Monday, January 30, 2012
Here is an excerpt of the first chapter of my book "Life Inside The Factory". It details my first couple of days on the job. I think it is typical of everyone's that hired in as an hourly worker. I hope you like it.
The First
Ninety Days
New Hire
It all started in September 1973. I had
recently been discharged from the United States Marine Corps after completing a
three-year hitch. I went home and started school at the local community
college, but three weeks later, I realized I wasn’t ready for school. I had a
very poor academic record from high school, and at that time, college was too
big of a step for me. I dropped out of college after this very short beginning.
I felt confused and alone. I found myself longing for the routine and certainty
of the Marine Corps.
So not knowing
what to do, I went to the unemployment office in Flint, Michigan, and signed up
for work. A couple of days later, I received an offer to hire into General
Motors as an hourly employee. With nothing else seemingly available, I accepted
the offer and thus began my thirty-five-year auto-industry career. I hired into
Chevrolet Flint Frame and Stamping. Flint Stamping is located in a complex of
three large General Motors plants. In addition to Flint Stamping, the Flint
Truck Assembly and the Flint Engine plants are located at the corners of
Bristol Road and Van Slyke, at the very southern edge of the city of Flint.
My first morning
on the job is a blur for me. I attended some sort of new-hire orientation that
lasted for a couple of hours. Then we were walked out onto the factory floor—or
I should say, down to the factory floor, as we were on the mezzanine level of
the plant and took the down escalator to the floor.
What a shock I
received as I rode down that escalator to the shop floor for the first time! I
couldn’t believe my eyes. The first thing I heard was the deafening roar of the
line presses stamping out the sheet metal parts. In the orientation, they had
warned us about the high decibel level of noise in the plant and told us we
would be subject to discipline if we didn’t wear the earplugs the company
provided for us. I was thankful for the earplugs I was now wearing.
I could also feel
the tremendous heat generated by all of the industrial equipment operating as
far as my eyes could see. It seemed like an endless sea of men and machinery.
There were miles of monorails from one end of the plant to the other. Never in
my wildest imaginings would I have pictured the shop to look like this. As we
reached the floor level, there was a guy who looked at us, laughed, and said,
“You’ll be so-o-r-r-y!” Somehow, we were handed off to our foreman to be given
our first job assignments. My first supervisor was a guy named Joe.
My first job
assignment was to operate a small spot welder. This is a stand-alone machine
that assembles and prepares subassemblies for further use later on. My training
consisted of the following: “Take this bracket out of the gondola and place it
in the welder. Place the second piece of metal over the first, and then put
your hands up here, one on each of the two palm buttons. Continue holding the
palm buttons until the machine has completed its entire cycle. Remove the
welded assembly out of the machine, and place it in the finished-parts
gondola.” The foreman left after I ran a couple of pieces correctly and after
warning me about poor quality and not running fast enough—so much for my
training on the floor!
Left alone, I
began to run as many parts as I could as fast as I could. I really needed this
job. A short time later, another hourly employee came up to me and told me to
slow down; there was a set amount that could be run in one hour’s time, and I
was in danger of violating the agreed-upon standards. I continued to run as
instructed by my supervisor while I eyed
this guy and sized him up. He was fairly tall but had a rotund stomach and
looked to be very out of shape. Remember, I was just six weeks out of the
Marine Corps infantry and was highly trained not to take any crap from anybody.
This included navy swabbies, army doggies, and out-of-shape production
employees. I thought about how I could take this guy down: first, a swift kick
to the groin area to start things out and then a couple of quick punches to the
head and then maybe a knee to the face as he faltered. This was how I had been
trained and what I had been brainwashed into thinking over the past three
years. It all came back to me very quickly, in an instant. I was reacting, not
thinking. However, in our orientation (which I think was one of the first of
its kind in the plant), labor relations went over the “shop rules,” one of
which was no fighting allowed. So I thanked the gentleman and slowed way down,
praying that my foreman would understand when he came back.
