In 1974 I bagged my dream job as an Environmental Tech I in the Water Bureau of the Maine Department of Environmental Protection in Augusta, Maine. Protecting the Maine environment was my passion, but I never suspected that would involve inspecting sewer treatment plants. Still, somebody had to do it. I traveled the state for a year and learned the "science of shit" and pollution control technology. It was experience that has served me well through the years,
With a steady income and good health benefits, an apartment
and a used car I thought I was ready to settle down and start a family. But the
girl who I proposed to had second thoughts and I was left heartbroken and
unhappy. It was then that I began to read up on the Trans-Alaskan Oil Pipeline
which was, in the wake of the OPEC oil embargo, fast tracking through Congress.
It became my obsession to work on this project.
These were the days before the internet and I was unable to
network into a pipeline job from Maine. I needed to be boots on the ground to
make it happen, but didn’t want to end up without a job when I got there. So,
with the help of a South Portland neighbor, Ray Ballum, I connected with a
salmon fishing cannery in Cordova Alaska and received a letter offering me the
job of environmental protection tech at the facility. Treating fish guts is not
a far cry from treating sewage I accepted and gave my notice at the DEP.
The people at DEP thought I was crazy to leave the security
of a state job. I suffered the verbal abuse quietly, but it royally pissed me
off.
The week before my departure for the frozen North I met
Connie and we attended a New Years Eve party together. We had a great time but
I had to go. See ya, honey. I’m headed to Alaska.
I packed my stuff into a U-Haul and offloaded into my
parents garage, had my wisdom teeth yanked and 2 days later hitched a ride to
Montreal Canada to catch the Trans Canadian National rail. I stayed in the YMCA
for the night. My teeth extractions were killing me so I killed the pain with
Molson beer. Just barely made the train the next morning. Walking to the train
station in the dark in sub-zero, snowy January weather is a vivid memory.
Needing to conserve my meager funds I opted for coach
travel for the 4-day trip. By the second night, with my dry sockets, I needed a
nights sleep and took an overhead berth for a night. We got delayed in Saskatchewan
because of avalanches in the Canadian Rockies, but eventually arrived in rainy
Prince Rupert British Columbia. I stayed in my first flea infested cheap
boarding house. The drunk Indians at the pool table downstairs kept me up all night.
Two days later I boarded a ferry up the Inland Waterway to
Juneau. We stopped at the fishing villages of Ketchican, Sitka and Petersburg.
Stranger in a strange land. When we arrived in Juneau, the state capitol, I
checked into another boarding house.
The next day, resume in hand, I walked into four state
agencies including the Alaska Department of Environmental Conservation. Due to
the departure of so many employees to work on the pipeline, I was offered four
positions on the spot. I accepted them all and agreed to begin work in two
weeks.
That night I checked out of the boarding house and used the
last of my funds to buy an airline ticket to Anchorage. I slept on the floor at
the terminal.
So now I had five jobs waiting for me, including the salmon
cannery, but I wanted to take my shot to get out on the line. As luck would
have it, I sat next to a nice young woman on the plane. I told her my story and
she invited me to stay at her house in Anchorage. It was nothing more than
that. She was just a good soul.
The next day I went hiking in the Tlingit National Park. The
weather was severe and I relished the experience of getting “into the wild”. I soon
discovered that my Maine winter gear was insufficient for Alaska.
I began exploring for work and unsuccessfully interviewed for
a maintenance job with the University of Alaska. I went to the union labor
halls and signed up with them. It was my first experience with unions and
lacking a connection or the money to buy a job, I ended up 6,000 on the list.
I did get hired working at a gym teaching weightlifting and
cleaning the equipment for a week. But it was near the library so I spent hours
in the stacks researching the Pipeline consortium, Alyeska, a collection of
some of the globes biggest engineering and construction companies. The
president of Alyeska was a man named Ed Patton.
My father worked for a pipeline consortium in Portland Maine,
the Portland Pipeline. So I called my dad with the information I had. The next
day when I called him back he told me he worked with a man, Joe Bahonick, who
had worked with Ed Patton earlier in his career. It was the only connection I
had.
The next day I hitchhiked the 360 miles to Fairbanks in a blizzard. First
stop was the union hall. Again 5000 on the list. Someone offered me a floor to
sleep on at the University of Fairbanks and the next morning when I walked
outside into the dark, -25 degree morning I was beginning to despair.
My half-baked plan was to somehow get onto the Fort
Wainwright Army Base where Alyeska had
set up their executive offices and speak with Mr. Patton. But there were
armed guards at the gate…so I went to the nearest strip joint. It was early in
the morning but the place was packed. After nursing a morning beer and
explaining to the girls that I didn’t have any money, I went to the bathroom
and noticed the many hard hats hung on the wall and a plot was hatched. I
grabbed a Green Construction Company hat, stepped out onto the base access road
and stuck out my thumb. The first Green Construction Co. truck picked me up, we
cleared the gate and he dropped me off at the executive offices. I
did not know at the time that I had committed a felony by unauthorized entry
onto a Military Base. My heart was pounding as I climbed to the third floor and
entered the Executive Offices.
