My eighty-six-year-old father had paid a roofer $17,400 to replace his roof. Six weeks later, the job remained unfinished. Shingles, timber, and building materials covered his property, while the approaching winter made every passing day more worrying. My father was a widower who had worked hard his entire life. He had trusted the contractor, paid what was requested, and expected nothing more than an honest job. Instead, he spent his days looking through the window, wondering whether the workers would ever return.<\/p>\n
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When my friend Bertram heard about it, he became furious. He gathered thirty fellow bikers, found the contractor’s home, and arranged for everyone to meet there Tuesday evening. Thirty motorcycles lined the street. Nobody shouted or threatened anybody. Then Bertram walked toward the front door and knocked. What happened when the roofer opened it changed everything…<\/p>\n
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