When the foreman
showed up again, he wasn’t interested in the parts I had run. We had an
emergency, and he needed me to fill in on the press line. He told me that
because I had short hair, he was going to give me a “good” job. I was placed on
the press line that stamped out tie bars for the 1974 Chevrolet Impala. A tie
bar is a piece of sheet metal that goes on the front end of a vehicle. It used
to go between the hood and the grille. Nowadays, this part is incorporated into
the hood itself.
My job turned out
to be painting die goop all around the perimeter of the part as it came out of
what I think was the trim die. So I had a bucket of goop and a long-handled
brush, and I painted this gooey substance around the perimeter of the entire
part. Poor Joe, though, because if he could have seen how I
anticipated having my hair long in about six months, he wouldn’t have given me
the “good” job. I hated my Marine Corps haircut; it was high and tight in an
era of long hair. When I was home on leave in 1972, I was mildly harassed in a
local bar because of my short hair, and I was determined to grow it long enough
to have a ponytail. I wanted to fit back into society.
I don’t remember
how my first day ended, but for the start of my second day, I knew I had to
“punch in” my time card to start my shift. The words I remember my foreman
saying at the end of the shift were, “Don’t be late. It’s a violation of the
shop rules.” I became very nervous, thinking that I might not be able to find
my way to my department in the morning. Then a brilliant idea hit me. I noticed
there was a set of train tracks right near the time clock. Feeling good about
my discovery, I left the two-million-square-foot facility for the first time. I
thought it would be a snap to return quickly to my department time clock
location first thing in the morning.
When I got to my
car in the parking lot, I realized I hadn’t anticipated the shift-change
activity. The second shifters were still coming in, and the first shifters were
leaving. There were well over four thousand hourly employees working at the
plant, round the clock on three shifts. We had full employment at the time. The
parking lot was a nightmare, and I learned that when the hourly employees left
the plant, you’d better get out of the way because all hell broke loose. There
was the revving of engines, the squealing of tires, the curses, and the shouts
to move in a quagmire of gridlock. After being under lock and key all day, the
animals had been let free. That first day, I sat in my car and waited for the
parking lot to clear before I ventured safely out. Later, I was no different in
revving my engine and squealing my tires. I was finally free, and this animal
was in control of his life again.
The next morning,
I arrived at the plant forty-five minutes early. That left me plenty of time to
walk to the time clock and get punched in. I followed the train tracks for what
seemed like forever, but I couldn’t locate my department. I was starting to
feel uncomfortable, but I still had twenty minutes or so left to get to my time
clock. Then I discovered another set of train tracks in the plant. Now things
were looking up; I could find my way. Maybe this was the right way to go. I
followed this set of tracks for what seemed like an eternity, but I still
couldn’t locate my department. There was now less than three minutes to go
before punch in. Just great, my second day in the shop, and I’m going to be
late. Holy Crap!, I thought. I had been a sergeant in the Marine Corps.
I was always the responsible one. I was always in charge, and I took care of
everything. We always said in the marines, “Don’t be a worthless piece of
shit,” and that was how I felt at that moment. I was a “shit bird,” just like
all of the other guys who couldn’t get themselves squared away in the Marine
Corps! We marines never desired to be a shit bird.
Another employee
must have seen the panic on my face because he asked if he could help me. I
told him I was looking for the time clock for my department and it was located
by the train well. He told me there were three main train wells and a couple of
smaller ones located throughout the plant. He said that you had to go by the
column locations. I had no idea what he was talking about. He told me to look
up and see the markings on each of the lamb’s-wool
green ( that’s the General Motors paint color) column posts. I looked up, and sure enough, a letter
from the alphabet and a number marked each one. He asked me which department I
was assigned to. I told him department 176. He was kind enough to walk me to my
department and to the time clock. Waiting there for me was the foreman, and he
wasn’t very happy. The kind soul explained the situation to the foreman, and
the foreman told me he’d let me go this time but never to be late again. Thank
you, kind soul, who helped me so long ago.
