The winter of 1972 found me looking for another job for my first truck as an owner/operator. I had just finished a fast hard season hauling asphalt for Liquid Cargo Lines. The season came to an end when the January freeze settled in. They wanted me to stay on and haul bunker "C" for the winter. For me the rate was not worth it. So I moved on.

A young fellow that I had worked with at Griffith Laboratories was on his own now and had been hauling a few loads of lumber into Franks Transport, in Alliston, Ontario. He told me that Rick supplied the trailers and was looking to find an owner/operator to haul for him. He had half a dozen trucks of his own, and was all "R" Model Mack's, the same as mine. I checked it out and then signed on.

It was a new experience for me, hauling lumber that was rough cut and random lengths. It was a real pain in the ass, as it was hardwood and had to be tarpped. There were 2 stacks of loose boards with different lengths, and the tarp was the old heavy canvas weighing around 250 to 300 lbs. You had to get the loader to lift it up on top of the load with his lift truck, and then you were left alone to tarp and fend for yourself. 

I took the first load over to Michigan and had the proper papers for customs clearance. No problem there. I picked up a return load for Ontario. This was a real screw up for me. The American shipper knew nothing about export papers and left me alone with the load and no paper work. What now. I had no idea as to the procedures for clearing this particular load. I was not even told to what customs broker to use. I tried to phone Frank and got no answer. He had no office staff, or even a receptionist to take calls. He was also a playboy type that used to race snowmobiles on the circuit. I understood that he was at the show up in Muskoka, at a prominent motel. I finally found out where he was and then had to wait for a response for over 4 hours. I was not impressed.  

He finally gave me the information that I needed to clear the load at the Canadian Customs. I was never advised that the driver had to do all the export papers for his customers. Once I knew the brokers involved, I had no problem after that. I did my own clearing at the borders. There were very few American lumber shippers that had the experience with exporting their product. It was up to our transport company to look after that. It was one reason why American drivers did not want to haul into Canada. The International shipping to another country scared most of them off.

I carried on for the most part of the winter. I refused to haul to the docks in Brooklyn, NY, and New Jersey. I was fed up with the run around and the grease thy palm attitude. I just did not want any part of it anymore.

Rick had 3 loads for the docks in Brooklyn, NY. He wanted me to go, and I said NO WAY. He assured me that it was all set up, just in and out, no sweat, everything else was looked after and I was not to be concerned. He was committed to his customer, and was really pushing. The other drivers were, a young guy with no experience in the ways of the docks game, and 2nd, the local company kiss ass. Enough said on that one.

Because of the younger driver I finally gave in, and said OK, but no greasing thy palms. No sweat, it is all taken care of in advance.

The 2 of us took off right after loading and tarpping the kiln dried maple lumber for Holland. The Kissy boy would not run with us, he went home to sleep.

We took off after supper, ran all night, and were on the pier first thing the next morning. We had to be photographed and drivers license registered before being allowed to enter the shed for unloading. That was at about 08:00 am. We entered the shed, and were the only thing in there. It was humongous, and empty except for the two of us parked in the middle. It was about 10 minutes later that a foreman showed up and started to tell me how good and fast his crew could operate, and that both trailers would be empty in about 15 minutes. I told him that I was impressed and would be looking forward to a demonstration, and then he left.

That was his first visit. The second visit was about an hour later, and again described how fast his men could unload. I then told him that I always new that the lift truck operators on these docks had to be the best. He quietly stood around for a few more minutes (expecting a response) and then left again.

The kid asked me what was going on, and I explained to him the facts of life about certain shipping rituals. Lunch break had come and gone and we were still alone in this humongous empty shed. Two thirty had come and gone with the foreman returning one more time, repeating the same spiel again. Once again, I agreed on their proficiency in unloading, but that was all. You could see his face starting to change colour, then he left again.

In the meantime, I had the kid untie the tarp ropes and let them hang loose. Then open the chain binders and unhook one end of the chain, letting the chain and ropes just dangle loose. It was now going on 10 minutes to four o'clock, and they close at four. The foreman came back and was screaming at the top of his voice get those @#$%^&* tarps off the loads, NOW.

I had warned the kid in advance that there may be a confrontation, and told him that if we got unloaded, to just pull the tarps over and drop them to the floor, and then yank the chains off as fast as possible, and just let them drop. As fast as they unloaded the bundles of lumber, just throw the tarps and chains loose back on the deck of the trailer, and don't wait to fold or stack them. There were 4 lift trucks flying in and had both loads off in 3 or 4 minutes, then headed back out. We had to keep dodging them, as in their haste we could have been (accidentally?) struck.

We threw the gear on the deck and drove like hell out of the shed, stopping at the gate for the papers to be signed. It was now 4:00 pm on the dot. I could see the operators flying down the roadway on the other side of the fence. I did not have a good feeling at that sight. The kid was right on my tail. We headed off the property and rather than go up the ramp onto the expressway, we turned left and headed north under the expressway. The upper level was stop & go, in the dead of rush hour.

We drove for about 20 blocks and found a spot under the expressway to park. I said that now we will fold up the tarps properly, and chain down the 4 X 4 timber runners. It seemed to be a good spot for waiting out the rush hour. We were both starving and just happened to be parked in front of a Puerto Rican Bar. While eating, I explained to the kid why I did not want to do the docks anymore, and what the procedures were expected of you. It was a tradition, if you want to be polite about it. I just couldn't be bothered anymore.

About 3 hours later when all the traffic cooled down we took off. We were both pretty tired and found a pull off area to flake out for a well deserved sleep. When the morning broke and I was just raising my head above the window, I spotted the squealer heading south with his load for the same docks. That was the last time I had ever seen him.........Hmmm?

 ---------------- William (Diesel Gypsy) Weatherstone.                          RETURN TO STORY MENU