The oil spill buzz was all over town, not only in the state
of Alaska, but ‘outside’ in the lower 48 states too. There were plenty of oil-spill
jobs to be filled.
As I pulled off Commercial Drive and into the Laborer’s
Union Hall parking lot on my first morning, I gasped and thought, ‘Oh My
God—this is going to be more than I expected!’ The lot already seemed full with
plenty of folks milling around outside.
What had I been thinking—that I would just walk in, sign up,
and someone would simply call my name for one of these many oil-spill jobs that
I had been hearing about?
I walked slowly toward the entrance while trying to casually
stop and listen in on the conversations among those folks standing outside,
smoking and talking to various buddies and strangers. I was hoping I might pick
up as much gossip as I could, to get an idea what exactly was going on
regarding cleanup oil spill work. I realized then that I was going to be on the
bottom of the union dispatch list, but I did hear that hundreds—or was it
thousands?—were needed, so I thought I better hang in there for a while before
I would take another route in getting an oil-spill job.
I quickly figured I best hurry and sign up as fast as I
could so there would be less folks signing ahead of me. I signed the books,
paid a monthly fee, and was given a copy of the dispatch rules. Then I just
fell in with the rest of the group standing around.
As I looked about, in this huge hall that got smaller by the
minute as more folks crowded in, I thought the men must out-number the women
maybe ten to one; plus, we were not all Alaskans. Although I had arrived in
Anchorage back in 1969, many from outside Alaska were looking for work here,
too.
I kept looking around to see if I knew anyone while still
trying to listen in on conversations, to hear what I could pick up as helpful
news. I did feel like I fit right in as I stood there with my worn jeans—the
grubbiest I could find—with my old hiking boots, a sweatshirt hoodie over my
flannel shirt and turtleneck top. Along with my International Brotherhood of
Electrical Workers (IBEW) Local 1547 baseball cap on my head, I wanted to let
everyone know I was a union member, but just not of the Laborer’s Union. Most
had their working clothes on—jeans, Carhartts, boots or hardy-working shoes
with big rubber soles, and baseball caps with all kinds of insignias.
I heard lots of construction jobs being called out, and found
it quite interesting that I should find myself here in this union hall, having
recently been laid off working as a staff member for the IBEW Local 1547 Union.
I knew I needed to line up another job soon, for I was living from paycheck to
paycheck. I was glad I had been able to raise the children on my own; my son
was now working ‘outside,’ and my daughter was attending college in California.
I figured I could make enough money to get ahead of things, yet I didn’t really
know what to expect. Getting an oil-spill job sounded exciting, and somehow I
got caught up in the frenzy and adventure of it all once I had made up my mind
to go after this job. What did I know about cleaning up oil? I thought I would
soon learn when I got there!
Well, as the days went by and I was still showing up at the
Laborer’s Union hall every day, then nearly two weeks and still no dispatch, I
decided to go to Plan B: swapping out my car for my girlfriend’s van, getting
my bike and gear packed inside, and heading down the road for Valdez.
The company that was doing some of the hiring, Norcon, had
set up offices right in downtown Valdez. I ended up parking my van along
Mineral Creek, just outside of Valdez, where various folks had pitched tents. I
knew I couldn’t drive my van into town as I would lose my great camping spot;
those were hard to come by because everyone else was also camping out to check
on oil-spill jobs every day. So I drove my bike to the Norcon office daily and
would pester anyone who would listen to me. I also volunteered at the Otter
Center where otters were being cleaned from the oil.
I met a couple of nurses (one being MaryLee Hayes, who
remains a very dear friend). They were tenting next to my great camping spot
and were willing to help save my place for me so I could drive to Seward to try
for a dispatch from the Laborer’s Union hall there. Nothing was happening for
me in Seward, either, so thus while I had time, I volunteered at the bird
center. Here I, along with others, took puffins and placed them in small rubber
tubs to clean them with toothbrushes using Dawn soap.
One day, as I returned back in Valdez, I was using a sump
pump to clean out the otter tank. I started talking to the young gal next to
me, asking where she was from and was she hoping to get an oil-spill job. She
told me she was from Massachusetts and was being paid for working in this Otter
Center. That did it for me! I immediately quit on the spot and proceeded the
next morning to head for the Norcon’s office to see why residents such as
myself were not able to get paid oil-spill jobs, but out-of-state folks were.
I explained my volunteering situation, and about the third
morning after that, I walked into the office and was told to get my issued
supplies that included rain gear, rubber boots, hard hat—and to stuff
everything in what looked like a green army duffle bag that seemed to be bigger
than I was. I couldn’t get all my personal things and my issued gear into the
duffle bag, so I ended up wearing my hardhat, rain gear, and rubber boots. I
knew I looked ridiculous, but I didn’t care! I had just enough time to get my
vehicle locked up in a designated fenced area and be ready to be flown out on a
light aircraft to a small boat. From there we were taken to an old ship where
we waited until our barge arrived to lower Herring Bay. Wow! I finally made it!
I was really lucky to be hired as a trouble-shooter for the
Norcon supervisors and for the out-of-state Exxon supervisors, who arrived on
the barge by helicopter. I never did learn how to clean rocks of the oil as I
was too busy dispatching boats, maintaining the office on the barge, and
monitoring all kinds of activities.
The current oil spill cleanup process began to be closed
down in the fall, and I arrived back in Valdez with many other workers. After
finally finding the van, I headed back for Anchorage the next morning. I was
exhausted from working more than 100 hours a week and looked forward to being
back in my hometown.
Anchorage was still buzzing with oil spill news and events. I
realized then that all Alaskans were going to be affected by this tremendous
oil spill in some capacity, for a long time to come.
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