DEMOLITION MAN: CRUCE MAKES SURE WALLS TUMBLE DOWN

Structures that took months to build fall in weeks at the hand of Delmar Cruce.

A one-man army, he begins in the basement, clears out valuable copper pipes, climbs to the attic, knocks off the roof.

Then the walls come tumbling down.

Cruce doesn't use machinery, just hand tools, and his lined face and stained fingers are those of a man who has torn apart more than 500 buildings with crowbars and hammers.

He smokes cigars and loudly shares his opinions about the Environmental Protection Agency, lazy employees and any other demolition-related topic.

At age 48, Cruce wants to trade in his dirty overalls for a security guard's uniform.

"I'm to the point now where I'm old, ugly and out of shape," he says. "I've done security work on and off, and I like it because I can do it alone."

Cruce's career began 32 years ago, when he worked for demolition man Ernest Duncan and later Henry Warfield.

He was with Warfield's crew in 1967 when it tore down the structure later replaced by Osco Drug.

That job nearly cost Cruce his life.

He was sitting on a wall, hacking away at it brick by brick.

When it unexpectedly collapsed, Cruce fell 35 feet. He was in and out of consciousness, with doctors unsure he would live.

The temporary setback didn't keep Cruce out of the business, and he insists demolition work isn't all that hard for people who like it and want to work.

The only problem now, he says, is the Environmental Protection Agency's rules on asbestos removal and burning.

The closest landfill that accepts demolition waste is in Dexter, and hauling costs go up every year.

Cruce isn't worried about the asbestos.

"I've been in it so long, if I have anything from it, it's there," he said. "But I try to do so much and then get outside for awhile."

Perhaps the treasure he finds inside makes the dangers worthwhile.

Copper pipe, lead, aluminum and steel can be sold as scrap, and Cruce also finds antique coins and other valuables.

Once a structure is turned over to him for demolition, everything inside is his.

No one shares in the finds. While he trained about 70 men for demolition jobs, Cruce works alone.

"I tried it, but it didn't work out," he said. "People wind up trying to tell you what to do, and they get upset because they get sweaty and don't want to work."

Alone, it takes Cruce about three weeks to tear down a one-story building, a month for a two-story.

He works 16-hour days all summer, making the most of the daylight. Weekends are no exception.

He has kept the schedule for at least the last five years.

Business comes easy because there is limited competition.

Cranes can't be used for detailed demolition work, so many business owners call Cruce.

Right now, he is working on the former Last Chance bar on Broadway, which is surrounded by businesses and pedestrian traffic.

Other jobs wait for him throughout the area, including some in Jackson.

Cruce just turned down a job in New Madrid. His popularity grew by word-of-mouth -- he doesn't need to advertise.

The demolition man says the work takes its toll on his health, and he wants to get out, but not until all the jobs lined up are finished.

His pride in his work may make it tough to leave, despite the ulcers he professes to have.

"One guy told me, `I'll bet those buildings just sway when they see you coming,'" Cruce said. "I've lost a little money at this and gained a little money at this, but mostly it just keeps me out of trouble."