There were four secretaries typing away and a room full of
waiting suits.
The receptionist said “May I help you?”
“I’m here to speak with Mr. Patton”, I stammered.
“Do you have an appointment?” she queried.
“No. I’ll just wait.” I smiled and moved to the corner of
the waiting room.
For whatever reason, she did not have me thrown out and
went back to answering the phone and typing.
Several hours later the wooden doors to the office swung
open and a gaggle of suited men streamed out heading to lunch. I stood up and
called in a loud voice “Mr. Patton!”
One man turned around and viewed me warily.
I said “Mr. Patton, my name is Glen Foss. I’m an
environmental guy from Maine and my friend Joe Bahonick said I should look you
up.”
He smiled and said “I haven’t heard from Joe in ten years.”
“He sends you his regards. I played football with his son.
He works with my father on the Portland Pipeline.” I blurted…only half of it
true.
“What are you doing in Anchorage”, he asked, knowing full
well what I wanted.
“Here is my resume. I’m trying to get out on the line. I’ve
worked in wastewater and pollution control.”
He quickly perused my resume, looked me up and down and said
“I’m going to lunch, Want to take a walk?”
We climbed down 4 flights of stairs into the catacombs and
connecting tunnels between the Army buildings. I don’t remember any
conversation. But when we came to a sign on the wall that said Bechtel
Environmental Engineering he veered into the open door with me close behind.
The office was a buzzing hive of a dozen young people shuffling
papers, taking phone calls and talking in loud voices. Suddenly they became
aware that we were standing there and that one of us was the President of
Alyeska. It went dead silent. The Filipino secretary bolted from her desk and
into the Managers office. The sign on the door said Jean Marx. Hushed urgent
sounds emitted and suddenly Jean rushed out the door.
“Mr. Patton! Thank you so much for visiting us! How can I
help you?” she gushed.
Mr. Patton replied, “Jean, so good to see you. I just
wanted to stop by and say what a marvelous job you and your team are doing
here. Keep up the good work. Oh, and would you take a look at this young man’s
credentials. I think he might be useful.”
He spun to the door, grasped my hand, winked and was gone.
I stood there uncomfortably under the gaze of a dozen
people, elated to have made it to this point and to not be in the Federal penitentiary.
Jean invited me into her office and we spent a lovely 20
minutes talking about tertiary sewage treatment, sludge management, secondary
clarifiers and biologically activated flock. I could talk the talk and she was
listening.
I was hired and spent the afternoon in cold weather survival
training. Next they issued me my survival gear; Arctic hooded parka, white Army
issue severe cold boots (aka Mickey Mouse
boots), insulated pants, first aid and frost bite kit. They billeted me in base
housing and the next morning I boarded a twin engine De Havilland Otter with
Jean Marx and flew to Five Mile Camp just North of the Yukon River.
The camp’s primary wastewater system was under designed and
overwhelmed by the surge of new workers. The skid mounted tertiary system was
still under construction and the effluent was basically flowing straight
through the existing plant into a fast filling storage pond. I spent the night
drawing up an interim emergency system and presented it to Jean the next
morning. We met with the Camp Superintendent and Jean presented the plan as her
own. They were impressed and when she squeezed my shoulder I knew I was in.
The offer was for me to remain at the camp and sign on as
an Operating Engineer. I accepted and Jean flew away with my profuse thanks.
I was assigned a room and a roommate in the dozens of
attached Atco trailer units all connected by enclosed walkways. My roommate was
a welder from Oklahoma who worked nights. I was assigned a Mexican laborer
named Felipe Roderiquez and we worked days. Twelve hours a day, seven days a
week. He showed me the mess hall, the recreation hall and the union hall. And
the next day I reported to the wastewater plant.
Felipe struggled with English, was from Bakersfield, CA and
had escaped to Alaska after selling heroin to a narc. He became my friend and
protector. And I did need protection from the Okies and Texans who resented a
Northern boy walking into their turf.
The work was interesting especially the new technology
installation. The Neptune Microflow Tertiary Treatment unit and integrated Schmidt
Sludge incinerator were expensive and untested especially in the Arctic environment.
These were the days before computers and micro-processors so all the controls
were actuated by a timer cogwheel which occasionally malfunctioned resulting in
sewage overflowing the unit and spreading across the building floor.
On one occasion the incinerator was over heating and the
sludge feed line was plugged. But the pipers helper was on lunch break and the
pipers wouldn’t work without them and so they sat on a bench and waited. Union
rules. The situation was critical as the oven refractory was superheating and
would soon melt down destroying the unit. I grabbed a pipe wrench, scaled the
unit and cracked a fitting. Sludge sprayed all over the pipers, but the line
was cleared and the incinerator was saved. They were so angry with me that they
filed a grievance which management denied. But I was now on the radar screen
with the Union.
