There have been some very few people who know me well that have been surprised that I choose to do work that is not, shall we say, white collar or academic or highly paid jobs. I understand that it is unusual for students, such as was I, who score well on tests to become low paid guys with dirt under their fingernails. Folk who do manual labor that “requires no mental or book learning.”
Lately there have been a lot of good articles about the falsehood of such a division. One of the best authors is Matt Crawford who wrote a book that was published in 2009 called “From Shop Class to Soulcraft”. He had been a cubicle/office worker and was on the track to making big money, but now he is happier as a motorcycle mechanic. He discusses the wrong concepts we take up such as the idea of “meaningful” occupations versus “just working to make a living” and attacks the tendency of public schools to drop shop classes in favor of computer labs. Here is a quote from Matt:
“…mechanical work has required me to cultivate different intellectual habits. Further, habits of mind have an ethical dimension that we don’t often think about. Good diagnosis requires attentiveness to the machine, almost a conversation with it, rather than assertiveness, as in the position papers produced on K Street. Cognitive psychologists speak of “metacognition,” which is the activity of stepping back and thinking about your own thinking. It is what you do when you stop for a moment in your pursuit of a solution, and wonder whether your understanding of the problem is adequate. The slap of worn-out pistons hitting their cylinders can sound a lot like loose valve tappets, so to be a good mechanic you have to be constantly open to the possibility that you may be mistaken. This is a virtue that is at once cognitive and moral. It seems to develop because the mechanic, if he is the sort who goes on to become good at it, internalizes the healthy functioning of the motorcycle as an object of passionate concern. How else can you explain the elation he gets when he identifies the root cause of some problem?
This active concern for the motorcycle is reinforced by the social aspects of the job. As is the case with many independent mechanics, my business is based entirely on word of mouth. I sometimes barter services with machinists and metal fabricators. This has a very different feel than transactions with money; it situates me in a community. The result is that I really don’t want to mess up anybody’s motorcycle or charge more than a fair price. You often hear people complain about mechanics and other tradespeople whom they take to be dishonest or incompetent. I am sure this is sometimes justified. But it is also true that the mechanic deals with a large element of chance.”
I have a one-person business so I can do a variety of tasks, and I get to talk to all the customers. I am able to see my relation to the community at large, and the relationship between my giving things away and my receiving many more things back. It has been my observation that if commerce is done correctly, it can be the most rewarding form of human interaction. To me it seems logical that a very small business in which there is little or no division of labor is a sort of ideal.
Therefore, I thank all the folks that I have met over the last 30 years in this craft/business. For me, this passion I have seems to fulfill a lot of the unconscious needs I have had, and it is nice to read about its psychological dimension. I would appreciate your thoughts on this.
Great post on working with our hands, and how we can fulfill unconscious needs by listening to the whispers, and taking action.
I too felt a powerful subconscious pull in the direction of manual labor when I left journalism and photography and took up work in a restaurant kitchen.
My conscious rationale was to learn something practical (cooking) which I could do anywhere in the world, on short notice, and at least get myself fed. I figured I could walk up to the back door of any commercial kitchen and offer to peel potatoes, wash rice, or grind corn, and eventually earn a meal.
I asked around for the names of the best chefs in Rochester. That was the mid 1980′s, and I heard repeatedly about Greg Broman at the Strathallen Hotel. I set my sights on working for him, and decided to first learn to make something basic, Hollandaise Sauce.
I happened to need a housemate, so told the universe that I wanted a “culinary acrobat” who could teach me how to make Hollandaise. I put an ad in City Newspaper that said “Housemate Wanted. Must be committed to something.”
The second call I get is from what sounds like a truck driver from Buffalo, so just from his voice I’m thinking “this probably isn’t a match.” But I ask anyway where the guy works. He replies “I’m a chef at the Rochester Club.” Score!
Rick Leone moves in a week later. We become great friends, and he teaches me to make Hollandaise. I buy restaurant menu covers at the Goodwill and cook ala carte for friends, offering them a variety of choices that all have Hollandaise Sauce. Once I’ve got that down, then off to the Strathallen to pitch Greg Broman.
“I don’t really know how to cook, but I can make Hollandaise. I won’t steal from you, I won’t lie, I won’t call in sick if I’m not.” Greg hires me on the spot to apprentice under the Franz, the Garde Manger. I learn the cold side of the kitchen: lots of prep, salads, bread baking, terrines and pates, gravlax, and so on.
And the most rewarding part of the job reveals itself one day when we’re glove boning 300 Cornish hens for a banquet.
“So what the f*#@ is a smart guy like you doing working in a place like this?” the chef blurts out.
Turns out the chef was a psychology major at UC Berkeley where he was influenced by the legendary Timothy Leary. Chef Broman also proved to be skillful at getting into our heads, and I learned a lot from him, beyond slicing mushrooms.
I surprise myself by saying I’m doing kitchen work to “get to know my father,” who had died when I was 12.
He was a cook in the Navy, and later had his own business sewing boat tops and cushions for ocean racing yachts. As a kid I worked alongside my dad in the boat business, summers and practically every day after school.
I greatly value that time working with my hands, both what I learned from being with my father, and from the physical work itself.
I learned a lot about quality, one word that really describes Roger Levy and the work he does at Freewheelers.
The man just oozes quality, care, and gentleness. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance springs to mind, a book that weaves together philosophy and memoir, and reminds me of Roger’s willingness to share some of his great story, and to listen to yours. Excellent bikes and tuneups are a great bonus!