In the sauna, the villager newspaper sits. Picking
it up to pass the time in this heat chamber, I read he second page about the
closing of the 125 acre plot of land where the Ford plant sat. Next to me a big
bellied man says, "Is that about the Ford plant, I used to work
there."
“Did you know Rich Gabbert?”
“Yes!”
My cousin worked there the same time he did.
This common ground could be key to him opening up.
Living near the plant, I saw an entirely different view, a view from the
outside. His story was so different than mine.
His brass ring salary, overrode any decency in being
a worker there. 30 years of prison, 10 hours days Monday – Friday, eight hours
on Saturday or 58 hours per week, not bad pay working everyday for a year made
almost $80,000. Where else could an illiterate make that kind of money?
He said, a fellow worker, a farmer living 60 miles
away, could never make that kind of money on his spread. He’d drive three-hours a day to work the
line. Getting up at 4 AM to be at the
plant by 6, work until 5 PM, drive home, do chores, eat dinner before
collapsing, resting for another day. Not a once in a while thing, every day for
years, hours and hours of the same thing, over and over. All for the money! It brought him the nice house, the truck in
the driveway, but his brain was deadened by sameness, day after day. Did he
ever have a chance to say, “Is it worth it?”
The 13th
amendment took away slavery years ago, but people like him stepped into it
without thinking, they became indentured to the life and the things that their
income could buy.
Working the line gave you 55 seconds to get the part
installed in the truck..
"Mine was the dashboard." he said.
58 times an hour, 7 hours a day. He got pretty good
at it, giving him 10 seconds rest each minute.
What was the best job? I said.
A janitor, the job he got after 25 years, or to be
the reliever. Through the day, the reliever would take the place of 10
different workers, for 5 to 10 minutes he'd flow-through their jobs doing that
person's task until they'd return. That guy would have time between too.
Lunch break
started at 11:30 – 1230, he said.
"And I had to work those damn Saturdays."
He won those, with overtime giving him more money,
but put him, another day in prison, away from his life. He couldn’t get away
from another truck coming down the line.
What happens to a man driven so hard to become a
robot?
Obedient to his job, so much, he couldn't say, “I'm
not coming in because I’m sick?” Sick and tired of doing this same thing over
and over again. You could see it in their eyes, standing with the air gun
wrench in one hand, bolts in the other, ready for another part assembly please.
Management knew the archetype to hire. How could
they ever take a man with a college education? He had to be the type that would
waste his brains for the money, erased by this grueling case of sameness.
By Wednesday, the only thing I could do was
hop into my truck and hit the nearest bar, for a beer to deadened the grind of
another day in my life," he said.
All these things have occurred because of the
glamour of the automobile and its assembly.
Before the railroad, men never left the village they
lived in. If you couldn't walk or ride a horse, there was no movement. With the
advent of transportation, everyone was taken in, having to use of these new
methods.
It was
economical, but over time it's progressed into a new lifestyle of money. Why do
you spend $20,000 for a car, that’s worth nothing after five years, cause you
driven it into the ground? All the drivers, as all the assembly workers, are
hidden away in their prisons.
I use to drive people around, like from downtown to
the airport. Asking would you like to go
the freeway or the greenway during rush-hour, most would be drawn in to pick up
the freeway, just to be there a few minutes early, even though the time
difference was 5 minutes. They’d miss a view out the window at the trees and streets
and rivers, taking them to another place, into their world of concrete stretches
of roads, the freeway gave them.
You have to remove yourself from these people that
have that life, the ones that do it for the money, to perpetuate their life.
Where will I put myself next? There’s no place you can get away from some
types of imprisonment. No one will fence me in. They can’t make me feel guilty
for not doing the things you have done for the better part of your life.
Success is determined by what you have ahead, not
what you’ve got now. Living in the now, holds onto what you’ve got, which keeps
you in prison for a little more of your life.
Husky pull dogsleds, love to be harnessed and
run. Done, they love to be bedded in a
box not much bigger than they are. How
many people pull their sleds through life, so they can sleep in the confines of
their home?
Comfort with your home, means you will never leave.
Your life becomes what you have, not what’s coming into it. Don’t become a part
of the assembly line. Too much creativity is in a life to desert it for those
tasks that you have to do over and over.
You have to ask, could I ever sit in front of the machine, that makes
Mostaccioli for Roundy's, hour after hour, days and years.
I'm sorry, it's not possible. Once you've made it to
the top of the mountain, could you ever be satisfied in the valley.
