Gary May first came into our lives to solve a problem.
The people who sold us our house were, shall we say, not exactly forthcoming about a few things that were wrong with it. One of which was the ongoing water damage in the back room.
Apparently our yard sloped down towards the house - as did the patio towards the patio door. When it rained or was watered for any period of time, the back room soaked in all the water. The rest of the water came in under the patio door. And because the back room had been added on years ago, it was on a cement slab foundation. If the cracks in the corners of the windows hadn't been painted over, we would've known immediately that the water was undermining the foundation. It was a disaster waiting to happen.
We went to arbitration against the sellers, and won ten thousand dollars from them to make the needed repairs. The only thing we had to figure out was what we were going to do, and who we'd get to do it.
Our neighbors across the street were having their driveway redone, so we sauntered over and asked their contractor if he wouldn't mind coming by and seeing what he thought could be done to solve the problem.
That contractor was Gary May.
It was the first of many times over the years we'd have Gary solve problems around the house for us.
Gary wasn't just a masonry guy. He was an artist disguised as a masonry guy. I used to love watching and listening to him and my wife collaborate on a vision for whatever project he was working on. This big, booming, gentle giant of a man, discussing what would look right. What would feel right for us and the property.
There were times when we'd ask Gary what he was going to do, and he just said, "I'll figure something out. You'll like it." He always did. And we always did.
With Gary, it was easy to say the three most dangerous words you can say to a contractor: "While you're here..." Because it was so easy to trust and love the work Gary did, we just always wanted him to do more. And if it meant we had to wait because his schedule was busy, then we waited.
Gary was there from the time my children were born. He watched them grow up, and would always ask about them and comment about what great people they were becoming.
And as much as it pains me, I'm just going to say it: Gary was my dog's favorite person on the planet. Gary had known Max since he was a puppy and loved him just as long. And it was mutual. Max would virtually come out of his skin, barking, jumping, tail wagging at a 100 miles an hour the minute he heard Gary's van coming up the street.
Gary would ask, "Why is he like this when I'm here?"
The same reason we all were excited to see him. He loved him.
The running joke in our house about Gary was that almost no matter what work he was doing, the price was $3200. Didn't matter if it was outside, inside, front yard, side yard, back yard, $3200 just was what it always worked out to.
Gary was also a man of faith. He'd been through a lot in his life. He'd lost a lot of family. He'd gotten into trouble with drugs, and was clean and in NA for 44 years. He lived his life as an example to others of what was possible. Which was everything. Because to anyone who knew him, there was nothing he couldn't accomplish.
When we re-landscaped our backyard, my wife wanted these cement squares with aggregate - the crushed, colored glass and gravel you see in it. Gary sent her to a store that sold the glass, and she picked out exactly what she wanted. He custom made the squares, and included the one heart-shaped piece of glass my wife wanted to be prominent.
When his wife called and told us of his passing, it was as if a giant had fallen.
I guess that is what happened.
Whenever Gary would be working at the house and I had to go to work, he'd always say, "See you later Jeff. Write something great today."
His wife Cindy said that Gary's with God now, probably making him a giant cement column. I have no doubt that's true.
And I know exactly how much he's charging him.
