Information Management Lesson on the Trans-Alaska Oil Pipeline

As kid I worked on the Trans-Alaska Oil Pipeline, the year former President Jimmy Carter took his oath of office, I served food and cleaned up behind Pipeline Workers Union 798 members who were organized out of Tulsa, Oklahoma - men of Southern accents, cowboy boots, welder's hats, and a thirst for alcohol. I happened to learn about information management from one of the other women working in the dining hall mess trailer. 

She was older than me, I worked alongside the attractive woman who affected a strong southern drawl. She had long brown hair, eyes that darted and shone, an infectious laugh – she dressed much like the men, but wore some indication she was female, a scarf with her cowboy boots for example.

On one occasion she sat next to the front door in the large mess hall trailer and as the 798ers came in to wait in line to order dinner, she told them some stuff, and let them know there were some planned changes. I worked as a pantry line cook, head dishwasher, and bull cook, 55 miles north of the Yukon River, in Coldfoot Camp (#4).

Well, you know everyone, pretty much, could read; some tradesmen and a lot of unskilled laborers comprised the camp population, with just a few Alaskans like me. And you know the woman could have placed a sign up to handle the information and she wouldn't have to sit there and deal with hundreds of hungry guys. So, I mentioned this to her. “Why don’t you just get a sign? I can make one for you and leave it on the table.” I whispered to her just as the rush of customers began flowing in through the broken double doors.

The roughnecks were far from home in a strange country without their family or loved ones for minimum 9 weeks at a clip, without weekends, no real breaks, no radio stations or TV to speak of, just work 7-10s or 7-12s or worse - in the dark and cold for most of the year, because that was how the contracts were written. And there were only 40 women in a camp that sometimes had 800 - 1200 or more men way out heck and gone in the Alaskan wilderness with the lone icy pipeline haul road and airplanes for access. At best it was 6 1/2 hours drive south to Fairbanks, Alaska.

And she said the most loving thing. I'll never forget it, totally etched into my memory still today. She said to me - "Ya know I don't mind, honey, because if I don't talk to them they get no excuse to talk to me otherwise." in her believable sweet southern drawl.

And this is what humans do for each other, they communicate, they tolerate -- because that is caring - sharing information and sources, answering questions even handedly, interrelating from a human centered point of view. She personally, actively, kept that pipeline camp from boiling over into fighting many a night simply because she cared for people. In like manner everybody respected her and listened to her.

And she was dead right. Every single man who could, would ask her the same stuff she just answered - even if they just heard her answer, the next man in line would ask her again -just to have the attention, even if they were pretty drunk, as long as they didn't try to physically grope her, cause that would really cause a stink, she'd carry on a dopey conversation with them, each one, on any topic. and thus their exchange was all about love and kindness and compassion - putting others first. She was not afraid of the men, either.

I never ever looked at information the same way after that encounter.

Yet it still took me a long time to actually understand the pith of her lesson. It is not about what we do at all, it is about how we treat others. Today I cannot recall if she was an Oiler, or a Bull Cook. The work or job itself does not matter. The accomplishment which matters is how we relate to each other. That is what I aspire to do perfectly. Whether you serve someone or are served, Rockstar or garbage collector, it is the respect, love, kindness, interdependence, interconnectedness that makes a difference.

All questions are on the table all the time. Everything is valid. The important thing is paying attention from the compassionate point of view.