We had only one mantra, only one mission. We worked holidays, weekends, second-shift; we worked inner-cities and national parks, sliding scales and short-term contracts.

We were a group, a Team, a Unit, and I was Unit Head, Team Leader, Middle Management. I knew the suppliers, and I knew those who we were to supply. It was a service job.

We did your neighbor's 1980 Monte Carlo Convertable, your best friend's customized Bianchi. We did your neighbor, and your best friend's girlfriend, glistening gold under high pressure sodium streetlights. We did sunset in the Badlands. We did cliffs and jutting rocks on US-16 west of Buffalo, WY.

It was a service job: accentuating the natural beauty while integrating it with the rest of our world.

It was a service job: accelerating the natural trend, creating one moment of great beauty in an effort to leave less for the next generation to miss.

It was hazard pay and overtime, missing fingers, missing friends, mistakes. It was unmarked white 4x4s and time-delay rapid-release radiation saturation. It was a good old time.