Way back during my college days I had a summer job, a union job that paid very well. I was a pipefitter's helper and I helped build an Oscar Meyer hot dog factory.
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Building a hotdog factory
By Mark Brennaman
Way back during my college days I had a summer job, a union job that paid very well. I was a pipefitter's helper and I helped build an Oscar Meyer hot dog factory.
Working on a construction job through a union hall meant I was paid extremely high wages and was required to not work very hard. This factory was built down in Texas, and you'd think that a summer construction job would be hard by definition. It's hot in Texas in the summertime, after all.
Before the real work got underway the walls and roof of the factory were assembled which meant the pipefitters and their helpers basically had an inside job. A nice cool breeze wafted throughout the interior of the shell of the factory. And we were protected from the glare of the hot sun as the plumbing trenches were dug and prepared for the pipes.
Some guy who made a lot more money than me dug all the trenches with a backhoe. Once dug, my job was to take my shovel and walk along the trenches to remove any dirt clods left behind. After all the dirt clods were removed the tractor operator came along and dumped sand in the trenches which I had to rake smooth so the pipefitter could then lay all the pipes and fit them together.
I wanted to make a good impression on my first day on the job. I made an impression alright. I got yelled at by the shop steward because I worked too fast. I even got yelled at and ordered to stop working when it came time for the morning water break (which was scheduled forty-five minutes into the work day).
"Hey! You!" yelled the steward, "Put that %#@$ shovel down and get out of that trench! Don't you know it's water break time?"
"But I'm not thirsty," I protested.
"I don't care if you're thirsty or not!" he yelled back. "You can't work during the water break!"
I scurried out of the trench, laid down my shovel, removed my hard hat and wiped one or two beads of sweat off my forehead and sat for the duration of the half-hour water break.
By the time our lunch hour rolled around I was pretty good at being a union construction worker. I'd stop every ten minutes or so to check the time. I wasn't about to be caught working even ten seconds into the lunch period. Most of the other workers started getting ready for lunch about a half-hour before the whistle blew. Rules are rules.
After a week I was a model union worker. I'd get out of the trench every now and then to ask the steward if it was getting close to break time or lunch time. I even got to the point where I knew instinctively when it was about an hour before quitting time. That last hour of the day was spent cleaning any dust off my shovel and shaking any grains of sand off my rake.
The only time of the day anyone moved quickly was when the last whistle blew. All the tools were hurriedly put inside the shed and locked for the night.
During the first month on the job I noticed that one elderly pipefitter would come to work, get his shovel, push the blade into the dirt and then he'd lean against the handle until it was time for the water break. He'd then put his shovel away and sit around drinking water and cutting up with the other union men. After the break he'd repeat his shovel leaning until lunch. And during the last hour of the day he'd clean his shovel (his was the cleanest shovel on the work site) and be the first to speed away in his pickup truck.
I was a little curious about why this guy seemed only to lean against his shovel and take breaks. I eventually walked over to him and asked why all he ever did was lean against his shovel and take breaks.
He pondered my question for the longest time. He stared into space for awhile then slowly looked down at his feet. He spit out a huge amount of tobacco juice, slowly lifted his head and looked at me to answer my question.
"Son," he said, "good things take a long time."
© 2001 by Mark Brennaman All rights reserved.
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