The highlight of each day was the meals. They were spectacular.
Breakfast was made to order, anything you wanted. Lunch was usually on the fly.
Bag lunch. Great sandwiches. But dinner was incredible. Prime rib, porterhouse
steaks, shrimp, caviar, salmon, potatoes au gratin, corn on the cob, okra with
every meal. And grits of course They fed us like Southern Royalty.
Alcohol and drugs were strictly forbidden but there was
plenty to be had. The truckers would smuggle it up the tote road inside their
spare tires. The pipers also set up a still under an Atco unit. High test
moonshine. And Felipe somehow had an endless supply of potent weed.
After dinner, the pipeline workers would strut the main
hallway in groups sporting their gold nugget watches and huge bedazzled belt
buckles. And of course, pointy toed cowboy boots and 10 gallon hats They talked and laughed
loudly. It was something to see. And to steer clear of.
Some of them would retire to the game room to play cards.
Gambling was also prohibited but money and gold watches were passed beneath the
table. On payday, I watched 6 of them throw their checks in the pot and play one
hand of poker, winner take all. And the checks were huge.
When I got my first weekly check for $1600 I photocopied it
and mailed the copy to my former colleagues at the Maine DEP. A buddy reported
back to me that the mood in the office was sour for a week. Vengeance is best
served cold…
In a camp of 500 manly men there were a few dozen women.
One of the office girls took a shine to me. I discovered this one night when
after showering I slid into bed and was covered is the small white paper dots
that used to be generated on track fed printers…from her office. The next day
she invited me to her room after dinner. Things were going well and I had my shirt
off, and hers, when a knock came at the door. She pulled on her shirt and
opened the door. “Oh, Pete, great to see you. I’m running to the bathroom. Be
right back”. Pete walked into the room and looked me over.
“Hi Pete, I’m Glen. Where are you working?” I asked.
“Up on the North Slope. I’m a roughneck. Just passing
through.” he replied.
“How you know Celest?” I asked.
“She’s my wife” he growled.
The blood drained from my face and for the first time I
noticed the buck knife strapped on his belt.
“Oh Man! I had no idea… I’m just going to get out of here.
Sorry man.” I groveled.
I grabbed my shirt and dressed as I walked down the hall.
That was that.
The next week, the night shift operator, Cecil, a real
snake who Felipe had threatened when he had once caused us trouble, approached
me. “There’s a union meeting tomorrow night” he drawled.
I replied,“I’m not in the union.”
Boom! The cat was out of the bag. The Union leadership
stormed into the Super’s office and threatened to shut down the camp if the
scab wasn’t terminated.
The next day I was on a plane to Fairbanks.
My first lesson in Union hardball. Unfortunately, not my
last.
When I got back to Jean Marx’s office she immediately hired
me as an Environmental Engineer for the worlds largest engineering firm,
Bechtel. For the next 3 months I traveled the line from Prudhoe Bay to Valdez
and all the 15 construction camps and pump stations in between. I saw incredible scenery in the Brooks Range,
the caribou migrating across the North Slope, amazing Northern Lights, the
pristine Prince William Sound. I watched the sun never set one night in the Arctic, panned for gold with my hard hat, faced off with a bear and listened to the wolves howl in the pipeyard. And met so many interesting people.
Five months of seven days a week, twelve hours a day. By June, I was toast and told the boss I needed a break. She said “There will be a job for you here when you get back”. I flew through the night and arrived at my parent’s home late in the afternoon just in time for their 25th wedding anniversary celebration. I called Connie and asked if she would like to attend and she drove down the next day. She was as vivacious and adorable as I remembered and totally charmed my family.
After a couple weeks of much needed R&R I was preparing
to return to Alaska. I explained to Connie that the money was just too good,
that I had to go. She grabbed my hands, looked into my eyes and said,“If you
stay here, I’ll make you happy.” It was the best offer I ever received and I didn’t
think twice.
I took an apartment in Bangor with my future best man, Gordie, and got a job driving a beer truck for Tabenkin Distributors in Veazie.
In the interview they asked, “What was your salary in your former job?” I
answered honestly; $1600 a week. They were shocked. “We’ll pay you $2.35 and
hour and not a penny more.” I laughed and accepted the offer. The work schedule
allowed me to reenroll at UMO for a teachers certificate and do my student
teaching concurrently.
We were married the following April and moved into our
condo in Bar Harbor where I had taken a position... as the Superintendent of the
wastewater treatment facilities.
As the saying goes, "Shit happens"...and, to be honest, shit has been ‘berry, berry’ good to me.
That's the story and I'm sticking to it.
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