Yep, I Worked 30 Years in a Factory

This is the only picture I have of me at Dana.
It's an unofficial coffee break. I'm on the
right wearing an apron. On the left is Mike
Barrows, with whom I had many good
conversations and laughs. (circa early 90s)

Recently I had a phone conversation with a friend, Joe Murphy. He was the human resources manager where I worked (Dana Corporation, Lima, Ohio). 

He mentioned something to me he prefaced by saying, “This is in no way a criticism.” Oh, boy when you hear those words, it’s typically worse than criticism. However—it wasn’t. He thought it was strange that I never mentioned in any of my bios the 30 years I was employed by Dana Corporation as a machine operator. He explained that would make me a more interesting and intriguing writer to read. 

In my reply, I said I wanted my bios short; I write and I’m from northwest Ohio. I now live in Boise, Idaho. As I think about it, that sounds quite empty.

When speaking to people face to face I’m quite proud of my choice of employment for thirty years. I came in contact with some of the most incredible people—factory workers. Many artistically and intellectually gifted. Many compassionate, caring, and insightful. 

When I retired, the company had a pizza party for another retiree and me. They told me I could invite five people from the plant to the party. I could only narrow it down to fifteen. I started my list with at least double that. If I’m not mistaken, the company acquiesced at ten. And to restate I had three times that many in mind.

The looming question, at least in my mind, if you like them all so well, why not acknowledge where you worked and write about them?

Almost two decades ago I started to write about where I worked and the people worked with. I stopped. Last year I started writing about a place where I worked in the early 70s. I stopped. And even though I planned both endeavors to be works of fiction, I found it drained me emotionally. I wanted to write objectively but being too close to the situation put me in a state of constant doubt of objectivity and truthfulness. 

My second book, The Desperate Summer of ’62 was as close to autobiographical or true to life as I’ve come. I rewrote it several times. I removed actual events. I suppose in some way to bury them forever. Events and characters were rearranged and absorbed into other events and characters. 

Back to my bios. If I went to Harvard or Princeton, that would not be included in my bios. I’ve always wanted my writing to stand on its own. I didn’t want people to read my work because they were intrigued by a somewhat less-than-literary background. 

After further consideration, I will embrace my 30 years as a machine operator at Dana Corporation. I have never been ashamed of it, but I have never acknowledged its value and relevance to my life as a writer or person.

In some way what I write is, in part, a testament to the good people with whom I had the pleasure of working with, learning about, and growing from. I will adjust my bios. 

Jittery Goat YouTube; Episode #25

Sticks

 

The Big Gamble in Paradise; Episode 10

This is the tenth episode of the novel, The Big Gamble in Paradise. It has just been released. This is the second book in the Trace Troy Paradise Series. It can be purchased in the Kindle digital version or paperback. 

Episode 10

While Chuck finished painting over The Poerova, three trucks full of building supplies pulled up alongside The Tramp Islander. For the next two days, cargo was lifted from the trucks and stowed in the hold. Sean operated a small onboard crane to lift the cargo from the trucks and lower them into the hold. Chuck stowed the cargo tightly in place, and at times Sean climbed into the hold to give him a hand. During that time, Trace cared for some business and legal matters, and Makani bought supplies from a list compiled by Trace. Sean, and  Chuck. 

They delivered fuel on the morning after trucks were all unloaded into the holds. The small bulldozer along with the attachments arrived late in the day. 

Trace sat at the chart desk in the pilothouse. He examined the chart in front of him tapping his finger on the island of Paulu, one of the three islands Hamilton’s investors projected to develop. He nervously checked his watch. He awaited the arrival of Sage. ‘Will he make it,’ he muttered.

Static came from the shortwave radio. “Hello, Hello, The Tramp Islander, this is Allie. Anyone there? Over.”

Trace smiled surprised. He grabbed the hand microphone from its hook. “Hello, Allie, this is Trace. Over.”

“Are you full? Over”

“There a little space on deck. Over”

“Do you have room for two pallets of twelve-foot pipe, a generator, and pump?” Over.

“Do you have the weight? Over.”

“Less than two tones. Over.”

“I’ll make room, even if I have to sleep with the pump. Over.”

“That’s good. I have some freight for you. Over.”

“Where does it go?” Over.

“One hundred and nine miles north of Paulu. Over.”

“I’m really starting to like our relationship. Over.”

“If you like it now, wait till you hear more. You’ll be in love.” Over.”

