The folks down at Ragtown were waiting. It was spring, 1931, the heat starting to get to them. They made roofs with rags. They soaked their clothes to stay cool. They weren't praying for a miracle, they'd lived through so much, this was the miracle, to survive. They'd expected life to be so good, it had been good for a long time. But now, they waited.
They waited to hear the news about the job. It was all about the job. And Frank T. Crowe, the engineer representing the six companies that had landed the job to build the dam was driving into Ragtown, mid day.
Jeers and cheers went out into the warm air. "What are you going to do, when are you going to do it? We want a job, Mr. Crowe, we'll do anything!"
But Crowe didn't say a word. He was there to inspect the river, see it from this level, at the base of this red bull, the enormity of the project. He didn't answer anyone for there was nothing he could say...yet. It would all come soon enough.
Patience worn as a blanket used for a roof, anger filled the lungs of those witnessing Crowe's short visit.
It made no difference.
Crowe would do what he needed to do, when he needed to do it. Much like the people staggered throughout the camp there in Ragtown, just from a different viewpoint, different circumstances, but he too was waiting to make his move.
The Hoover Dam was built on this kind of time, in which waiting and needing were so intertwined.