My first job

Just after completing my junior year of high school in 1955, a buddy and I decided to get a job in a commercial refrigeration plant. (It was his idea)  The problem was, both of us were still only 16 years old and you had to be 18 to work in a manufacturing facility.  No sweat, we would both just lie about our ages.

When I made my application they asked me for my social security number.  I told them that I had left it home.  They said that I must bring it in before I started work.  That afternoon I went to Ft. Wayne and got the card.

My buddy was assigned to “pallet construction” on the third floor.  Every unit had its own pallet that the refrigerator was built and shipped on. It was a pretty easy job.  I was assigned to work on the main assembly line at the “final finish area”.  I don’t know if I looked smart enough or dumb enough to do the job.  My “mentor” on the job was Joe.  Joe was an experienced fellow with several years on the job.  It would be gracious to call him a “southern gentleman”.  Joe explained that keeping track of your job credits was a tough thing to do.  All the operations were listed on a large tablet about the size of a sears sale catalogue that went along with each unit.  The operator had to mark his clock number by each operation on the tablet.  Joe graciously volunteered to mark off the operations that I performed so that I would not have to spend my time doing that task.  I was very grateful for his kind offer.

Weekly performance records were posted on the bulletin board each Tuesday.  Since the work was incentive work, the operators were paid for any percentage above 100% as a bonus.  I consistently made less than 100%, usually in the 70 to 80 % range.  Joe cruised along at 125% every week.  The foreman, Bill Winebrenner, (I still remember his name) gave me hell each week for not making rate.  Then one week Joe was either sick or on vacation and I had to work alone.  Magically my performance shot up to 110%.  I was very pleased as was Winebrenner.

It took me over 30 years to figure out that the “southern gentleman” was cheating me and claiming credit for work that I performed.

The job did teach me that I never wanted to work on an assembly line again.  It was this experience that prompted me to apply for the G.E. Apprentice toolmaker program and later to attend Purdue University.  My God that was a terrible job.

Dal