The First
Ninety Days
New Hire
It all started in September 1973. I had
recently been discharged from the United States Marine Corps after completing a
three-year hitch. I went home and started school at the local community
college, but three weeks later, I realized I wasn’t ready for school. I had a
very poor academic record from high school, and at that time, college was too
big of a step for me. I dropped out of college after this very short beginning.
I felt confused and alone. I found myself longing for the routine and certainty
of the Marine Corps.
So not knowing
what to do, I went to the unemployment office in Flint, Michigan, and signed up
for work. A couple of days later, I received an offer to hire into General
Motors as an hourly employee. With nothing else seemingly available, I accepted
the offer and thus began my thirty-five-year auto-industry career. I hired into
Chevrolet Flint Frame and Stamping. Flint Stamping is located in a complex of
three large General Motors plants. In addition to Flint Stamping, the Flint
Truck Assembly and the Flint Engine plants are located at the corners of
Bristol Road and Van Slyke, at the very southern edge of the city of Flint.
My first morning
on the job is a blur for me. I attended some sort of new-hire orientation that
lasted for a couple of hours. Then we were walked out onto the factory floor—or
I should say, down to the factory floor, as we were on the mezzanine level of
the plant and took the down escalator to the floor.
What a shock I
received as I rode down that escalator to the shop floor for the first time! I
couldn’t believe my eyes. The first thing I heard was the deafening roar of the
line presses stamping out the sheet metal parts. In the orientation, they had
warned us about the high decibel level of noise in the plant and told us we
would be subject to discipline if we didn’t wear the earplugs the company
provided for us. I was thankful for the earplugs I was now wearing.
I could also feel
the tremendous heat generated by all of the industrial equipment operating as
far as my eyes could see. It seemed like an endless sea of men and machinery.
There were miles of monorails from one end of the plant to the other. Never in
my wildest imaginings would I have pictured the shop to look like this. As we
reached the floor level, there was a guy who looked at us, laughed, and said,
“You’ll be so-o-r-r-y!” Somehow, we were handed off to our foreman to be given
our first job assignments. My first supervisor was a guy named Joe.
My first job
assignment was to operate a small spot welder. This is a stand-alone machine
that assembles and prepares subassemblies for further use later on. My training
consisted of the following: “Take this bracket out of the gondola and place it
in the welder. Place the second piece of metal over the first, and then put
your hands up here, one on each of the two palm buttons. Continue holding the
palm buttons until the machine has completed its entire cycle. Remove the
welded assembly out of the machine, and place it in the finished-parts
gondola.” The foreman left after I ran a couple of pieces correctly and after
warning me about poor quality and not running fast enough—so much for my
training on the floor!
Left alone, I
began to run as many parts as I could as fast as I could. I really needed this
job. A short time later, another hourly employee came up to me and told me to
slow down; there was a set amount that could be run in one hour’s time, and I
was in danger of violating the agreed-upon standards. I continued to run as
instructed by my supervisor while I eyed
this guy and sized him up. He was fairly tall but had a rotund stomach and
looked to be very out of shape. Remember, I was just six weeks out of the
Marine Corps infantry and was highly trained not to take any crap from anybody.
This included navy swabbies, army doggies, and out-of-shape production
employees. I thought about how I could take this guy down: first, a swift kick
to the groin area to start things out and then a couple of quick punches to the
head and then maybe a knee to the face as he faltered. This was how I had been
trained and what I had been brainwashed into thinking over the past three
years. It all came back to me very quickly, in an instant. I was reacting, not
thinking. However, in our orientation (which I think was one of the first of
its kind in the plant), labor relations went over the “shop rules,” one of
which was no fighting allowed. So I thanked the gentleman and slowed way down,
praying that my foreman would understand when he came back.
