The good old days By Dave Abercrombie

The good old days you say, that has to be in 1970. My day started in March of that year when I joined the dreaded woodmill. God what a place to work. You had to put up with things like grease, sawdust, and cold but now-a- days, I've got it made with heat, white liquor and all the lime dust I can handle. The people were different too. They would treat you like you actually knew something and the supervisors, they had to be the strangest bunch. Imagine, giving you a job and then not bothering you until it was finished, No sunburned necks in this place.

Overtime and meal tickets, Sunday Premium and Sunday letter, the home of the nooners, the ex-Alcan welders, the Englishman, the Scotsman, the dumb Canadians, and I think in there somewhere were a few Welshman in hiding and I know for a fact the French were doing their part.

Work in the mill was fine; trying to find a place to live was another matter. I stayed at Eurocan camp for almost three months (for free). The building now used for #3 stores was the old cookhouse and eating area, only bigger. The only apartments for rent were Alcan's and God forbid if they would rent to anyone that worked at "that" other place. The one that in months to come would make the town smell bad and kill all the trees on the mountain to the west. So we purchased a trailer in Vancouver which Eurocan moved up to Vista Village trailer court and set up. In those days they paid for everything as long as you hung around for your first pay cheque.

My first job with Eurocan was driving forklift, looking after the tilt hoist and stacking lumber in the main yard (The Mud Hole). I moved from there to running the trim saws in the planer area (progression line), to do this job you ran a keyboard like a typewriter, if you pressed a "2" it would cut two feet off one end or both according to the lumber graders request. The slash button was the all time favorite. Next came Set-up man on the planer, in this job you fed lumber in the machine and helped the planerman with his duties. Planerman was the next step. This job had to be the best, you would set up the machine to run what ever they wanted at the time, grind side-head knives and do all the maintenance required. This would lead to the great job I have today.

I started my millwrighting, pry-barring and sledge-hammering in the good old woodmill. If you fixed it, great! And if you can't; weld it! This was the home of the down-handers and the quarter inch jet roders. We had a great bunch of guys, like old Leo Naughten and his jokes (What's a Henway? Oh, about three or four pounds).

Some had worked every place on earth, like the fellow that had more education and papers, worked in more places than a Hastings hooker and had more degrees than a average temp stick. He had to be at least 73. It was like a big family. People were friendly, and there was a guy who could guess your weight and one that cooked better than your average chef.

Our Union back then took shit from no one. We had our share of work stoppages but nothing too bad. Although every time we walked out for one reason or another it was always on a Friday, Sunday letter day.

Hope I didn't bore you too much.

Abby.

PS Actually we have a great crew here, it's just my old mind with old ideas.

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