FACTORY LESSONS

Even though I moved away almost 50 years ago I still read about Millville on-line. Yesterday there was an announcement that the Wheaton Glass plant was closing…the lifeblood of the city’s working person…the factory.  And I remembered my first day of hard work in my life….

Wheaton Glass Circa 1962

…My first job was filled with surprises for sure.   I dressed in the standard factory garb – tan khaki pants and white tee shirt.  And had my first pair of ‘work' shoes – hard toed heavy black ones that my dad insisted that I wear that first day.  They made my feet sweat.  Dad worked at the plant in the “Pentagon” as the executive offices were fondly called by the unwashed.  He was a model maker and master craftsman.  He dropped me off at the north gatehouse and I joined the parade of zombies marching to another shift in the steamy heat of summer.  I didn’t recognize any except a couple of my newly graduated friends trudging along.  There wasn’t much conversation and very few smiles.

Entering the vented roofed smokey building the temperature rose from a pleasant 70’s on this June morning to what seemed to be close to what hell feels like.  It had to be 100 degrees – and thus why they called this area of the plant the “hot end.”  But more than the heat the noise was overwhelming.  A constant dissonance;  a droning that I would learn came from the glassblowing machine behemoths as they “blew” molten glass into bottles.  

(Glassblowing bottles bgan with a  journeyman of the craft and a long blowpipe.  Today the glass manufacture is mechanical and involves three furnaces. The first, which contains a crucible of molten glass, is simply referred to as "the furnace". The second is called the "glory hole", and is used to reheat a piece in between steps of working with it. The final furnace is called the "lehr" or "annealer", and is used to slowly cool the glass, over a period of a few hours to a few days, depending on the size of the pieces. This keeps the glass from cracking or shattering due to thermal stress. Historically, all three furnaces were contained in one structure, with a set of progressively cooler chambers for each of the three purposes - Wikipedia) Hovering around each machine were was a man soiled in oil and grime who constantly checked gauges and tinkered with the levers and cranks on the machine.  His job was a skill perfected over many years of hard work labor.  I would learn that these men were the “Operators” and held the highest status and union title in the production of the plant.

 I followed the mix of women and men around the machines and made my way between a series of lehrs with their never ending parade of bottles moving slowly toward the “packers”.  When I applied I had been told to report to the office.  This small room of several desks was the only one that had air conditioning – walking in chilled me, but not as much as my “chilly” reception.  I was met by my “foreman” whose demeanor frankly scared the heck out of me. I knew him from the outer world.  His son and I played football together.  But here in the plant he had a totally different personality.  He immediately made it clear that he was the “boss” and not a friend.  In less than 10 seconds I was given my gate pass, signed a injury release form and was told to go to the far end of the packing department and report there to the assistant foreman who was out on the floor.  I met this second in command boss who tersely said, “See this damn mess (a cluttered bunch of cartons, broken pallets and other stuff that I didn’t recognize) move it all down to the other end of the building and sweep up this area. Use that hand truck.  Use that broom.  Mr. Wheaton likes a clean and uncluttered factory.”  And he marched away and my first real work day had begun.  I didn’t mind the job even though it did seem a bit below my skill level – I was a high school graduate and soon to be a college freshman and an anomaly compared to most of the workforce !  I spent a very boring day moving a ton of stuff about 100 yards across the packing house.  Twice the assistant foreman stopped by,  looked, laughed and left without comment.  I guessed I was doing what was required?  As I finished sweeping the area for the fifth time to a pristine concrete shine my work day was suddenly over – and it could not have come quicker, my legs were screaming.  I don’t think I had ever stood on my feet that long in my life. 

Lesson one - there was no “sitting” in this packing house, except for two 10 minute breaks and a half hour lunch.  That night at supper I described my day and my dad’s only remark was, “that’s factory work for ya.”  

I reported to the same assistant foreman the next day.  He looked at me, shook his head and with a bit of sarcasm said, “See that stuff you moved yesterday?  Bring it all back here to where you found it.  And take your time – you have all day to do a good job.”  Good grief, I now got it. My first task in the plant was “busy work”. The sem–boss was making up work for me because they could not just have me standing around getting paid for nothing.  I had to look busy and get paid for doing nothing.  This second day seemed twice as long as the first – but my legs were not so tired at the end.  Plus, I was getting used to the constant noise, dust and heat.  I also learned to relish my lunch break sandwich as I absorbed the bickering of the regulars.  Their standard conversation centered on baseball and escapades of certain wild women/men for the most part.  I would hear variations of these themes for the entire summer.

The next day I was assigned to my real job -  “packing” and learned the task from a gnarled old guy who had been doing this robotic job for 40+ years.  I figured that my first two days were to help me get familiar with the swelter and the sweat.   I stood in one spot on a rubber mat for the next 7 hours. The packing job was not hard to learn.  But there were rarely any breaks in the line.  When one started to pack they did it for two hours without stopping until their official 15 paid rest break - which was 15 minutes off the job.  However the break room was about a 3 minute walk so the actual break was 9 whole minutes.  I did this routine for the next ten weeks.   But more than the work I mastered of a speedy packer who inspected each bottle for flaws - I learned some of the greatest lessons of my life.  

It took me just three days of packing to understand that I had to study hard and graduate from college.  I learned how tough life is without college education and how hard many people in my town worked to put food on the table and give their kids a better life.  And most of all I found that bosses weren’t as bad as I thought they were going to be…after all.