When the foreman
showed up again, he wasn’t interested in the parts I had run. We had an
emergency, and he needed me to fill in on the press line. He told me that
because I had short hair, he was going to give me a “good” job. I was placed on
the press line that stamped out tie bars for the 1974 Chevrolet Impala. A tie
bar is a piece of sheet metal that goes on the front end of a vehicle. It used
to go between the hood and the grille. Nowadays, this part is incorporated into
the hood itself.
My job turned out
to be painting die goop all around the perimeter of the part as it came out of
what I think was the trim die. So I had a bucket of goop and a long-handled
brush, and I painted this gooey substance around the perimeter of the entire
part. Poor Joe, though, because if he could have seen how I
anticipated having my hair long in about six months, he wouldn’t have given me
the “good” job. I hated my Marine Corps haircut; it was high and tight in an
era of long hair. When I was home on leave in 1972, I was mildly harassed in a
local bar because of my short hair, and I was determined to grow it long enough
to have a ponytail. I wanted to fit back into society.
I don’t remember
how my first day ended, but for the start of my second day, I knew I had to
“punch in” my time card to start my shift. The words I remember my foreman
saying at the end of the shift were, “Don’t be late. It’s a violation of the
shop rules.” I became very nervous, thinking that I might not be able to find
my way to my department in the morning. Then a brilliant idea hit me. I noticed
there was a set of train tracks right near the time clock. Feeling good about
my discovery, I left the two-million-square-foot facility for the first time. I
thought it would be a snap to return quickly to my department time clock
location first thing in the morning.
When I got to my
car in the parking lot, I realized I hadn’t anticipated the shift-change
activity. The second shifters were still coming in, and the first shifters were
leaving. There were well over four thousand hourly employees working at the
plant, round the clock on three shifts. We had full employment at the time. The
parking lot was a nightmare, and I learned that when the hourly employees left
the plant, you’d better get out of the way because all hell broke loose. There
was the revving of engines, the squealing of tires, the curses, and the shouts
to move in a quagmire of gridlock. After being under lock and key all day, the
animals had been let free. That first day, I sat in my car and waited for the
parking lot to clear before I ventured safely out. Later, I was no different in
revving my engine and squealing my tires. I was finally free, and this animal
was in control of his life again.
The next morning,
I arrived at the plant forty-five minutes early. That left me plenty of time to
walk to the time clock and get punched in. I followed the train tracks for what
seemed like forever, but I couldn’t locate my department. I was starting to
feel uncomfortable, but I still had twenty minutes or so left to get to my time
clock. Then I discovered another set of train tracks in the plant. Now things
were looking up; I could find my way. Maybe this was the right way to go. I
followed this set of tracks for what seemed like an eternity, but I still
couldn’t locate my department. There was now less than three minutes to go
before punch in. Just great, my second day in the shop, and I’m going to be
late. Holy Crap!, I thought. I had been a sergeant in the Marine Corps.
I was always the responsible one. I was always in charge, and I took care of
everything. We always said in the marines, “Don’t be a worthless piece of
shit,” and that was how I felt at that moment. I was a “shit bird,” just like
all of the other guys who couldn’t get themselves squared away in the Marine
Corps! We marines never desired to be a shit bird.
Another employee
must have seen the panic on my face because he asked if he could help me. I
told him I was looking for the time clock for my department and it was located
by the train well. He told me there were three main train wells and a couple of
smaller ones located throughout the plant. He said that you had to go by the
column locations. I had no idea what he was talking about. He told me to look
up and see the markings on each of the lamb’s-wool
green ( that’s the General Motors paint color) column posts. I looked up, and sure enough, a letter
from the alphabet and a number marked each one. He asked me which department I
was assigned to. I told him department 176. He was kind enough to walk me to my
department and to the time clock. Waiting there for me was the foreman, and he
wasn’t very happy. The kind soul explained the situation to the foreman, and
the foreman told me he’d let me go this time but never to be late again. Thank
you, kind soul, who helped me so long ago.
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