In some versions of the story, John Henry didn’t die at the end.
Like the one my brother just told me.
My dad’s retirement was ironic in a good way. After layoff trauma from the days of space-program cutbacks and even longer years of getting up with the sun to carpool to Lakehurst, NJ, from suburban Philadelphia every day, he and my mom settled into a house near the beach in Jacksonville, FL. He bid his working routine goodbye.
Or so he thought. It turned out that naval contractors sought out guys like him because he’d been trained the old-fashioned way, unlike the kids coming out of school who relied on software to do everything. When they asked him to do contract work for them, he gave them a number so high he was sure they’d balk, and then he wouldnt have to work again.
They accepted.
So there he was, the white-haired guy with the pocket protector, heading into an office of wise-ass upstarts who kidded the old man about his ancient ways.
He begged to differ.
We don’t have all the details, but apparently somebody came up with a challenge that pitted the young guys with their scientific calculators against Dad and his slide rule.
And he handed them their asses.
I only wish he were still around to tell us himself. Either way? Respect the elders, kids. They still haven’t shown you all their tricks.
Image credit: Carrie Berry
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