Friday, March 22, 2013

Labor Disputes

I enjoy talking with my cousin. We are the first born sons of sisters and we grew up together, spent a lot of time just being kids. He is 5 months older than me, something he never let me forget. Craig is the closest thing to a brother I will ever have.

After high school we headed in our own separate ways, but we have always stayed close. We both married and raised families in Maine. My career was in the paper industry where I worked in various management positions. His has been on the waterfront where he built his lobster and bait businesses. I had the opportunity to work in his businesses over a couple summers during these past 6 years and really get to see his world. It was an experience I wouldn't trade.

His world is so different from the corporate world from which I came and I stand in awe of his determination, his persistence and the high level of risk he endures in order to succeed. The day to day pressure under which he operates would crush a normal man. But then, Craig has never been normal. He has always been extraordinary.

My position as the HR/Labor Relations guy at a paper mill was also a pressure cooker job. There was a constant stream of disputes, grievances, employee issues with which I dealt on a daily basis. After 23 years, I moved on. Best decision I ever made.

Sometimes, after work on the docks, we would walk down the wharf to the Port Hole for a beer. And we would tell stories. His waterfront stories were always funny and off center. I would respond with mill stories which were also pretty twisted at times. I told of employees shooting deer out the pulp mill window, fights, sexual harassment cases, all manner of employment infractions which I had to resolve. Discipline and discharge were perhaps my least favorite functions. I had been "through the mill", so to speak, and I thought I had heard it all. That was until Craig told me the story of one particular mediation he had conducted.

Craig's business plan is pretty simple. Keep your ears and eyes open. Keep your mouth shut whenever possible. Follow the opportunities. Be honest. Provide the best service and product. Big business spends fortunes on high powered business schools and hires expensive consultants to ingrain these attributes into their corporate cultures, usually with limited success.

And so, when the sea urchin markets began to grow in the 90's, Craig jumped in with both feet. He leased a warehouse and set up cutting houses to harvest the black, oily roe from the spiny echinoderms, about the size of a tennis ball. He opened markets with the Japanese buyers, sourced a supply from the divers and hired a crew of Cambodian workers. Language barriers not withstanding, things were going along pretty well. The money was good and, though he was flying by the seat of his pants, nothing new for him, the business was thriving. That was before his Japanese junior partner back stabbed him, stole his customers and suppliers and tanked the operation... another story, but not this one.

Anyhow, the operation was in high gear. He had to hire more Cambodian workers to meet demand. Life was good. Until one morning when he walked into the shop and found the employees divided, half on one side of the shop room floor and the others on the opposite wall. And they were shaking their fists at each other and screaming in shrill voices in a language he did not understand. He collared the English speaking Cambodian foreman and demanded an explanation.

"They not happy. They not like each other... not like each other!" was all the answer he got. "Well, bring the ring leaders to my office. Right now! We've got to get things on track again. The urchins need to be processed before they go bad" ordered Craig. He went to his office and sat down behind the desk, assuming a position of authority. Good management technique. The door burst open and six men entered the room still screaming at each other in Cambodian. What the hell had happened?

"OK, what's the issue here" he demanded loudly.The men stopped screaming, suddenly aware that they were standing before the Big Boss. "You" he said pointing at foreman, "Tell me what's going on."

The foreman struggled to find the words. "They not happy. Some workers you hire bad. They not work together."

"Bad? What do you mean bad? They are all from the same Cambodian community and everyone seems to be working well, carrying their own weight. I don't understand?" puzzled Craig.

"They bad because they eat each other..." said the foreman.

Craig listened and struggled to understand as the story unfolded that back in Cambodia, during the civil war, during the time of Pol Pot and the unspeakable genocide where millions were slaughtered, one tribe of people had practiced cannibalism on members of another tribe. It had been in another world, at another time, but Craig had hired members of these specific tribes to work in his urchin business.

All eyes were on him. He sat silently for a moment. What could he say to resolve this employment issue? What action could he take to mediate this work place conflict. How could he salvage the product which sat spoiling in the trays downstairs.

