Opus Rob - Reflections on Work Life

Opus Robert
Aspirations
I grew up around content but relatively unaccomplished family members. In my earliest memories, I remember watching my grandfather leave for his church post, where he was the pastor of a congregation of 200 souls. He seemed to be a happy man, so I determined that I, too, should follow the Lord’s calling and do likewise if ever called upon by God. My mother, divorced and in her early twenties, worked at a soda counter at a local pharmacy/mercantile. She, too, seemed happy. My uncles, who were all working in the family construction business, seemed unhappy. Therefore, I viewed construction as something I wouldn’t particularly enjoy and soda dispensing and saving souls as definite possibilities. I had no idea how correct these early impressions would prove to be.
Early Years
My very first job was as a push-broom-boy at a small textile manufacturing shop in Brooklyn, New York. Vinnie was a kind boss when dealing with 10-year old, Caucasian upstarts, but not so nice when supervising the work of the dozen-or-so Latina women in his employ. When this job reached its end, I was apprenticed as the after-school “Boy Friday” for a private day care, where I repaired broken cots, raked leaves, and mopped floors. Although the money was great for a youngster of 11 years (.75 an hr), I felt that I was undervalued in my role there and began my longing for the ever-elusive job satisfaction.
A lack of contentment characterized my work in the years following my 12th through my 34th birthdays. This can be attributed to the work of all malcontents in my family-construction. Eventually, perhaps inevitably, I, too, was lulled into the family “work-camps” by the siren song of big money and “real” manhood. You see, in my family, “real men” swung hammers, slung paint brushes, and shoved shovels. Here I felt undervalued, but manly, nonetheless. The money I received for my labor seemed unjust compensation for the pre-dawn to post-dusk hours and the looks I received on hot days when standing in line at fast food establishments for lunch. It was not long before I began examining the job market outside the family-construction segment.
During my senior year in high school, my academic counselor reviewed my impressive body of school work and pronounced a sentence of one-to-two years in the community college of my choice. The problem with this plan was the lack of support and funding available to me by my wildly talented, yet barely successful, blue-collar-clad family. Mother had no money for rent, let alone college, and no rich relatives were there to lend a hand or a couple thousand dollars. It was then that my thoughts, widely ranging and sometimes debilitating, crystallized. The United States Air Force would be my home. I had spent an hour talking to an elderly gentleman who claimed to have “slipped the surly bonds of earth” and flown Air Force jets in the Vietnam War. His 60 minutes with me were the best (and only) vocational counseling I ever received.
I made it thorough Air Force boot camp in San Antonio, Texas and moved on to my technical school. It was here that I came to the sobering realization that I had been suckered into working in a field that the Air Force considered a “shortage” career-field. After learning to pack wheel bearings with grease, inflate tires with air, and fill fuel tanks with gas, I understood why there was a shortage. However discouraged, I resigned to completing my training and moving on to my first duty station at Eglin Air Force Base, Fort Walton Beach, Florida, as an Aerospace Ground Equipment (AGE) Mechanic. There I excelled, was promoted early, and decided to get married by age 20.
After marrying a college graduate and comparing our work days at the dinner table, I again became increasingly discontent with grease, air, and gas. I wanted more, but didn’t know how to get it. Sage advice came from a friend who suggested taking community college courses that were sponsored by the Air Force. I jumped in with both feet in hopes of obtaining a commission as an officer in the Air Force. The problem with this plan was that I hated doing school work and the Okaloosa County Community College insisted that I do school work. After agonizing for a week, I decided to drop the courses and revisit school again when my schedule and my point of view were more conducive to academic achievement. This was just as well, as later that year I received orders to move to Elmendorf A.F.B. in Anchorage, AK.
Grease, air, and gas, although exhibiting different properties in subzero temperatures, were the same in Alaska. I needed a change. I applied for a special-duty assignment as an AGE Maintenance Instructor. After competing for the honor, I was selected and soon found myself feeling better about what I did for a living. However, grease, air, and gas, were still ever-present elements of my daily lesson plan. I spent the next three years in this role, when with the birth of my son, my wife asked if I would consider requesting an assignment closer to her home in Glasgow, Kentucky. I had no idea what I was getting into when I agreed to her request and accepted a position as an Air Force Recruiter in Louisville, Kentucky.
