Dream For Fun and Profit

My Adventures in Kitimat, British Columbia

I boarded a tiny dual engine somewhat battered and time worn seaplane in Vancouver, BC for the 600 mile flight to Kitimat. I recalled the hotel manager telling me that a number of these planes had crashed during the first half of 1956 and were still missing. Nobody knew if there were any survivors. I had never flown before and his well-meant remarks instilled some fear in me. Being forewarned, I took a seat next to the emergency exit, just in case.

Once we were airborne, curiosity and excitement overcame my initial fear. The view was fantastic and I enjoyed the enormous, unoccupied wilderness.  I had never seen so much vacant land with enormous stretches of forests, mountains and islands. Every time we flew from solid land out over the water, the change in air currents caused the airplane shake and shudder, the excitement made my heart pound like a drum beat. Yet, it was a thrilling experience.

Kitimat was located inland at the end of a fjord. Once we were near our destination, the pilot flew the plane along the narrow fjord, just above the water. The wing tips almost touched the mountainsides. Then we came down for our landing. The plane’s floats were attached to the wings. Little wheels, under the body of the plane, allowed us to take off and land on solid ground. On touch down, my window was only a few feet above the water; suddenly we were in a “submarine.” Though the landing was smooth, water splashed over the windows for an eternity, it seemed. Then there was calm.  We rolled onto the soggy beach. It had rained heavily for the past few days and the land was total muck.  Since I had been sitting next to the only exit, I was to first to climb out. I stepped onto the ground and sank up to my knees in mud. Welcome to Kitimat.

I must have been a real sight for the few people on shore watching us. They laughed so hard and loud, pointing their fingers at me, laughing even more with tears rolling down their faces. There I was in my elegant, expensive suit with stovepipe trousers and with the raincoat over my arm dragging in the mud. To make things worse still, one of my pointed Bally shoes got stuck in the muck and I arrived on shore with one shoe and sock missing.  Looking at myself, I burst out laughing. This greenhorn from Germany had arrived safely!

My buddy Klaus greeted me at the landing site. It was good to see a friendly face again, a person who could converse in my native language. One of his new acquaintances owned an old 1950 green colored Ford. He agreed to drive us to the camp that would become my new home for the next nine months. It struck me as strange that virtually every man I saw wore knee high rubber boots with his jeans neatly tucked inside. Klaus explained that this was the only way to stay dry in the muddy, wet Kitimat weather. In any case, this was certainly better than walking with one sock and one shoe. I never found my other shoe; it was permanently embedded in the Canadian mud… a monument of sorts to commemorate my arrival.

There was only nine miles of paved road. It started in the bush and ended at the water, yet, many people owned automobiles to travel this lonely road. This didn’t make sense to me until much later.

ALCAN was the main employer, this Company Town employed approximately 15,000 males and only 80 females, most of who were married and worked in the offices or cafeterias. The few available single ladies of all ages willing to date always had satisfied looks on their faces. None of them, no matter what they looked like, even the oldest and least attractive had difficulty obtaining a date. The men were all over them to gain their attention, regardless of looks.  Men competed with each other for the ladies’ affections.  Many automobiles were parked off the main street along the logging roads doubling as motel rooms for sensual indulgences. The automobile congestion along the most popular spots caused some real parking problems at night. It was very normal to see 18-year-old youngsters walking hand in hand with women well into their 60’s, eager and willing to do some nurturing. Since I did not own a car, I was not concerned with getting dates, besides I was too picky in my selection of dates. My first Canadian driver’s license was still in the future.

Klaus had changed his name to Nick, which sounded more Canadian. On our way to the camp we passed the ALCAN plant, my future employer. Nick wore an attractive black baseball cap with a bright orange brim displaying the letters AFL/CIO. I inquired if this was a local sport team. He laughed and pointed out that I had to join the AFL/CIO Labor Union that protected the workers from the employer. Of course, this “protection” came with a $20.00 per month membership fee. Foreigners or immigrants were in the habit of converting the new country’s currency into the more familiar currency from back home.  This made it easier for them to determine the actual product or item value in relation to Canadian currency. I immediately realized that the $20.00 monthly union dues represented about two weeks of the average German wage or approximately 110 Deutsche Marks. This “highway robbery” was compulsory for union membership and non-union workers could not be hired. In union terms this is called a Closed Shop.  Personally, I thought of it as scheming extortion, which should be illegal!

In Germany I had seen American movies showing the beginnings of the labor movement with all the violence and brutality that took place between labor and management.  This was not unlike the start of the Nazi movement, the NSDAP - National Sozialistische