A salute to metal fabricators and all those who work hard for a living

People that work in plants deserve our respect. My dad was one such person. BanksPhotos/Getty Images

Every time I get to visit a metal fabricating company, I’m doing penance for an immature act committed by a self-absorbed high school student more than 35 year ago. It doesn’t change the past, but it makes me feel a little bit better each time I walk onto a shop floor.

My dad, a pipefitter working through the UA Local 198 Plumbers, Steamfitters, and Refrigeration Fitters in Baton Rouge, La., was wrapping up his work at River Bend Station, the nuclear plant in St. Francisville, La., and he asked me if I wanted to attend an open house event for folks who were involved in the construction of the power plant. Being a 16-year-old who had a never-ending need for food and sleep, I said “No, thank you,” and looked forward to waking up at 10:30 a.m. or so, a good three hours later than the start of the open house that particular Saturday.

If my dad was disappointed that I didn’t want to see this important piece of power generation infrastructure—the second nuclear plant in Louisiana and still vital provider of electricity for the nearby area—I didn’t immediately sense it. But as time went on, I never really forgot that invitation or my reaction. I knew he was proud of being a part of such a high-profile construction project, especially after spending years at similar-looking petrochemical plants along the Mississippi River. Looking back, I think I would not only have enjoyed learning about how the boiling-water reactor worked, I would also have had one of those father-son memories that you hold onto for a lifetime.

My dad died during an afternoon nap on Monday, April 25. He had spent the previous 11 months under the supervision of home hospice care. Surviving esophageal cancer 15 years ago severely altered the way he lived, but it was the lung deficiencies later in life that started the inevitable decline. Years of smoking and working around asbestos and other toxic elements had damaged his lungs, and he relied on oxygen tanks to help supply him with the breath needed in his last couple of years. In the end, even that wasn’t enough.

My dad never did anything that would have him appear in history books, but he certainly was memorable. In fact, had you met him, you were more likely to remember his voice than anything else. It was deep and loud. I’m told that as a student at Istrouma High School in Baton Rouge he would challenge a whole section of students during a pep rally—one voice against the masses. (For those that don’t know, those Istrouma teams featured Heisman Trophy-winning running back Billy Cannon and longtime Minnesota Viking standout Roy “Moonie” Winston.)

After serving in the U.S. Army, he joined the local pipefitters union and started his working career. He worked with all kinds of people over the years—from the city streets of North Baton Rouge to the bayous of south Louisiana to the woods of Mississippi—and I’m sure they enjoyed my dad’s R-rated joke-telling and encyclopedia-like knowledge of sports trivia.

He worked hard, and employers worked him hard. It was the economic arrangement he was OK with, so he went about his life that way.

Sometimes it was more difficult, especially when he decided he didn’t want to pursue union work in other states, as Louisiana union jobs became scarcer in the late 1980s. But he found other work outside the pipefitting trade, working at the Ciba-Geigy St. Gabriel plant during the last part of his work career. If you got there early enough in the morning, you had hot coffee waiting for you because my dad got the pots going at the crack of dawn. He used to pick up what was then called the Morning Advocate newspaper at the printing plant because the morning edition arrived at the house several hours after his 4:30 a.m. departure for work.

My dad had multiple jobs over his lifetime, so I don’t really link him closely with his original trade or a particular company. I just know that he worked to help put a roof over our heads, food in our stomachs, and clothes on our backs.

I see the same thing when I visit metal fabricating companies. People working hard and doing their best to stay on top of what can truly be described as organized chaos in many instances. The best companies have the most engaged employees, and those successes make me think that my dad would have liked this industry.

My dad’s physically not here anymore, but I’m reminded of him on a daily basis because of this job. Thanks for making that possible.