Journeyman

I am going to be honest; I was a dork in high school. I did all the clubs, all the sports, and had a 3.9 G.P.A. I had a full scholarship to a handful of different colleges and chose to stay at a local school that several of my friends were going to. I quickly learned that my priorities were anything but school, as I was a pre-med major and that required actual studying. I failed out halfway through my first semester. I tried one more time after a pep talk from some friends and pivoted to education. Again, life got in the way with having to pay bills and be a grown up, and I quickly failed out and now had gigantic student loans and grants to pay back.

I found a local manufacturing plant and decided to get a grown-up job to support myself. This manufacturing plant was over eighty years old and most of the town I lived in had either worked there or had family members who worked there. This was also during a time where you did not see woman in engineering, skilled trades, or leadership roles.

This was also before you could stay on your parents’ insurance until you were twenty-six, so at nineteen I had an apartment, a car that worked sometimes, and no health insurance. About a month into working there, I realized that line work was going to make me insane and decided to apply for the local apprenticeship program. They had several choices: electrician, tool maker, millwright, and plumber. None of these jobs I fully understood the scope of the work that it entailed.

I walked confidently up to the human resources office to put my name in the pool for the upcoming apprenticeship jobs.

“I think I would like to be an electrician” I said to the girl behind the counter.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “There is a two-year waiting list for the electricians.”

I thought it over and realized I would not survive two more years of working on the line. And asked, “What are my other options?”

The lady smiled and said, “Plumber?”

“Nope. I do not want to play with sewage.” I answered quickly. “What else is there?”

“Millwright?” she answered.

“What’s a millwright?” I asked.

“They are the mechanics of the building. They fix all of the equipment, they weld stuff, they build things.” She replied. “They are kind of a jack-of-all trades”

“That sounds fun. Sign me up.” I answered.

“You do realize there has never been a woman in that program, right?” she said hesitantly.

“Why does that matter?” I asked. As a nineteen-year-old, I had not experienced much of the “girls can’t do this” thought process. “Sign me up.” I repeated.

The lady smiled and said “This is going to be interesting. Let me know how it goes.”

I was shocked to find that word of my application spread through the five-hundred-person plant quickly. And soon I was getting a barrage of people saying that “Girls don’t belong in skilled trades.” Or “You are never going to survive this.”

I decided to do some homework, as these comments began to make me question my decision. The work itself was very mechanical. Heavy lifting was required, using tools, being able to read blueprints and schematics. I was going to have to understand why a machine was making a weird noise and be able to fix it. I had never even fixed my bike growing up.

Then came the interview process. First there was a test. The first part was math, which I aced. The second part were gears, and you had to tell which direction the last gear in the sequence was moving based on the first one, again I aced. And then came the tool test. I failed everything except the screwdriver. Actually, thinking back, I may have failed that too, because I am not sure I picked Phillips screwdriver, instead of flat head. Anyways, I bombed it.

Next came the panel interview, which consisted of four union members and four leaders in the company. All older white males. This was terrifying from many perspectives. I had never interviewed with more than one person, and these were professionals. I was a bratty nineteen-year-old.

I sat on one side of a long wooden table and the eight interviewers sat on the other side with piles of paper and pens.

“It looks like you did well on everything but the tool test. You do realize that you will have to use tools to perform this job, right?” One of the older men with a creepy yellow mustache asked.

“Yes sir, I have never used tools before. But I am not afraid to learn.” I replied with a smile.

The next thirty minutes are a blur as they begin asking all kinds of technical questions that I did not have the answer to. My confidence was tanking that they were going to allow me into the program.

“Have you ever helped your dad fix a car?” One of them asked.

“No, sir.” I replied.

“How about fix your bike, did you ever have to fix your bike?” Another asked.

“No, sir.” I replied.

“Why should we let you in this program, with zero experience?” Another asked.

I sat for a minute before I answered. Wondering to myself the same thing.

“Well sir, I know that I can do more than be a line worker. And while it is true that I have no experience, that can actually benefit you.” I answered.

“How so?” he questioned with a puzzled look on his face.

“Because I do not know anything about mechanics, whatever you teach me is what I will know. I do not have any bad habits for you to break. This will actually be a test on how good you can teach, because as you can see from my transcripts, I am a great student.” I answered.

Apparently, they were not expecting this response. And there was some murmuring between them before I was dismissed.

“We will let you know our decision in the next week. You are free to go.” One of them said.

I left the room with zero confidence that they were going to allow me into the program and was shocked to find out a week later that I had been selected. There were many people that began to make remarks after they had learned I was accepted.

What in the world did I sign myself up for? I don’t know that I can do this, but I have committed to this so I guess this will either be grossly successful, or I will go down in huge flames. Either way, I was in. The odds were not in my favor.