“This keeps up and I’ll be proposing marriage. What’s the name of the island? Over.”

“Kati Re. Over.”

Trace ran his finger over the chart. “Yes, I see it. Over.”

“They’ll have twenty-five tons of copra in crates. Over.”

“Copra, what’s that? Over.”

“Comes from coconuts. Over.”

“Any money in moving copra? Over.”

“Some, but it will go a long way in restoring your ship’s reputation. There’s no price on that. Over.”

“Estimate being there in five days. Over.”

“They’ll be happy to see you. Over.”

“Thanks, Allie. Over.”

“Thank you, Captain Troy. Over.”

“See you in a week or so. Over.”

Trace hung up the mic. “Copra, I wonder what it’s for.”

He grabbed the ship’s intercom. “Sean,  Chuck come to the house.”

Trace tapped his pencil while waiting for them. He looked at the books on a shelf above the chart table. He picked out, Guidebook for Shipping Products. He turned to copra. Sean and  Chuck entered the pilothouse.

“What’s up, Trace?” Sean said.

“We have a turn cargo of twenty-five tons of copra,” Trace said. “Have we ever handled that before?”

Sean and  Chuck Glanced at each other and rolled their eyes.

“Not good?” Trace said.

“It’s tricky,”  Chuck said. “We’ve handled it before. It just takes a lot of care. It’s very combustible. A spark or friction can set it off. And it can spontaneous combust.”

“If you guys don’t feel comfortable hauling it, I’ll give Allie a call, and tell her to find somebody else.”

“I’m guessing you might have been her last resort,”  Chuck said. 

“We need the shipment,” Trace said.

“That’s why she called you,”  Chuck said.

“Am I sucker for taking it?” Trace said.

“When you’re starting out, you take what you can get,” Sean said. “A ship that hauls that stuff earns a good reputation.”

“You guys know how to stow it, right?” Trace said.

“Yeah,” Sean said looking at Chuck and he nodded.

“I’ll read up on it,” Trace said tapping the book. “No copra in the Aleutians.”

“What’s that?”  Chuck turned his ear toward the pier. 

“What?” Trace said.

“Somebody out there screeching,”  Chuck said.

Trace stood and looked out the pilothouse’s front windows. “It’s Hamilton, project manager on Paulu. Wonder what he wants.”

Trace slid the side window to the pilothouse open, “Come on aboard!”

Hamilton tossed two travel bags aboard before climbing over the railing. 

“Looks like we have a passenger,” Trace said. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called down the companionway, “Makani, we got plenty of food?”

“Plenty,” Makani said. “We will have a passenger.”

Hamilton found his way to the pilothouse. By the time he entered Sean and Chuck had gone.

“How ya doin’, Trace?” Hamilton said.

“I’m fine, but surprised to see you.”

“Well, there’s a bit of a problem. My assistant who was supposed to stay with the equipment and materials on Paulu had an attack of appendicitis. So I thought I’d catch a ride.”

“I’ll have Makani get a room ready.” 

“Sorry for the suddenness of this,” Hamilton said.

“That’s okay but I’m curious, why didn’t you just wait a few days and fly to Paulu?”

“There’s no airport or landing strip. In fact, that’s one of the first things we are going to construct.”

“Don’t they have seaplanes?”

“Yeah, but the truth is, I don’t like to fly.”

“Three days at sea may change your mind.”

“I have plenty of Dramamine.” Hamilton reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills and rattled them.

“I hope you brought something to read or do. Sailing on a cargo ship is nothing like a cruise on a passenger ship.”

“I brought some paperbacks and I brought plenty of paperwork,” Hamilton said. 

“Still can drive a man crazy,” Trace said

“What does the crew do to keep sane?”

“They have duties and we’re a little crazy to begin with.”

“Project managers who accept a job in the middle of the ocean, six hundred miles from anywhere, has to be running a close second.”

“We’ll be eating at 5:00 PM and casting off before sunrise. We’re going to catch the tide.” Trace said. “If you’re a heavy sleeper we’ll be thirty miles out to sea before you wake.”

“What time is breakfast?” Hamilton asked.

“7:00 AM.”

“Hey, Sean,” Trace cupped his hands and yelled below. 

Sean appeared at the bottom of the companionway. “Yes, Cap.”

“Take Mr. Hamilton to one of the passenger cabins. He’ll be sailing with us.”

