The Treemen Cometh, Part Two

As they work, passersby take notice of the stand. There aren’t a lot; it was, after all, the day before Thanksgiving. McCarren Park is quiet, even for a holiday eve. Except for the joggers—morning, night, pre-holiday, holiday, post-holiday, weekday or weekend, they would never stop their incessant pacing.

One man walks by Willie on the sidewalk. He’s wearing a long pea coat and dark-rimmed, stylish glasses. He has a balding, round head and moves down the street quickly; he catches Willie—in the middle of things, getting his head around what more they needed to do before it gets dark—off guard.

"When are you guys going to be open?" he asks.

Um…What day is it? The only relevant thing is Thanksgiving. The trees are coming after that, probably the day after. Willie knows that, so he says so.

"Friday," the man reiterates. "Good."

The bald man walks away as briskly as he came.

Adam’s first try at being a tree man was a bust.

It was 2008 and a few years had passed since his encounter with the maté-drinking Quebecoise. During the fall, he was cruising Craigslist—something he often does—when he came across an advertisement for seasonal help selling Christmas trees in New York City. Oh yeah—he had forgotten about that. It had seemed like it would be such an adventure. He hadn’t lined anything up for employment; why not give it a shot?

He emailed the contact on the Craigslist ad. The guy got back to him. He said it was his first year running tree stands and was looking for workers. In retrospect, considering the amount of work—with permits, tree deliveries and everything else—that goes into running a stand, that should have been the first sign of trouble. But Adam was unaware of these things and maybe, despite his world travels, a bit nave about the world of business.

The guy also told Adam he’d need his own vehicle. He remembered back to the Canadian woman’s pop-up trailer. Wouldn’t it be cool to get something like that? He started digging through Craigslist in search of a cheap van or RV that could work.

What he came across was better than he could have imagined. The picture was of a bright orange 1976 Winnebago, shot during a snowstorm. It looked amazing. $500. Was it legit? He called the seller up and went to see it. After a day of consideration, he decided to buy it.

With its bright orange paint job and the blue stripes, it was the hulking roided-out cousin of the Dukes of Hazard’s General Lee. She was a beast; a big Dodge engine, remodeled on the inside to look more like a lounge than a camper. And of course there was the horn: To Arm in Dixie. The General Winnie—he couldn’t have been more pumped.

He had only about four days to get everything ready to go. Over those days he kept in touch with the man in New York City, whom he’d never met. He sounded reliable over the phone; he sounded like a businessman.

The day he headed out for the city, Adam had to make one stop first. A man by the name of Tony had been hired as well, and he happened to live in downtown Buffalo. It wasn’t a nice place, to put it kindly. Adam honked the horn; the battle hymn of the Confederacy came blaring out.

When he saw Tony come out of his house, he felt a bit nervous. Tony was an older African American man with long dreadlocks—an actual Rastafarian. He opened the door to let him in to the Winnebago. In popped Tony, all smiles.

“Can you honk that horn again for my daughter,” he asked. “She loves it.” Adam obliged.

On the road, Adam found himself really liking Tony. Tony had had a tough life, and told tales galore of mishaps and misery. But through it all there was a streak of the positive, always a silver lining. This drew him to Tony. Despite a world of difference between the two of them, they shared a way of looking at and dealing with the world: stay positive, embrace possibilities.

They drove through the night and arrived in New York City at daybreak on Thanksgiving Day. The guy had told Adam to drive to McCarren Park. He’d meet them there. Adam parked the General Winnie and gave the guy a call. No answer. No worries—it was really early. He’d take a nap and the guy would probably call him back soon. They’d be tree men before he knew it.

He woke up a few hours later. No phone call. He tried again. And again, no answer. There wasn’t a lot to do, given the holiday. They meandered about the park. Adam stopped by other tree sellers—even the stand he would eventually takeover—to see if anyone knew who this tree guy was. No one had heard of him. Adam remained positive. How could he not? He was about to live out a dream, in a way, and besides, New York City beat Buffalo any day of the week.

Tony wasn’t so sure. He had a daughter back home. In some ways, the divide in past fortunes setup a divided response to the situation, one Adam soon got over. He could see, could understand why Tony was having serious second thoughts. He kept calling, with no luck, even as Tony grew more convinced things weren’t going to work out.

Day turned to night and still no word from the man who had promised them jobs. Tony had had enough; he wanted to go home. Finally, Adam agreed and they left the city. On the way back Tony asked if they could stop in Monticello; he had family there and wanted to pick up some of his things they were holding for him.

While there, Adam got a phone call; it was the guy. He apologized—he’d left his phone at his office and had just gotten the messages. Adam was livid. He laid in to him, cursing and yelling in a way he’d never done before. He honestly believed the guy had set them up, like some sort of sick prank. Finally he had to give the phone to Tony. The guy wanted them to come back. He’d pay for all their expenses and give them his best stand. But it was too late: both Adam and Tony had soured on the situation, not believing they could trust the guy. They were back in Buffalo by the middle of that day, the day after Thanksgiving.

Almost two years later to the day, Adam and Willie are woken up by a soft knock on the trailer door. The sun has yet to rise. The night before, they had visited friends in the Bronx for Thanksgiving. It had been an amazing time and meal, but they returned as early as possible to prepare for just such a knock. The trees had arrived.

After his first failed attempt at being a tree man, Adam returned to Buffalo feeling restless. He understood why Tony needed to get back, but in his heart he still wanted to be in New York City selling trees.

He called up some friends in Washington Heights. They let him crash on their couch as he sought out a stand that might take him on. Finally, he found one: a small spot near New York-Presbyterian Hospital, run by two French-speaking men—one Quebecois, the other actually French.

He took the nightshift and was shown the ropes by the Frenchman—how to keep the stand clean, how to present a tree—knock it on the sidewalk to show the needles stay on, turn it to display its shape’s relative symmetry—and how many trees to keep bundled, how many to open. His shift started at 9pm and ended sometime between 7 and 8 a.m.

It only lasted 12 days, but Adam was hooked. The following year he did his research and found Greg. They met; he seemed trustworthy. That Thanksgiving Day he flew down and joined Bret—whom he had met earlier that year in Colorado—on a stand near Greg’s home in Queens.

They worked with some of Greg’s regular workers and Adam learned what he didn’t want to do with a stand. To them it was just a job—the grind. A place to get to and look forward to leaving. For both Adam and Bret—but Adam in particular—it was an adventure. On top of the outdoorsman quality of it, there were deeper reasons to embrace the experience. As a small child, Adam would sit in front of the Christmas tree in his parent’s house and just feel joy. Pure, simple, uncomplicated joy. It was a special experience to participate in that process now, and it showed in how he approached his work.

Now, a year later, it was to begin all over again.

[Read Part One here.](/article-21973-the-treemen-cometh-part-one.html)