I was assigned to the second shift crew to start out. My first night, there were six of the journeymen at the break table and they asked me to sit down.

“We want to make sure that you understand something before we get started here.” One of the older guys said. “This is our world, and it is a man’s world. You better not think that you can come in here and expect us to start changing how we act because you get offended over some dumb comment. We can make you or break you. So, you are either with us or against us. Do not make waves little girl.”

I am pretty sure my face turned purple; I could feel the heat rising.

“I have no intention on making this hard on any of you. I just want to learn.” I answered.

“Ok, then. You do realize you do not belong here, right? I am not about to carry you, so you better be ready to work. Don’t think because you are a girl, we are going to be easy on you” Another, younger guy asked.

“Dude, I want the same opportunity you have. I am not afraid to work. I just ask for some patience while I learn stuff, and that you answer the nine million questions that I have. I promise I am not here to make your life any harder.” I now realized I was probably going to fail at this program as I had zero support from the guys I was going to be working with.

Slowly but surely, I learned more and more about mechanics. I enrolled in the pneumatics, hydraulics, welding, blueprint, and other classes required to get my journeyman’s card. I took blueprints home to study the equipment that we were expected to fix. I would help my journeymen fix cars on the weekends to try to develop the skill further.

I felt mediocre at best as I progressed through the program. But I wasn’t going to quit. If they did not want me there, they were going to have to kick me out. I did feel like I was making progress with the relationships with all the guys, and they slowly would give me jobs to do on my own. They stopped being jerks when I would ask questions about some of the equipment. And I think most importantly, they start to play pranks on me, just like they did with each other.

I progressed to about 150 hours to completing the program and earning my journeyman’s card, when the plant decided to close. They were moving the operation to India. Because it was a union shop, that meant the lowest seniority people would get laid off first. I got the call that I was being cut and would have to go back out on the shop floor as an operator. During this time, a few of my fellow apprentices were able to go to the interview board and request credit for hours that they had worked fixing cars. The board granted the credit, and they were able to graduate. A few of my coworkers urged me to do the same, since I had worked alongside of them in their garages.

I presented my case, acknowledging that a few of my coworkers had been granted the same opportunity and was optimistic that they would grant me my hours. After deliberating the board agreed and I was ecstatic.

A few days later, I was called to the office where the older man with the yellow mustache informed me that they were not going to be able to grant my hours because I was too big of a liability if I were to go work somewhere else. I pleaded with him, and the answer stayed no. I was devastated. I had put in four years of work in a not super friendly environment to make it 150 hours from the finish line and be punched in the gut.

I decided to request a meeting with the board. At this point I was somewhat desperate. I knew that it would be almost impossible to find another company to pick up my program at the place it was in, and that anywhere else I was going to be forced to start over. I was not confident that they were going to agree to the meeting, or that they would hear me out.

It was very similar to the interview process, with me sitting on one side of the table and the eight of them sitting on the other. They asked what my thoughts were on the situation.

“I know that I am not as skilled as some of my coworkers. But I did the same amount of work as each and every one of them. I put in the hour, and you all signed off on it. I am so close to having my card and being able to move on after the company closes. I am also aware that you have provided credit to at least two of my coworkers for fixing cars in their garages. I think it is only fair that you offer me the same opportunity as they have signed off on the hours that I have worked with them. There is nothing in any of my personnel files that tells a story that my work has been any different from theirs. So, the only reason I can see that you are unwilling to give me these hours is because I am a woman.” I said this with tears in my eyes.

"We will discuss this further and get back to you with our response." The man with the yellow mustache responded.

This meeting was about a week before the big Christmas party that was held every year. All the retired journeymen would come on site and there would be close to one hundred people at this party every year. It was a big deal.

A few of my coworkers pulled me to the side and told me that they thought the situation was unfair and that none of the current plumbers, electricians, millwrights, or toolmakers were going to attend the Christmas party if they did not give me my card. They said that they had already let upper management know of their decision and were going to wait it out until the decision was made.

The day of the Christmas party, I was running a welder on the line, when my old boss came up and said he needed to talk to me for a few minutes. He took me to the main break room where they hold the Christmas party. I could see all my coworkers, as well as the retired workers standing there.

He held his hand out and said, “You did it kid.” As he handed me my card.

One of my journeymen yelled out “You better not cry. Journeyman don’t cry.”

I began to laugh. I did it. I truly thought at the beginning of this program that there was no way that I would finish. I thought for sure they would break me, or I would get kicked out, and that didn’t happen. This was truly one of the most difficult things I have done in my life, and it has given me the foundation to the work that I do now. I am grateful that I stuck with it even when I knew the odds were not in my favor. This was one of the most rewarding experiences and coolest stories in my life.