Finally, he spoke softly to the foreman "Tell them this... I don't care about your issues. I don't care who ate who's uncle or grandmother. I don't care if you like each other... I don't care."

"I do care that you go back to work right now and work together to get the job done. If you can't do that, right now, you're done. Pick up your stuff and go out the door. Do I make myself clear?"

The foreman translated his words. The men stood silently, looking at Craig and at each other. Finally, without a word, they all filed out of the room and down the stairs. Craig heard the sounds of the the operation ramping up and they all went back to work.

"Wow..." I said. "That's just incredible. Did you make any changes in your business because of that?"

"Yeah" he said. "I changed my hiring procedures. I ask all new job applicants from that day on if they or any of their family had ever eaten the friends or relatives of any of my existing crew. I get some funny looks... especially from the Americans. But fair is fair. If you ask one, you got to ask 'em all. Right?"

It's just sound employment practice... One for the books.


Thursday, March 14, 2013

Another Waterfront Story

Another day on the waterfront. I drove my little red pickup over the worn cobblestones down a deserted, seemingly lifeless Custom House Wharf to the bait shop at the end of the dock. It was 4:00 AM and the stark floodlight shining from the end of the dock was the only illumination casting an eerie shadow over the long, dismal lane.The wharf smelled of rotting fish, salt and diesel oil, a strangely comforting and familiar odor in this fishing port city.

The crew of 10 men had already arrived to begin the heavy work of loading boats and trucks with barrels of fish for baiting the lobstermen's traps. They were garbed in orange Grunyons, blue rubber globes, black boots and layers of dirty, hooded sweatshirts to combat the October chill. Their faces were gray, fatigued, expressions hardened against the advent of another day of backbreaking labor. Cigarettes hung limply from lips cracked from exposure to the elements, acrid smoke curling around their heads.

No greeting were offered. None were expected. Keep your head down and your mouth shut. Suffer without whining. An unspoken waterfront creedo. All had spent time in jail, had criminal records, Some had outstanding warrants and were "hiding out" in plain sight on the docks. In 2 years I had yet to see a cop car drive down the dock. It was a safe haven of sorts.

We sucked our 7-11 coffee in the darkened shack trying to capture the liquid warmth and the caffeine rush before the boats began to line up for loading. Just another dismal start to another miserable day. Until Kevin walked through the door carrying a cardboard box.

Kevin had a story just like everyone on the waterfront had a story. He was down on his luck, had lost his marriage and his daughter, his job and his license. He couldn't make his child support payments and was battling the state and the legal system for his manhood, his pride and his very existence. It was, unfortunately, a story common to many. He had worked as a cook and took pride in his culinary skills. But Fate had landed him here and he worked like a man possessed to earn his place on the waterfront. He was respected for that and only for that. Except that this morning he had made a cardboard box full of chocolate chip cookies. A ripple of excitement swept through the crew. They were like a class of first graders on cookie day. COOKIES!!

Kevin was swarmed by hungry dock workers eager to grab a tasty treat to dip in their morning coffee. I waited my turn and thanked him for the still warm pastry. He pulled the box back. "Are you sure you want a cookie? he asked. My radar should have fired at the question, but it was 4:00 am, I was cold and hungry, and I wanted a cookie. "May I", I asked. "Certainly", he smiled as he offered me the box. In the starless night, I did not notice the cookies were green.

I don't ever remember a tastier cookie than that morning's chocolate chip delicacy. And I would have asked for another except that the boats started to stream in and I got real busy filling orders. It was half an hour later when the sun began to rise over the ocean. It was always an extraordinarily beautiful sight, but this morning it was heart-stopping. I found myself frozen in place just watching the beauty. The colors, the birds, the boats... unlike anything i had ever experienced. And then fragmented thoughts began to run through my head... "Where in hell am I? What am I doing? What is my name??" I turned to find Kevin and a couple other guys grinning at me like mindless fools. "Good cookie, old man?" he laughed. And the crew broke up in hysterical laughter. I was, like everyone else, stoned beyond all recognition on those incredible, tasty marijuana cookies.

Just another glorious, surreal day on the waterfront...