It was July 1969, or thereabouts, and I was an intern at the central office of Montreal Engenharia, at 90 São José Street, in downtown Rio. During school vacations, engineering interns were sent to construction sites. My first trip was to the Cement Goiás factory site in Palmeiras de Goiás, about 80 km southwest of Goiânia, on a dirt road, in the district of Cezarina, which later became an independent municipality.
Engineer Ilmar was the "site manager" (or contract manager, as some called him), and I was given a small desk in his office at the construction site, in the middle of nowhere. I think he was neither happy nor unhappy, just following orders. A good engineer, experienced, he knew how to get things done. Managing an isolated construction site like that was no easy task. Compared to today, writing in 2023, the infrastructure back then was nothing—just to give you an idea, the site had an operator for the "telegraph" and the "radio," things that were considered "top" technology worldwide at the time.
In such an isolated place, it was necessary to maintain good relations with the local police chief. So, Ilmar visited the police station in Palmeiras every week, and the police chief came to Ilmar's office at the construction site. Not only to maintain the good relationship but also so that everyone could see it.
Normally, the police chief would show up on Fridays, the day of payroll, which was done in cash, in carefully prepared envelopes for each of the 500 to 1,000 workers. Most of them came from far away. The majority were from the Northeast, mostly single, and living in the collective barracks at the site. The weekly payments were made so they wouldn’t spend it all at once, while also ensuring they always had some money. It was like a military service.
One Monday, the police chief showed up unexpectedly, and when I saw him enter, I thought it best to leave the room and stay outside. Shortly after, Ilmar told me:
_ He came to ask for a job for his stepson at Montreal. I can solve that easily.
And I said:
_ What does his stepson know how to do?
_ Nothing. It will be his first job. The police chief can’t stand seeing the boy do nothing at home or around town.
A few telegrams exchanged with headquarters in Rio, and the following Friday, Ilmar received the police chief with the good news and asked me to stay in the room:
_ Your stepson can start in 15 days. Tell him to come here right away to sort out the paperwork with the recruitment team. I want to give him some instructions and prepare him for the trip.
_ Trip? What trip?
_ He’s going to work at one of two petrochemical sites: either in Goiana, which, despite the name, is in Pernambuco, or in Cubatão, near Santos, São Paulo. He’ll start as a helper to the "foreman" or as a storekeeper. By Monday, we’ll know for sure.
And the police chief, with a frown:
_ But his mother won’t like this. We thought he would work here.
_ Look, said Ilmar, let me tell you something. It won’t work here. The boy will start, clock in at 7 a.m., including Saturdays, finish at 4 p.m., and on Saturdays at noon, he’ll have a dusty and sweaty lunch in the canteen with everyone (the food isn’t bad, but compared to what his mother makes, it won’t compare, and every day he’ll compare lunch with dinner). And in the evening, when he meets his friends in town, they’ll start asking: "Are you getting paid for this?" He’ll feel the pressure, his mother will feel sorry for him, she’ll get upset, and she’ll bother you. His coworkers will see him as the police chief’s pet, he’ll want to show off and brag in front of his friends, and he might get contradicted. In short, it’s not the best path to follow in situations like this. Let him go, it will be good for him, for his mother, and for you.
Looking at both of their faces, I could see the police chief's expression slowly changing, as if he were understanding and agreeing. When he left, he was happy and smiling.
As it turned out, what Ilmar said was absolutely true. The boy went to Goiana-PE, and everything worked out, as I learned years later when I ran into Ilmar. Reminiscing, he told me the boy stayed at Montreal, quickly became a good storekeeper, sought after by the site managers, and was studying engineering in Rio, while working at the Rio-Niterói bridge construction site with Ilmar himself. But the boy wanted to return to Goiás, to become an engineer and a farmer in the region. He had a tendency to maintain his roots. He would probably return, claiming everything had gone well, or maybe not—depends on the person.
Could it have all gone wrong? Sure. Depression, etc. But staying behind could also have gone wrong.
Miguel Fernández y Fernández, engineer and chronicler, written in 2023/2024, 4,508 characters with spaces.
4o mini
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