Welcome to Log Entries by Tracy D. Connors
CONNORS CONSTRUCTION COMPANY
Archibald Haddock Connors, Sr., President of Connors Construction Company.
His
business associates called him "Mr. Connors," or "Old Man
Connors." His friends and relatives called him, "Arch." His
employees, when he wasn't present, called him "Fire-in-the-Hole."
Construction crews, just before setting off dynamite, yell "Fire in the
hole," as a warning to take cover, explosion about to take place.
It fitted Arch Connors to a T.
Since the Twenties, he had driven a Plymouth.
They were always black, until the mid-Fifties when he bought a shiny new red, two-door
model. It was a sparkler.
Few
were brave enough to ride with him when he was driving, at least after
the first such experience.
"Fire-in-the-hole" Arch Connors received this warning ticket for speeding in 1940.
The unwary or the unknowing would come
back from those first rides without saying very much. However, it usually
required soothing words of assurance and liberal use of a crowbar to
pry their fingers away from the door handle, and to get their feet off
the dashboard.
Family wags said he had scared more hell out of people than the
preacher at Woodstock Park Baptist Church--and he was a real
stem-winder. That included those riding in the car and those
unfortunates who happened to choose a cross walk when he was
approaching an intersection. Despite many predictions however, he
never had a wreck, and his driving never hurt anyone--physically that
is.
When
his Plymouth braked up sharply at a job sit in a swirl of dust, the men
passed the word--"Fire-in-the-Hole." They all knew what it
meant--Old Man Connors was on the job, better step lively and look
alive.
Arch Connors (above and right wearing his “trademark” Panama hat)
headed his own building construction company--A.H. Connors and Sons,
later Connors Construction Company. His sons, Woodrow and Gerald, were
his partners. In the years after WW II, the company built hundreds of
new homes for Jacksonville residents, many of them returning veterans.
In this Sunday, July 28, 1957 Jacksonville Journal photograph, W.C.
Whelen (left, pointing), H.S. (Bud) Brownett, and Cecil Wainwright join
Connors on an inspection tour of Alderman Park, site of a large
Jacksonville housing exposition which opened September 14, 1957. The
average home buyer in 1957 borrowed $11,000 for 25 1/2 years, paid
$81.70 per month in mortage payments, and earned $6,000 per year.
Like his father before him, Arch Connors was a builder who
took deep pride in the quality of his houses--and he could spot a wall
out of plumb or a bowed rafter in a heart beat.
Besides the Plymouth, his trademark was a Panama hat--a white Panama
hat--that he wore year round but for a few weeks in the dead of the
short Florida winter, when he changed to a brown felt fedora.
He
kept his hats neatly stacked on the refrigerator in the kitchen,
alongside the box of King Edward cigars, several of which he stuffed
into his shirt pocket on his way out the door, moments after kissing
his wife Eva, goodbye.
He
smiled often and had a great sense of humor, but his temper was
legendary.
When things weren't going right, he could and did on
frequent occasions, demonstrate a creative command of the English
language, particularly its Anglo-Saxon heritage in the area of
profanity. With smoking emotion and blasphemous delivery, he
could point out errors of judgment, shoddy workmanship, or simple
stupidity on the part of employees, suppliers, and sometimes children
and grandchildren. When matched to the right occasion, the words
and delivery were just short of awe inspiring.
As a
little boy I would often go across town to spend the weekend with my
grandparents. At first, my father would take me.
Later, I
would ride the 26 North Shore bus downtown and transfer to the 32
Woodstock bus that still stops directly in front of the old house on
Broadway and Melson Avenues in West Jacksonville.
On
Sunday mornings I would always go to church with my grandmother.
It was nice to be taken around and introduced to all her friends at
church, and to sit with her during the service. My grandfather
never attended, but he was never far away--usually he could be seen in
his Plymouth (he always bought a Plymouth), parked under a big oak tree
near the auditorium, reading the Sunday paper and smoking a
cigar. There was a reason, as I was to find out when I was a
little older.
Many
years before, Arch had been a member at the church and a member of the
building committee. When the roof needed repairing he was asked
for advice as to how it should be fixed. Several other opinions
were offered. He warned them that the roof would leak if it were
not repaired the way he recommended.
The committee turned down
his proposal and he turned his back on the church. From then on
he would drive my grandmother and me to church, but he would not go
in.
The roof? It began leaking several years later exactly
as he predicted it would.
He didn't reenter Woodstock Church
until the funeral of his youngest son, Archie, shot down and killed in
Korea trying to rescue a Navy pilot.
A new home in the Ponte Vedra section of Jacksonville Beach, Florida in 1940.
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© 2007 Tracy D. Connors