“Aye, aye,” Sean said.

“Just follow Sean,” Trace said.

Hamilton stepped down the companionway, and followed Sean forward to the passenger’s quarters.

“Where in the heck is Sage,” Trace muttered and thought, ‘It looks like I may have to sail without him.’

After supper, Trace went to his cabin. He stashed some money into an envelope and wrote a note.

“We could not wait. I’m on a tight schedule. Here’s enough money for a hotel and meals. I should be back in a week or so. Take care, Trace.”

Trace dated it and sealed the envelope.

He walked down to the harbormaster’s office and stepped to a counter. The harbormaster stood from behind a desk, and walked to the counter.

“Can I help you, sir?” The harbormaster said.

Trace handed him the envelope. “I’m the captain of The Tramp Islander, the two-masted schooner, docked just down the way. We’re leaving with the tide before sunup. I was expecting another crewman but he hasn’t made it. Can you give him this envelope if he shows up?”

“Sure, and I’ll pass it on to my relief,” the harbormaster said. “And what’s your name?”

“Trace Troy.”

The harbormaster scribbled the name on the envelope.

“He’ll probably be wearing an American cowboy hat with blond curly hair beneath it. His name is Sage Vincent. The name is on the envelope.”

The harbormaster grabbed the envelope and slid it into a drawer in the counter. 

“I appreciate it,” Trace said.

“No problem, Mr. Troy. Where will you be sailing?”

“Puala,” Trace said.

“Have a safe voyage,” the harbormaster said.

“Thanks,” Trace said, “for everything.”

Trace returned to The Tramp Islander.

New Novel Just Released; "The Big Gamble in Paradise"

The novel, The Big Gamble in Paradise, has just been released. This is the second book in the Trace Troy Paradise Series. It can be purchased in the Kindle digital version or paperback. 

This book takes up where the first book in the series left off. (A Coup in Paradise) Trace becomes involved in a drug smuggling sting operation for the Suva, Fiji police. His adventures take him to several small South Seas islands and in company with several nefarious characters. 

Trace is more than an adventure character. He is a man on a quest to find purpose and substance in his life. Those things are revealed in conversations and quiet thoughts. 

Link to the book and enjoy the adventure. 

The Big Gamble in Paradise; Episode 9

This is the ninth episode of the novel I'm currently writing. The title is The Big Gamble in Paradise. It will soon be available on Amazon.   

Yes, to the right is the cover of my latest novel. It can be found, along with my other novels, on Amazon.   

A full post will be made of the book's release in the next day or so. 
 

Epidsode 9

Trace returned to The Peorava. The Hatches were removed and ready for loading. Chuck, Sean, and Makani sat on the deck leaning against the wall of the main deck quarters. 

Trace sat on the deck across from them with his legs crossed. “The Peorava doesn’t have a good reputation.”

“We can change that,” Sean said.

“That can take years,” Chuck said.

“When we leave port with this load, we leave with a clean slate and a new name,” Trace said.

“Another name?” Sean asked.

“That’s what I have in mind,” Trace said.

“What name do you have in mind?” Chuck said. 

“I don’t know yet,” Trace said. “You and Sean know this ship best. Can you think of a good name?”

“Naming a boat is worse than naming a baby,” Sean said. “Not that I have any experience at it. I named a goldfish, once.”

“What did you name him,” Chuck said.

“Goldy,” Sean said. “I just came to me. I think I’m good at stuff like that.”

“This boat is my home,” Chuck said. “The sea is the land it sits on. I have nothing else. It is not the life of many. Some might think it is a lonely life. I look at the sea, and I don’t see loneliness. I see forever. You can fill forever with whatever you dream. How can that be loneliness? I’ve been married twice, no sons, no daughters. The woman I was married to got married again; many sons and daughters. A man without an heir. I have always been a rover since then going from island to island. Having a son is one thing, the easy thing. Naming him, that would be hard. In one way, I’m glad I never had a son. It would be overwhelming to pick out a name to suit him; and a name that he would be proud to have.”

“I got one,” Sean smiled.

Everyone waited for the name.

“Goldy,” Sean grinned. 

“I think we are all rovers or tramps,” Sean said. “I took on this life because I couldn’t settle on one place. I always wanted to be on the move. I thought about being a truck driver; one town after the next, and always staring down an open road. If I was a truck driver, I’d get lost in a daydream just staring down the road. I’d crash into another truck, a tree, or something. I’d kill myself and others. I wanted to be on the sea. On the sea you get plenty of the most precious gift there is—time. Drop the N on my name and you have ‘sea.’ Who knew?”

