Lessons from a grader seat and a khaki legend, plus the 7% rule
Years ago, I was working on a big regional water supply project. It was my first construction project after finishing varsity, and I was keen to learn about everything they never taught us in the classroom. From building a town for eighty plus families, to pipes, reservoirs, roadworks, and more – pretty serious stuff. I was still green behind the ears, impressed with everyone calling me “Meneer”, and trying my best to look like I belonged.
One of the first things I learned was to plant a mango tree over our long-drop the moment the sewerage system started working. Disgusting thought, but the sweetest mangos you ever tasted.
And then I met Oom Tool van Staden, the grader operator.
Always wearing khaki: khaki shirt, khaki pants, and a khaki hat. Never said much, hardly ever smiled (as far as I could tell), quite an intimidating character, as you can imagine. But Oom Tool could operate a grader as if it were an extension of himself, better than I’ve ever seen, anywhere.
For those who don’t know, a grader driver’s job, especially when doing the final levels on a gravel road, is a bit of an art. Therefore, Oom Tool’s elevated status and rather shitty attitude.
On gravel roads, you need precisely 7% cross fall to let the rainwater run off properly without damaging the surface. Too much fall and the gravel washes away, too little and you’ve got potholes deep enough to rival the Northern Province.
One afternoon, watching him shape that road like it was butter, I asked him:
“Oom Tool, how do you know when the fall is exactly 7%? You’re not even using a level or pegs?”
He looked at me, scratched under his khaki hat, and answered with a deadpan expression:
“Listen, Boetie, I’ll let you in on a little secret: I don’t wear underpants when I do final levels.”
“A man’s testicles don’t hang even, and when both testicles touch the seat at the same time, that grader’s leaning over at exactly 7%.”
Needless to say, I didn’t ask for a demonstration.
However, when I checked the road with my fancy survey gear later, it was absolutely perfect. Better than using any survey equipment we had on site.
Final thought
There’s a lesson in there somewhere. And no, it’s not about going commando for the rest of your life.
The lesson is this: You don’t always need the latest gear or the fanciest tech to do a perfect job.
Sometimes, mastery comes from experience, sensitive ghoens, and knowing your machine (and your trade) like the back of your hand.
Oom Tool didn’t need gadgets to earn respect; he just knew his craft.
And as you can tell from this true story, people remember that. I certainly did.
Chat soon,
Frikkie
