The unknown man is the silent architect of our civilization. Without him, the Pyramids, Stonehenge, and today’s skyscrapers would remain dreams. He performs unseen tasks that make the extraordinary possible.
Every day, the unknown man awakens, stepping out to play his humble part in the vast orchestration of laborers. Their workdays may seem unremarkable, but their hands—gripping shovels, ropes, or pipes—are their true gifts, the tools of their trade.
In our cities and towns, countless structures bear the mark of the unknown man. He builds footbridges, parks, and playgrounds, taking pride in his craft. Millions have dedicated their time, making profound contributions to our collective well-being.
The unknown man comes from diverse backgrounds—immigrants, long-time residents, young or old. He’s often a Black American who helped construct the very buildings that later turned him away. Many leave rural roots to find work in cities, while others watch their hometowns fade as highways bypass them.
I honor the unknown man who leaves no name behind unless he scrawls it in wet concrete. Think of the bricklayers, welders, electricians, and laborers. The iconic landscapes of New York City were shaped by countless bricks laid by unknown hands, who took immense pride in their work.
In tougher times, the unknown man often risked everything to earn a living. He stopped traffic while another operated heavy machinery, simply waiting for payday. He was the fabric of society—never the draftsman or designer—but essential nonetheless.
The unknown man has many pasts. He may have grown up in loving homes or faced abandonment, perhaps quitting school for work or investing in degrees that led nowhere. Often, he is just an average man achieving extraordinary feats.
The unknown man had to work, whether drawn to a “Help Wanted” sign or waiting for a ride to a job site. He had stories and shortcuts learned through experience. Often, he spent his money on family, using alcohol as a coping mechanism. He lived for Fridays, cursing Mondays, risking his life for us.
The buildings, transportation systems, and daily necessities all bear his mark. The unknown man built castles and cathedrals, laid railroad tracks, and paved roads connecting us all.
Ultimately, the unknown man is buried beneath a cheap headstone, unremembered. He dug holes, erected fences, and hammered nails, a pawn to the Titans of Industry. Yet he kept his head down, working through hardships to provide roofs over our heads and places to savor life.
So here’s to the unknown man. I’d tip my hat, shake his hand, and buy him a beer, grateful for the man who built this world from scratch.