“When Chuck and Sean came today,” Makani said. “I knew it was right for me. I’ve always wanted to go from island to island. I wanted to see different things. I don’t want to be looked down on by others. The man I worked for thought I was a servant. I knew a cook of a ship. He was a happy man. And I always said I wanted just some of his happiness. Cooking makes me happy. When I prepare something well, others are happy. The greatest happiness is when you make others happy.”

“Some might say this is a shiftless existence,” Sean said, “but it has to be done. It must be a calling. Some are called, few are chosen. We may be the lucky ones.”

“Yep,” Chuck said, “that is how I feel.”

“I got a name!” Sean sat up straight. 

Everyone waited.

“Goldy!” Sean blurted.

Everyone rolled their eyes and groaned.

“I’m here today because I was lucky at the casino,” Trace said. “I’m forced into where I am today. But no matter what life sends your way, you should always make the best of it. I tried to lose at the hand that got me this boat, but I won. It was as if being led down a path. I can’t see doing this all my life. My father did it for a while, and he said it did him good. Maybe something or someone out there thinks I need some good done to me.”

“I should tell you all something, This may change all of your minds about whether you want to continue with me and this boat,” Trace continued. “I hired a first mate. He’s never been to sea. He’s the best friend I have. He will be as good and honest to you as he has been to me. He has to be taught the ropes. You will have to teach him. From what I’ve seen and heard from you, so far, it is likely none of you would want the job as first mate. If you can’t work with that, you’re free to go, and I will understand.”

“I never want to be a boss,” Chuck said. “I make sure he’s a good first mate.”

“You’re the captain,” Sean said. “If you made Makani first mate, it would be fine with me.”

Makani lifted his hand. “He eats what everyone else eats.”

“Thanks,” Trace said. “His name is Sage. He’ll be here as soon as he can get here.”

They sat silent. Everyone wanted to say something but nothing seemed logical or appropriate. 

Trace stood and walked to the railing. He looked at the sky and the sea beyond the harbor. A strong breeze blew into his face and swept his hair.

“We are all tramps,” Trace said. “It’s not a bad word. Tramps are wanderers. Tramp boats have no set destination; wherever the cargo takes them. Trampers mean life to many of these islands. It’s a good thing, something to be proud of.” 

Trace turned to the crew. They all looked at him as if directed by some unseen and unheard prompt.

“We’ll call this boat The Tramp Islander,” Trace said smiling.

No one said anything. However, a soft breeze coated across the deck as if to turn the page in a book. Silent approval slowly came as a cloud drifted past the sun and brightened the deck as if nature had christened the moment. 

“Sean,” Trace said, “do we have black paint on board?”

“We have some stored in the bow,” Sean said.

“I want you to paint over The Poerova before our freight comes. And tomorrow take white paint and name this ship The Tramp Islander.”  

“Are you sure?” Sean said.

“I’m the captain,” Trace said. 

Jittery Goat YouTube; Episode #24

 

The Big Gamble in Paradise: Episode 8

This is the eighth episode of the novel I'm currently writing. The title is The Big Gamble in Paradise. It will soon be available on Amazon 

Episode 8

Trace walked a few blocks and found the address of the broker. It was in a two-story building on a side street. He walked up a flight of stairs to a hallway and walked into the door labeled Yonker’s Shipping.

A woman with curly gray hair looked up from the desk. She didn’t smile. “What do you want?”

Trace flashed a smile. “I’m Trace Troy I own a boat, The Poerova.”  

“So you’re the sucker,” she said. “Pleased to meet you. I suppose you want some freight. Well, I don’t have any. Besides there’s a lot bigger fish in the sea—reliable fish.”

“I just finished talking to a project manager named, Hamilton; he said I might be able to charm you.”

She chuckled. “The charmin’ days have long passed.”

“I hear it’s been a couple of years,” Trace said.

“You figured charm wouldn’t work so you’re trying sympathy and sincerity,” she smiled. 

“Neither,” Trace said. “I’m new at this. I’ve been at sea for two years, all in the Aleutians. Suddenly I have a boat. Hamilton just gave me some good advice. He basically said good business is about good relationships. Like I said, I’m new at this and just trying to get along the best way I know. I’m in for a lot of mistakes but I’m willing to pay for them. Hamilton said you need customers. Normally that might put me in a good position to negotiate but I won’t lowball ya on commission. Frankly, I need you more than you need me.”

