In the dark hours before sunrise, in Ketchikan, an Alaskan town about 1,000 kilometres north of Seattle, Vigor shipyard workers begin to move. Dwarfed by enormous steel segments of a new ferry, welders, painters and electricians twist their bodies. They roll their heads, shoulders and wrists. They ask about each other’s families. They celebrate pregnancies, pay rises and second chances. They jump. They lunge. They do push-ups and backbends. Seagulls call. Rain falls. Then — in jeans and work boots, sweatshirts and hard hats — they meditate.
As public debate remains intense over gender roles in society and the workplace, Vigor’s morning routine contradicts the gritty, masculine stereotypes associated with industrial labour. “I thought it was kind of weird,” says Irineo Munoz, 33, who started working for the Vigor Alaska shipyards as a machinist in 2015. A former gang member from California, Munoz moved to Alaska after his release from prison.
Crews meditate, stretch and talk — on the clock — for a few moments at the start of each working day. Every Wednesday, at lunchtime, they’re given more time to meditate. Smaller groups of employees get routine leadership training. Some are so committed to the transformative leadership style that they’re mentoring other employees in their off time, sharing interpersonal skills and self-mastery techniques. An hour of employee-led peer counselling is available, once a week, during the workday, paid.
Connecting with a higher power
Munoz has become a meditation fan and might just turn his shipyard gig into a career. “I am glad that they give me time to connect with my higher power,” he comments.
Vigor Alaska says it hopes to help its industrial workforce to develop “soft skills”, in an effort to build a more productive team with lower turnover. Finding a good job and keeping it helps prevent recidivism, and Vigor considers itself a second-chance employer, eliminating background checks and giving felons — and anyone else who has struggled in life — a fresh start.
In Vigor’s shipyard, strength is measured by more than physical power, big builds and heavy machines. Self-esteem and personal success also matter.
“My co-workers are some of the manliest men you’ll find. The men of men,” says Scott Jackson, 36, a lifelong resident of the area, a professional firefighter and the shipyard safety officer.
At six feet three inches (1.91 metres) and 250 pounds (113 kilograms), he is hard to miss as he walks the yard, tying down unsecured cylinders of compressed gas and preventing potential hazards that catch his eye. Sceptical of Vigor’s methods, he had heard rumours of men standing around sharing feelings, chanting and doing “mushy, gushy” stuff. But when he experienced men like himself tearing up as they spoke about life’s frustrations on and off the job, he changed his mind.
“It helped me communicate in a more effective way rather than [with] outbursts of feelings,” says Jackson, who had a self-described reputation for being stern and abrupt. He and other employees say that the skills they have learned at work have influenced their home lives. They are not as stressed or frustrated, leaving them with more energy to put into family and free time.
Trained on the job as an electrician before learning to weld, Chris Comstock, 37, arrived in Ketchikan seven years ago as a former meth addict with his life in chaos. When the shipyard took him on as a general labourer, he said, he used anger to hide his insecurity. Eventually, he learned that real confidence did not come from bravado. After several promotions, he now works in recruitment, screening potential new hires.
The person, not the trauma
He also works hard at helping current employees overcome tough times. “We don’t see their trauma when they walk up to us,” said Comstock, a tall, energetic man who is quick to smile. “We just see the person in front of us. And if they are in their trauma, chances are we consider them a problem. ‘They are a troublemaker. They didn’t show up for work. They smell like alcohol.’ On the surface that’s what we’re dealing with.”
Marita Fuller could have been one of those problems. “I was a felon on probation and the day I got off of probation I started drinking,” says Fuller, 27, a former heroin addict, single mother and one of 22 women employed at the shipyard, outnumbered ten to one by men. When Fuller relapsed, instead of firing her, the company helped her get into treatment and back on her feet.
For her, morning meditation is a welcome pause before the bang-clang of pounded steel cuts through the noise of heavy equipment, before safety bells sound and welding sparks fly. “I focus on my breath, and I tell myself I’m going to have a good day,” she says.
The practice also appears to be good for business. Employee turnover has been reduced by nearly half from 2016 to 2017, and safety has improved, according to Doug Ward, director of shipyard development.
Passionate about personal mastery, Vigor Alaska’s former general manager, Mike Pearson, introduced the soft skills trainings in 2014 as a component of a “whole human model” approach to employee development. Pearson has since transferred to Vigor’s Seattle headquarters, where he has initiated similar practices.
Yet for some shipyard employees, a good day means having no part of the “mushy, gushy” feelings and trendy talk. “We should be out there getting something done,” says journeyman Bob Gilman, 64.
A shipyard employee since 1992, Gilman is frustrated about limits on vacation pay, a turnstile entrance he calls a “cattle guard” and new paint lines showing where to walk — all changes implemented after Vigor took over the shipyard in 2012. Still, he sees some wisdom in the changes. Each morning after Gilman rolls out of bed at home and before he heads to work, he stretches. “I think it’s probably a good thing. That meditation shit? Not so much,” he says.