments in building history: In the end, amazing grace is what you'll get
I work for a remodeling and restoration company in the San Francisco Bay area, where a typical city lot is small but expensive, and small driveways are filled with expensive cars. We recently worked on a two-story Tudor with 11 dormers, each having a pair of casement windows that open outward.
We replaced a number of these windows with new ones to match the old. The house was on the left side of the lot, and a narrow driveway on the right led to a detached garage in the backyard.
As the project manager, I spent 10 months “guarding the Porsche.” Even though the professionally waxed silver sports car was protected by a heavy canvas cover, I knew it wouldn’t take much to do some damage. The owner cherished his vehicle and would detail it frequently.
A majority of the construction happened in the backyard, and the most convenient path was a narrow aisle between the house and the sports car. When we had a lot of activity in the backyard or were working above the driveway, the homeowner would move the Porsche to the street. Otherwise, I must have told everyone on the crew to be careful a thousand times.
On the fateful day, I clamped tightly to my side the tools that dangled from my belt as I walked past the Porsche. Over the years, I had seen many a cabinet scarred by a sharp hammer claw, and I knew I was the one who needed to practice what I preached.
The first punch-list item: Adjust outswinging French casements in Grace’s room; Grace is the homeowners’ daughter. Hanging in the window, from one of the surface bolt knobs, was a wooden plaque that said, “Amazing Grace,” backlit by the sun.
In the back of my mind, I realized that the windows opened over the Porsche and figured I would eventually have to ask the owner to move the car. No problem for now, though. I slid the surface bolts, rotated the sash lock, and pushed open the windows to check their function.
Clunk! The plaque fell off the surface bolt onto a short section of the roof between the first and second stories. My reflexes weren’t quick enough to make the grab, but no problem. I figured the gutter would catch it.
No! The plaque slid unencumbered over the top of the half-round gutter and was now airborne. My only hope now was that the plaque would hit the concrete driveway. I cringed as I awaited the sound of the plaque landing below.
Doink! The sound I heard was unmistakable, a tinny noise like a thump on the side of a metal bucket. I headed downstairs to look for damage. I believe in God, and my only hope was for some amazing grace.
I found the plaque undamaged, lying next to the front fender of the Porsche. Then temptation set in. The canvas-covered car showed no immediate signs of damage. I could quietly return the plaque and go back to work as if nothing had happened.
But I needed to do the right thing. Hoping for a miracle, I pulled back the canvas far enough to find a quarter-size dent in the top of the fender.
Where’s the grace, I thought. Discouraged, I began the long walk back inside to share the bad news with the homeowner.
After reviewing the damage and pondering the irony of the situation, the owner was a little miffed but not too upset. I could tell he appreciated my honesty and accepted my apology. There were no hard feelings, and apparently, the repair was relatively easy. I never saw the bill. I wanted amazing grace, and in the end, that’s what I got.
Drawing by: Jackie Rogers
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