It’s 5 a.m. on a Saturday. The alarm goes off. In 30 minutes, it’ll be time to leave. He pulls on a uniform shirt, matching pants and cap and heavy, steel-toed boots. Packaged food and bottled water go into a pack. Two phones are clipped to his belt. An hour after the first shriek of the clock, the workday is full swing.
No, it’s not the Marines, Navy SEALS or Force Recon. Rather, it’s Rehoboth’s own.
By 9 a.m., when most folks show up at work, or on a weekend are turning over for an extended snooze, Milbourn Craig has jump-started the workday. Locally known as Mel, he’s director of Rehoboth’s Public Works Department (PWD).
Summer schedule allowing, Mel will talk about the job. During a pre-Ernesto, high-season sit-down in the maintenance site break room, Mel leans back in a plastic chair and begins by saying he is originally from nearby Maryland. He’s been with the city for more than 10 years.
Although some of the PWD guys have been on the job three times that long, they seem to accept Mel’s leadership. A bachelor in his middle years, Mel commands attention like a salty gunnery sergeant or winning football coach. He’s guarded, yet friendly, and his large frame is noticeable in a Mike Tyson kind of way.
As he reminisces, it’s plain that Mel and the PWD crew have seen the department transform from a sleepy, short-season operation to the long-season, fast-paced bustle of 21st century Rehoboth Beach.
“In the old days,” Mel muses, “you’d bring your own tools to work. The city didn’t provide any. There was one pickup truck. When that broke down, which was often enough, we’d have to use the huge trash truck to pick up cans on the boardwalk.” In a quiet voice, Mel recalls the rickety Army surplus street sweeper and the rented leaf machine, which both had an annoying tendency to quit mid-job.
Not so today, as the city has its own late model equipment. The transformation began in earnest after the storms of the 1990s, and continues as tourism and transfer taxes generate revenues.
“Rehoboth’s PWD is different from most other PWD’s,” Mel says, “and that’s because of the ocean. We routinely get ‘emergency’ calls to, say, repair a dangerous spot on the Boardwalk. Often that’s nothing more then a nail sticking up, but there we are just the same. We build, paint, repair and move lifeguard stands. Where else are these duties in a job description?”
Mel points to the recently opened transfer station, only 12 miles from town, unlike the Laurel landfill, which is 30 miles away. Having become a self-instructed scholar of efficiency, Mel says, “We are doing more with less. Really. The new station is one way we do that.” He added there are fewer people in the PWD then a few years ago, yet the work gets done.
Summer in Rehoboth means bottles, cans and other recyclables. These items pile up at a staggering pace. When asked about recycling, Mel again chooses his words carefully. “Delaware generally could do better with recycling, and Rehoboth is no exception. Too many people throw every thing in the same trash bin.”
Mel explained the city hall recycle bins are emptied several times a week. Residents and visitors have taken note. “Despite some ambivalence,” he said, ”the program works.”
Mel taps to two cell phones, one his, one the city’s. “I get business calls on both,” he said. While he’s talking, the city phone rings and Mel answers. Hanging up, Mel smiles, and hefts his 6-foot-6 frame onto a truck that looks like it’s built for a man of his size. “Got to rush,” he said. “Summer isn’t over yet.” To the smell of diesel and the sound of air brakes and changing gears, Mel rumbles off.
