My father had been fixing pools for twenty-nine years.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
At sixty-one, he could diagnose a failing pump by sound, read water chemistry almost instinctively, and notice problems other technicians missed. He wasn’t flashy. He drove an old Ford F-150, kept his tools organized, and wrote everything in the same spiral notebook.<\/p>\n
When my boss, Richard Emory, needed his neglected gunite pool repaired, he hired my father.<\/p>\n
Nine days later, the job was finished.<\/p>\n
The pump was replaced. Damaged pipes were repaired. New filtration had been installed, and the water was crystal clear.<\/p>\n
Richard had signed everything.<\/p>\n
Then his wife refused to pay.<\/p>\n
She offered my father $3,000 instead of the $7,800 they owed and reminded him that her husband employed me.<\/p>\n
My father didn’t argue.<\/p>\n
\u201cI’ll handle it,\u201d he told me.<\/p>\n
Two days later, he called.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome to Richard’s house immediately.\u201d<\/p>\n
When I arrived, two police cars were outside.<\/p>\n
My father was standing beside an elderly woman.<\/p>\n
And Richard was arguing with the officers.<\/p>\n
THE STORY CONTINUES ON THE NEXT PAGE… \ud83d\udc47\ud83d\udc47\ud83d\udc47<\/p>\n