I was 10 years old, standing outside one of Grand Mom’s homes that she was building. Some of her crew were loading up and getting ready to go home. One of them said, “Dogonnit, I think she saw me. Yep, she’s turnin’ around. Awright, boys, let me do all the talkin’.”
My grandmother, Miz Lena, pulled up to the construction site in her 1952 mint-green Cadillac, her official general contractor’s vehicle. “Big Green,” they called it.
The car was already over 6 years old but had just a few thousand miles on it. When Miz Lena sat behind the wheel, her head just barely over the steering wheel, it looked like she was driving a swimming pool, with her sitting at the deep end. She was a little lady.
Grand Mom had moved from the farm into town and was building houses in her very own subdivision, Columbia Gardens. She was the only female contractor around that stretch of Middle Tennessee.
Miz Lena’s male counterparts had great respect for her. They admired her grit and work ethic, her attention to detail. She wanted things done right. Don’t mess up! Many a subcontractor found themselves brought to their knees by an unhappy Miz Lena.