I started working in a factory when I was 13. Before you jump to conclusions about child labor violations, know that my work hours were carefully controlled. (I also cornered my neighborhood newspaper routes, so I worked before I went to work.)

Pasting Labels on Empty Chemical Cans

My Dad was a VP at the company, and that first job involved pasting paper labels on pint, quart, and gallon cans that would eventually be filled with solvents. Oh, and there was the order of 10,000 plastic bottles that needed labels that we did from my driveway. The money was great for a 13-year-old, and going to work with my Dad was a blast.

The Boiler Factory & You Want Me to Do What?!

As time progressed, I shifted to a job in a power equipment firm next to the chemical company, where I did the literal dirty work of scraping and painting coal mill parts and crawling into and cleaning the main firetubes of boilers. Daily, I was covered in soot from head to toe despite the overalls, respirator, and rag I wore under a hat. Again, there’s nothing about this that would happen in 2024. Different times.

Beware 17-Year-Old Crane Operators

My favorite part of working in this facility was operating the overhead cranes. They had two: a 35-ton crane we used to load trucks and a 100-ton crane for big equipment and loading railroad cars. Only once did I have to move a 50-ton piece of equipment with a 35-ton crane. (Do the math.) Again, it was not safe, but I did it.

This last job, running the overhead cranes, seems surreal in hindsight. The foreman, a WWII Navy Fireman, made a snap decision when the incumbent operator did something wrong. He looked at me and said, “Get up there. They’re your cranes now.” There was no training. There were three controls and a brake. Move the crane right and left on the ceiling, move the crane carriage in and out, and up and down. The small crane moved fast, and the large one moved amazingly slowly.

OK, given our world of regulation, safety, and liability today versus the 1970s, there’s no chance this would happen anymore.

Lessons in Ambiguity

I loved the challenge of the crane work. I was preoccupied with not hurting myself or anyone else and not damaging the equipment in that order. My kids have always called me Mr. Safety or Mr. Rules, and that preoccupation started with the cranes in the boiler repair facility.

The foreman was, to say the least, a poor communicator. He would give me ambiguous hand signals to make minute adjustments with this behemoth equipment. He would scowl at me when I did something he viewed as wrong. I had to interpret what the scowl meant in terms of feedback and guess how to correct the movement or placement of the boiler. I got good at reading his mind and facial expressions. There was only once when I stopped everything because I didn’t understand his gestures and scowls. He looked at me and yelled, “What the heck is wrong?” (He didn’t use ‘heck’) I shouted, “I can’t read your mind. What do you want me to do?” His response spoke volumes. “You know what to do. Don’t f it up.” The latter was code for: protect us and the equipment and do what you think is right.”

OK, that lesson paid dividends for a lifetime.

College Boy Gets Schooled

I worked in that facility every year on summer and winter breaks until they hit a slow spot. I was known as ‘College Boy’ to the interesting collection of workers in the facility. My coworkers generously taught me their trades. I learned plumbing, wiring, how to repair the refractory in a boiler door and many additional skills. When it was time to return to school, they encouraged me and expected to see A’s on my report card at the next break. Annoyingly, they always remembered to ask when I returned. 

These folks became great work friends. The fact that their vocabulary used a particular four-letter word in every part of speech might not have been the influence my Mom was after, but I can’t think of a better, dirty job and group of people to make me appreciate the value of hard work, a job well done and how to engage with individuals from all backgrounds.

I eventually returned to the chemical factory and learned every aspect of the work, from running packaging lines to managing shipping and receiving.

Six Lifelong Lessons Learned from Some Dirty Summer Jobs

I cannot imagine a better set of dirty jobs to teach me the value of work.

1. I learned about these businesses from the ground up. Today, I still have an intense curiosity about what the people on the ground in organizations do and what they have to say that we can do better. 

2. I learned the power of clarity in communication.

3. I learned to grind and manage myself.

4. I learned the fundamentals of managing and leading. 

5. I learned that every job needs to be completed with the utmost care—whether it’s scraping coal mill parts or in my later life leading teams and organizations through transformation.

6. Most of all, I learned that every person and every job merits respect. I’m not sure that’s a perspective shared in much of today’s world. Thank goodness for my dirty summer jobs that helped form me for my future!

The Bottom Line for Now:

Thank goodness for dirty summer jobs that teach us the value of work and the importance of every person you work with in your organization. These people and this work help us form our character at an early age. I’m always excited when I hear younger people talk about their summer jobs. I know how the story goes. And, those jobs are worth much more than the money they’ll earn. 

Art's Signature