Midnight Mike
2006-04-24, 10:42 PM
LONG BEACH At 81, his frail knees wracked by swelling and constant pain from degenerating joints and arthritis, Henry DeVries could have collected his mythical gold watch years ago and sought comfort in retirement.
But making planes is what gives DeVries comfort and his life joy. Has for 57 years, ever since at age 24 he signed on to work for "Mr. Douglas" at Douglas Aircraft Co. for $1.05 an hour after moving to Lakewood from Ann Arbor, Mich.
So, with a black velvet sky still overhead and the day's new dawn hours away, DeVries hobbled into the Boeing Co.'s 717 factory one morning earlier this month like he has done for thousands of other workdays past.
It's 4:30 a.m., still nearly two hours from the official beginning of his shift. But DeVries has work to be done in this cavernous hangar, even if to some it may appear only to be the keep busy kind.
DeVries works in the Boeing 717's "tool crib," where once he and a small army of 200 or more craftsmen churned out handmade machine piping, tubings and fuel lines for the seemingly endless line of passenger planes being assembled on the other side of the giant building.
With intricate jigs holding the unshapen metal parts in place, DeVries would hand mold master parts like metal hydraulic tubes a plane's blood vessel that would then be used as guides for mass production.
Now, those master tubings and other fixtures dangle from clothes lines in the tool crib, crooked and gnarled much like DeVries knees.
It's just DeVries and two other workers these days. With the last McDonnell Douglas/Boeing Co. 717 passenger plane assembled and now having been towed across the street for engine and flight testing, the 717 hangar now sits mostly empty, and dark.
DeVries' fellow workers have either been laid off over the years, or transferred to Boeing's C-17 plant, where their seniority will keep the paychecks coming even if at the expense of younger workers or are testing the job waters. In a nearby department, four of six 717 workers are transferring to Boeing divisions in Torrance. The remaining two weren't asked to transfer.
Still many others are opting for retirement, calling it a day. They've decided to pack their bags and, like Southern California's commercial airplane history, fly into the sunset with the last 717 when it's delivered in late May.
DeVries knows the end when he sees it. It's been a good ride. Parts that he's fashioned are in virtually every commercial plane ever built at what once was a sprawling complex of manufacturing buildings at Carson and Lakewood.
In the back of his car, parked at a prime handicapped spot next to Building 80, DeVries shows off to a reporter memorabilia he's collected from his career. The items fill a part of his home in Cerritos.
A blur of old pictures from untold "Thank you" company ceremonies, DeVries standing next to an ever-changing line of smiling executives, always wearing what seems to be his trademark plaid workshirt. Pristine copies of the internal magazine, Douglas Airview. One, from February 1943, with a Rosie the Riveter, fingernails polished bright red, skillfully using a drill.
DeVries wanted to make it a cool 60 years of service with Douglas Aircraft, McDonnell Douglas Corp. and the Boeing Co.
And he would have made it, too.
Boeing management has allowed him to stay on, doing jobs where he doesn't have to be on his feet, and there will be continued work in spare parts for the next decade for the 717 fleet of 156 planes now flying, as well as for Douglas heritage planes like the DC-9, DC-10, MD-80 and MD-11.
He could have also gone over to the C-17 with his super seniority, adding to the litany of hangars he's worked in at the historic plane-making site.
But the knees.
"I like to work. I hate to have to quit. They've always treated me real well here. But I can't climb. I can't walk for too long. It's a heck of a thing to get old," DeVries said. "The golden years aren't so golden. I used to be a somebody around here "
And so DeVries has decided to end his career, and $32.10-an-hour salary as well, with 717 No. 156.
There isn't a better plane to go out with, DeVries said.
"That airplane over there is good," he said, pointing to the last one ever to be assembled, as it sat inside the hangar recently.
"I feel bad about the whole thing. When they close down this side, it will be the end of Mr. Douglas. There will be no more of him here. It will be the end of an era."
But making planes is what gives DeVries comfort and his life joy. Has for 57 years, ever since at age 24 he signed on to work for "Mr. Douglas" at Douglas Aircraft Co. for $1.05 an hour after moving to Lakewood from Ann Arbor, Mich.
So, with a black velvet sky still overhead and the day's new dawn hours away, DeVries hobbled into the Boeing Co.'s 717 factory one morning earlier this month like he has done for thousands of other workdays past.
It's 4:30 a.m., still nearly two hours from the official beginning of his shift. But DeVries has work to be done in this cavernous hangar, even if to some it may appear only to be the keep busy kind.
DeVries works in the Boeing 717's "tool crib," where once he and a small army of 200 or more craftsmen churned out handmade machine piping, tubings and fuel lines for the seemingly endless line of passenger planes being assembled on the other side of the giant building.
With intricate jigs holding the unshapen metal parts in place, DeVries would hand mold master parts like metal hydraulic tubes a plane's blood vessel that would then be used as guides for mass production.
Now, those master tubings and other fixtures dangle from clothes lines in the tool crib, crooked and gnarled much like DeVries knees.
It's just DeVries and two other workers these days. With the last McDonnell Douglas/Boeing Co. 717 passenger plane assembled and now having been towed across the street for engine and flight testing, the 717 hangar now sits mostly empty, and dark.
DeVries' fellow workers have either been laid off over the years, or transferred to Boeing's C-17 plant, where their seniority will keep the paychecks coming even if at the expense of younger workers or are testing the job waters. In a nearby department, four of six 717 workers are transferring to Boeing divisions in Torrance. The remaining two weren't asked to transfer.
Still many others are opting for retirement, calling it a day. They've decided to pack their bags and, like Southern California's commercial airplane history, fly into the sunset with the last 717 when it's delivered in late May.
DeVries knows the end when he sees it. It's been a good ride. Parts that he's fashioned are in virtually every commercial plane ever built at what once was a sprawling complex of manufacturing buildings at Carson and Lakewood.
In the back of his car, parked at a prime handicapped spot next to Building 80, DeVries shows off to a reporter memorabilia he's collected from his career. The items fill a part of his home in Cerritos.
A blur of old pictures from untold "Thank you" company ceremonies, DeVries standing next to an ever-changing line of smiling executives, always wearing what seems to be his trademark plaid workshirt. Pristine copies of the internal magazine, Douglas Airview. One, from February 1943, with a Rosie the Riveter, fingernails polished bright red, skillfully using a drill.
DeVries wanted to make it a cool 60 years of service with Douglas Aircraft, McDonnell Douglas Corp. and the Boeing Co.
And he would have made it, too.
Boeing management has allowed him to stay on, doing jobs where he doesn't have to be on his feet, and there will be continued work in spare parts for the next decade for the 717 fleet of 156 planes now flying, as well as for Douglas heritage planes like the DC-9, DC-10, MD-80 and MD-11.
He could have also gone over to the C-17 with his super seniority, adding to the litany of hangars he's worked in at the historic plane-making site.
But the knees.
"I like to work. I hate to have to quit. They've always treated me real well here. But I can't climb. I can't walk for too long. It's a heck of a thing to get old," DeVries said. "The golden years aren't so golden. I used to be a somebody around here "
And so DeVries has decided to end his career, and $32.10-an-hour salary as well, with 717 No. 156.
There isn't a better plane to go out with, DeVries said.
"That airplane over there is good," he said, pointing to the last one ever to be assembled, as it sat inside the hangar recently.
"I feel bad about the whole thing. When they close down this side, it will be the end of Mr. Douglas. There will be no more of him here. It will be the end of an era."