Later Years
Recruiting had its positive points. Now, instead of grease, air, and gas, I had long hours, long drives, hundreds of phone calls, and a quota. The long hours, which topped 60 hours many weeks, and the quota, referred to as “goal,” were the most challenging. In this position I learned a great deal about sales, public speaking, office management, and putting up with the antics of skittish young-adults who had never lived outside a five-mile radius. I got the opportunity to discuss careers choices with these young adults and vowed to be honest with them - unlike my recruiter. This value of honesty, however, proved to be a millstone about my neck. After two years of refusing to mislead people in order to gain enlistments, my numbers began to suffer. This created a snowball effect that culminated in my family and me becoming increasingly dissatisfied with the Air Force. After nearly 11 years of service, I decided to hang up my stripes and join the civilian sector. Once again, I had no idea what I was in for.
Civilian life proved more challenging than anticipated. Most hiring managers had no idea how transferrable my grease, instruction, and career-planning skills really were. After spending some less-than-idyllic months as an insurance agent, the unthinkable happened. Attackers destroyed the World Trade Center towers and the entire world changed. My wife and I felt that we would have better success in the land of opportunity, Alaska. I found work as a case manager for the Workforce Investment Act (WIA) program within the Alaska Department of Labor (AKDOL). Working with WIA participants was a welcome challenge that paid fairly well. I soon found myself rising through ranks in the AKDOL and landed a job as the manager of the state’s largest job center. This position brought me into contact with people from many disciplines, but none attracted me like those working for the Alaska Division of Vocational Rehabilitation (DVR).
My time with AKDOL proved fun and challenging, but I always felt myself drawn to anything related to DVR. I signed up for DVR training, networked with DVR professionals, coordinated services with DVR clients, forced my staff to collaborate on DVR service plans, and became an obsessed DVR fan. Soon, I was making friends with lots of DVR managers and staff and outgrowing my role, yet again. This time, though, I was not finding myself discontent. Rather, I wanted to grow and expand my territory. As Providence would have it, my time at the AKDOL was soon to end. My wife was afforded a wonderful opportunity to be promoted and receive an all-expenses-paid relocation to warmer climes. I resigned my position and we relocated to Phoenix, Arizona.
Finishing Strong
While working as an Employment Service Manager with the AKDOL, I realized that the work I really wanted to do involved addressing the “real issues” affecting people and their work. In the typical Alaska Job Center, it seemed that we danced precariously on the edge with individuals as we tried to avoid the issues they faced, mainly because we lacked the credentials and expertise to “go there” with them. I wanted to really make an impact in people’s lives and my friends in DVR seemed to identify with their clients and shared a camaraderie that comes from doing the “right thing.” Also, the Certified Rehab Counselor (CRC) credential seemed to be a valuable grouping of letters to add to your title, as it signifies that you have obtained a high level of expertise.
Unlike me, others within the AKDOL seemed to avoid migrating to DVR because their (AKDOL) culture was more aligned with the business community than with the clients we served. Further reinforcing my decision, my experience with gender distribution in the field of vocational rehabilitation seemed rather evenly divided, whereas in the AKDOL it seemed that women filled most of the case-manger positions. Perhaps the greatest contributing factor was the encouragement of a senior manager within DVR. Duane unwittingly recruited me by being a good friend and confidant and displaying integrity, dedication, and a positive regard for people he came in contact with.
Work is a life activity that occupies most people’s waking hours. I find it necessary to have meaningful work, but do not mistake it for meaningful life. I feel that my life should be about helping as many people as I can. Therefore, my work should be a natural outgrowth of my life. I suppose in a way I am helping save souls from some form of self imposed or culturally-relegated doom. While working as a vocational rehabilitation counselor it is my goal to help many people with disabilities to find meaningful work, even if their meaningful work involves grease, air, and gas. Pardon me if I’m not sure about construction.