Loose Laces

Part Four...

More background...

In September of 1965, my classroom training began for the electrician's apprenticeship program. Man, it took me five years just to get out of high school and I wasn't looking forward to resuming something I very much detested. School was only one night per week for 36 weeks for four years for four hours each night. And it was in Kingsport, so that much more traveling was involved. Rats! Although basic electricity was taught, the subject we were required to know very well at the end of four years was the National Electrical Code. The code is a set of guidelines and rules set up to keep everyone involved with electrical work as safe as possible, including the end users of our work. Along with school, I was required to have 8,000 work hours before I was allowed to graduate to journeyman.

Another thing about the Eastman; they had rules that their employees worked under, and we had to abide by them, too. One we didn't like was the full hour we were forced to take for lunch. Our work day began at 7:30 each morning, and ended at 4:30 pm. It meant getting out of bed no later than 6:00 am, showering, and getting to Kingsport before the gates were closed, putting in nine hours, and then fighting traffic on a two lane road until we got home again. It took us about twelve hours to get paid for eight.

Apprentices changed journeymen about every six months so we could get as much benefit from different experiences as possible. Most of my leaders were good men and good electricians. Two I worked and carpooled with were hunters. One time I talked them into letting me take them to Fall Branch on a rabbit hunt, to a place where I had killed many of the poor creatures. Well, we went, and not one critter showed himself all day. All that was killed was my hat, and it was blown to kingdom come by several shotgun blasts. No, I wasn't wearing it, but it was my favorite one. The price I paid for leading them on a barren journey.

This was the sixties, which fit my demeanor perfectly. I already had grown hair like the Beatles months before most Americans knew they existed. Being as skinny and tall as I was, my uncle told me not to stand in a corner very long, because someone might think I was a mop and start cleaning floors with me.

In 1967, I decided to grow a beard, mainly because it would give me an extra few minutes of the mornings to sleep. The Tennessee Eastman Company, being sole owners of their own employees' souls, decided to take mine too. If I didn't get rid of the beard, I was to be terminated. I took it to the union steward, whom in turn asked the union Business Agent (BA) what to do. I was told by them to get rid of the beard. Eastman provided employment for too many union members to take a chance on making them mad. So, I went home and pouted for a week. The BA called and said if I didn't get back to work immediately and sans face hair, I would be out of the program. So, facing the fact that I had a wife and now two kids to support, plus I wanted to get out my parent's house, I shaved and returned to work, but I was never again enthusiastic about my trade union.

Any journeyman whom worked at the Eastman did so for less than scale. They would pay $.25 per hour less than what he would make outside the gates. The journeymen had to accept the stupid deal, or face hitting the road as a tramp. Here it is 40 years later, and Eastman still employs union contractors, but they don't pay full scale.

In 1968, Carolyn and I had our first house built. It was 1300 sq. ft. with three bedrooms and my pride and joy; a full basement. Hot damn! My parents donated the land, Carolyn did the painting, and I did the electric.

Finally in September of 1969, I topped out, but continued working for the contractor at Eastman until early March, 1970 when they had enough of my "insubordination" and fired me, supposedly banning me for life from working there.

Next... hitting the road.