2012 Iron Workers/IMPACT North American Labor-Management ...

Thoughts from an Old Timer: Hand Line Work
It was the mid-1960s and me and
another young guy were sent out
on a job by Local 361 Business Manager
Paul S. (Whitey) Rockhold from
the hall in downtown Brooklyn, N.Y.
We were both permit men and although
there were quite a few book
men in the hall that morning, no one
beefed about our getting the job. The
company was named Issacson Steel
Erectors, and the job was in Queens
Borough on Bell Boulevard. The other
man had a car and we drove out to
Queens and found the job easily. The
crane was sitting there on the street
waiting for the 8 a.m. start time.
The job was an apartment building
already up two stories with the
floor already formed and poured and
the masonry walls up (pre-decking).
We started work just about immediately
and placed the rig and started
setting up. There were no hydraulics
and we pulled out the outriggers
manually and screwed down the pans
same way, while the operator swung
the rig left and right trying to help us
level up. Once we set up, we brought
the first of two steel trucks (one floor
of iron) in and started unloading. The
pusher Nick Caputo told us to keep
the loads light so he could distribute
them further around the floor. We unloaded
both steel trucks and then a
company truck with bolts and some
gear I’d never seen before, not that I’d
seen too much before. I was excited
to get started setting steel because
I’d heard so much about “connecting.”
But then a curious thing happened.
The gang came down off the building
and we broke the rig down and it left
the job. We had coffee and went back
up on the building. We started shaking
out by putting the heavier pieces
on a two wheeled dolly and pushing
the pieces around the floor and taking
them off close to where they were
to be set. The “smaller” pieces, me
and my partner walked around the
floor putting them home. Nick didn’t
want to overwork the dolly. Once all
the shaking out was done, we started
setting. For the headers, we used
a primitive heavy (was there anything
other than heavy?) contraption
known as a Dutchman, which was
the forerunner of a manufactured
roustabout.
The two story columns were set
with one man, manning the splice
plates at the base and the rest of
us tripping the columns upright.
The other man, whose name I remember
in the gang was the shop
steward Alonzo (Lonzo) Laite. He
was the strongest man I ever knew
and among the nicest. He also had a
busted larynx from a job injury and
was an officer of the local (I loved
Lonzo - he’s gone now). It seemed
the more I tried; I was always in
the wrong place and moving in the
wrong direction. Every time I collided
with a piece of steel, the gang
hooted and hollered delightedly at
my expense. The other young fella
was doing about the same as me. By
the end of the day, we were a mass
of lumps and bumps and bruises and
our clothes were torn. I thought for
sure we were going to be fired, but
all Nick said was see you tomorrow.
The next day, we set the few remaining
pieces and the gang left me
and the other young guy to bolt everything
up. They were all 3/4 common
bolts with lock washers. About 1
p.m., the company truck driver came
and we loaded up the Dutchman
and dolly on the truck and he told
the other guy to go to a Chinatown
address in Manhattan. I was left to
finish the bolting up, but the driver
told me to go to the same place in
Chinatown next day.
When I showed up for work the
next day, the gang asked me where
the other guy was? I didn’t know and
never saw that man again. We worked
all over the city and sometimes moved
to other jobs during the day, taking comealongs,
blocknfalls, and our personal
tools right on busses and subways
to the next job. I was able to stay with
that company for quite awhile, eight
months or so and finally, they ran low
on work and I got paid off.
Although I was to go on to connect
steel for some twenty years around
NYC, I always remembered that hand
line work and how it taught me to use
my body as a tool and to move as one
with other men while setting steel by
hand. A lost art I think.
Respectfully Submitted
J. Thomas Dilberger
Local 361 (Brooklyn, N.Y.)
J.I.W. 873894 (Ret.)
14 THE IRONWORKER