I have memories from many years ago during the building of the World Trade Center near the Battery in lower Manhattan. People could be seen at various points around the site watching the building of these mammoth engineering marvels that one day would become known as the Twin Towers.

People often seemed mesmerized by the activity at this construction site, myself included. I was always fascinated by the guys who worked the heavy equipment. Particularly those who operated the huge cranes that hoisted steel girders, cement beams, equipment and other materials up and away to the twentieth or so floor of this enormous more than one-hundred story sky scraper. The site possessed its own special kind of excitement and adventure that many looked forward to.

Often I’ve found it amazing how each day guys who drove the eighteen wheelers could back a semi into a space with no more than an inch of tow on either side. But, I suppose I’ve always been fascinated by people hard at work, performing their jobs with great relish and expertise. And over the years I’ve made a mental note of those who have been most impressive.

I recall a cop directing traffic at a busy intersection near Houston Street not far from the Bowery. Sweat was pouring from him in the blazing hot sun as he alone was able to direct thousands of trucks, taxis and autos through this busy corridor in a part of Manhattan known for its infamous grid lock and traffic delays.

The boulevard, incredibly wide and huge with throngs of pedestrians, push carts and all manner of activity, would certainly pose for us mere mortals a frightening thought if any of us had to direct traffic at that location. But there was the Foot Patrolman at the center stage on a traffic detail performing a necessary task that most people probably take for granted and perhaps never recognize or appreciate for its relative importance. The cop was truly great at handling this arduous task. And without him there, everything would have come to a complete halt.

As I further reminisce I can remember years ago I was a frequent patron at a popular and very busy eatery, where a short order cook was hard at work filling orders placed by the hordes of hungry people ordering breakfast or lunch, depending on the time of day. His ability to organize, remember, prepare and finally serve each order quickly was truly amazing.

I suppose the same could be said for a bartender I once knew at a busy tavern in mid-town Manhattan. He was known to dispense good advice, prepare exquisite apéritifs, was conversant on a wide range of subjects, knew everyone’s first name, always remembered what you were drinking, and often arbitrated heated debates. He would call a cab if you had one too many, was a good listener and a pretty fair hand at telling a joke. This was all part of his day's work.

On a recent visit to New York, the outstanding performance of a drummer once again reminded me of the many unique people in our midst who are extraordinary at what they do. I had the good fortune of seeing a group of congeros (conga players) engaged in what is known in Jazz circles as a jam session. Among the five conga players and other musicians was one guy in particular who stood out from the rest. As he played, his expression transitioned from intense concentration accentuated by a furrowed brow, to a facial grimace suggesting a deep reach inside of himself in an effort to get the most out of the two congas he was playing. The staccato rhythms and sounds were clean and sharp as he perspired profusely becoming more and more enraptured by the music he was playing. During his solo the other musicians who had gathered and became part of the group were themselves quite affected by his performance. The entire group was great, but it was this one conga player who took them to another level. He seemed to set the stage for the other percussionist to attempt new heights in reaching within the realm of their own skill and ability in doing their best.

The music they played was from old tunes made famous by Ray Barretto, Willie Bobo, Cal Tjader and Joe Cuba. It was a remarkable evening in which people found a place, and in some cases made a place for themselves to dance, as you might have guessed.

I think it's fair to say, when we give it some thought it is quite evident all kinds of work performed by people makes the world go round. Whether in work or play we benefit from the efforts made by many in providing for our convenience, entertainment and as well a broad range of needs that are met. But there are those special people among us, who stand out and make life worth living even if only for a moment.

By the way, the conga player who made the difference that night was my younger brother, Mike. Michael Jacobsen to be exact… percussionist, conga player extrodinnaire. Until next time… Cojelo suave.

October 1998