“My god!” she said. “You are charming, honest, and handsome. Those words don’t usually fit into the same sentence, let alone the same man. Although they did fit into my late husband.”

Trace shyly smiled. 

“Okay son,” she said. “I normally ask twelve percent. That’s three percent below everybody else. I’ll get you freight at ten percent. If you’re still around two years from now, it goes up to twelve. It’s called an introductory offer. But you use only me and if something else comes along from another broker; we talk.”

“I like the cut of your jib; whatever that means,” Trace extended his hand across the desk.

She grasped Trace’s hand. “I’m Allie Charmichael. They call me Allie.”

“Allie, this is what I hope will be a long and profitable relationship.”

“By the way, Troy, I knew your dad; a good man.”

“How did you know my dad?” Trace asked

“Back in those days everybody knew everybody,” Allie said, “By the way, how is the ole skipper? Well, he wasn’t old when I knew him.” 

“He’s fine,” Trace said, “Has a ranch in Texas.”

“That was his dream,” Allie said. 

“If you ever talk or write to him tell him Allie said hi.”

“I’ll be sure to.”

Trace gave a curled-down smile. “Maybe I could take you for dinner sometime, and you could share some stories with me about my dad. The kind of stuff that would embarrass him.”

“Oh, lad,” she smiled, “some stories are best left at the bottom of the sea. But a dinner date sounds like just the thing I need. I spend too much time in this office eating tuna salad sandwiches and going home to tuna casserole. I swear, I’m keepin’ the tuna industry afloat.”

“I hate to ask you a favor so quick into our relationship,” Trace said.

“Try me out,” Allie said.

“Can I use your phone to call a friend,” Trace said. “It’s in the States.” He pulled out his billfold and laid a fifty-dollar bill on the desk. “It will only take about three minutes and it’s all yours.”

“Well,” Allie joked, “at that rate take five minutes.” She pushed the phone to the front of her desk and started to stand.

“No,” Trace said, “stay seated. It’s not private.”

Allie sat back down. Trace placed a call to the States. 

“Sage?”

“Yeah, is this Trace?”

“Sure is.”

“Sounds like you’re callin’ from the moon.”

“I’m in Fiji.”

“That’s in Mexico, isn’t it?”

“It’s in the South Seas, Polynesia.”

“Bless you.”

“I didn’t sneeze. Polynesia, the islands of the South Seas.”

“So you finally made it.”

“Yeah, Sage, remember how we always talked about going there?”

“You talked about it, I listened.”

“But we said if either one of us got there we’d get the other.”

“I think we were drunk when that was said.”

“Here’s a one-time offer, Sage; pack your bags and be in Suva in three days.”

“I got a good job, I can’t just leave.”

“You’ve never had a good job.”

“You got a job for me?”

“I own a sailboat that hulls cargo and I want you to be my first mate.”

“This ain’t a joke and you’re in a phone booth around the corner?”

“No, Sage. Get to the Fiji Islands. Take a bus to Suva. Go to the harbor and look for a two-masted schooner.”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“Just ask.”

“I’m writing this all down. Problem is, I can’t spell anything you just said but I’ll be there.”

“See ya in three days.”

“Hold on, I’m writing this stuff down; Fiji, Suva, and a two-masted schooler.”

“Close enough.”

“See ya in three days, Trace. And all this stuff better be there? Oh, I almost forgot, what are you paying me?”

“You’re breaking up on me, Sage. See ya soon.” 

Trace hung up. “Thanks.”

“Has your friend ever been on a boat before?” Allie said.

“We made a raft and floated down a river one time,” Trace said. “Sage is an incredible worker; reliable, honest, and loyal. You show him something once and it’s all his.” Trace smiled. “He’s my first mate.”

“Those are desirable qualities but it takes more than that to be a first mate,” Allie said. “I’m wondering if you can pull this off.”

Trace smiled broadly. “It’s called uncommon leadership.”

Allie winked and smiled. “You are so much like your father. I’ve seen him do things that just seemed without rhyme or reason and somehow it rhymed and worked out. Well, most of the time.”

“When you do things by the book, you assume the other guy has the same book,” Trace said. “See ya soon.”

“Take care, cowboy,” Allie said.