Function of Nicknames on the Waterfront

ROGER:

The complexity of nationalities and cultures and personalities that congregate in a seaport helps explain why nicknames are so commonly used on the waterfront and generally in the maritime industry. Nicknames are another example of the nature of the industry influencing the social relationships of the workers. Most longshoremen were dispatched from the hiring hall for short-term jobs.

They may rarely see each other on the job. They might work with a gang for a week, and then not dispatched to the same ship or pier for months. In maritime, too, you have guys who leave ships and sign on ships. Pretty soon, seafarers are known, not by name, but by nickname—which is usually descriptive. Otherwise, a name by itself might not identify a person.

How many named Jones are on the waterfront? Pretty soon a guy becomes identified with something personal, like "Cigar" Jones or "Raincoat" Jones or "Skinhead" Jones, or Ollie Olson or "Wooden Shoes," which was Henry Schmidt's nickname.

It's for identification purposes because guys don't know each other by names as much as by some aspect of their behavior or the way they look or dress. I always think of the guy who was always chewing on an unlit cigar. He was known as "See-gar." I remember two brothers who were elected and reelected year after year to be sergeants-at-arms at Longshore meetings. They were known to everybody as "Big Dago" and "Little Dago."

SHEARER:

What did they call you?

ROGER:

They said Sid "Radio" Roger.

SHEARER:

Sid "Radio" Roger? Roger: In Hawaii I was called "Sid the Voice." When I was in high school, some of the boys in gym, at which I was clumsy at best, dubbed me "Nerves" because of my tic. 

I didn't like it, but you take it from your peers in high school. Harry Bridges was most often called "The Limey" or "The Nose." So much for nicknames. The best place to find these nicknames are on ballots for union office. Most dock workers had no idea what anyone's full, real name was. So the nickname became the only form of recognition.

Aside on Eric Hoffer

ROGER:

The waterfront was also a haven for intellectuals. It was a place where they didn't have to get involved with the other people if they didn't want to. Like Eric Hoffer, who was a working-class guy, and also an intellectual. 

He spent his spare time just reading. What did he read at lunchtime mostly? Time Magazine. You might as well know, It wasn't Montaigne or Plato. It was Time. I worked with Eric Hoffer quite a few times.

SHEARER:

This is when you were a ship clerk?

ROGER:

Yes. Each ship clerk usually was attached to a ship gang or, if the work was on the floor, to a group of men. Once I was the clerk where Eric Hoffer was part of a floor gang, building certain kinds of wooden flats—called loading boards—to hold cargo in a certain configuration on a ship. I watched him as he got the gang to work very hard in an organized and unified fashion. 

One would hammer while another held pieces of wood together. Another would saw. He made a team out of a group of men who didn't know each other. The one thing they did have in common is they were longshoremen.

It amazed me how he managed to get them enthusiastic about doing good work even on a type of job they didn't like. He would say, "That's wonderful." "Let's all nail together, 1-2-3, let's nail." You saw these guys falling under his spell. He'd get so enthusiastic. Of course, some of the union folks might have a wry approach because, traditionally, that enthusiasm about your work might be called speedup. 

But, I found it wonderful to watch this whole work experience develop. It had something to do with pride in your craft. There isn't much said about pride these days. Another day I spent any time with Eric was when he was a hook-on man. We were working —

SHEARER:

Hook-on?

ROGER:

Hook-on. Which is where two men stand on the pier right under the hatch. When the sling comes over and is lowered down to the pier—

SHEARER:

The empty sling?

ROGER:

Empty sling. You hook on the next load. A hook-on job takes various forms, depending on the kind of cargo being loaded or unloaded. Usually, two men work together—one on each side of the load—and when the man on the winch brings the empty hook over the side the hook-on men attach the wires, or chains or bars or ropes, to the hook and the load is winched up and over and down into the hatch. That's about as well as I can describe it without drawing pictures.

Now, there was a guy on the winch on this particular job who was known for his sour-puss and constant complaining and terrific ability as a winch driver. On this ship, he was driving what was called a whirly crane, which takes even greater finesse. This is over forty years ago, but I remember his name was Albert. A grayish guy from Belgium. 

I remember this because we got to talking during coffee breaks. During the lunch break, we were all eating around the same table—Hoffer and Albert and about four other guys and I.

I remember Albert was complaining about women. He says, "Me, I don't understand women. I'm so good to them. I work so hard. I give this woman, this wife of mine, everything she wants, and what does she do? She leaves me." He turned to Hoffer and said, "Eric, you're a smart guy. You write books. You're a smart guy. Why do you suppose women are that way?" 

And Hoffer said, "You know Albert, I'll tell you, if you could make love as good as you drive a winch, you wouldn't have any problems." [laughter]. You heard it the first time here. The Eric Hoffer you didn't know.

SHEARER:

So this is the kind of person who was attracted to waterfront work?

ROGER:

These kinds of folks; this marvelous mix of people.

Dispatch Hall Protocol

ROGER:

They had something else going for them on the waterfront. Again because of the hiring hall. If any day you decide, tomorrow I don't want to work. Tomorrow I want to loaf. Tomorrow I want to shop. Tomorrow I want to pay a fine or get drunk or go visit somebody. Whatever. You can call the dispatcher and say, Replace me. You must replace yourself. 

That is understood in this particular social organization the hiring hall created. You are always responsible to be on the job and if you're not going to be there for any reason—in fact, you don't even have to give a reason—you are duty-bound to make sure you're replaced.

SHEARER:

Meaning?

ROGER:

You call the hiring hall—

SHEARER:

And say, I'm not going to be responding today so someone else can get ahead of me.

ROGER:

Well, no. It can seem complex, but the rules are clear. When you were dispatched it was for the entire job. Many jobs, let's say a Luckenback ship at Encinal Terminal in Alameda, would start absolutely from scratch, empty. The ship might take, with hand work, as much as maybe five days and nights to load the whole—

SHEARER:

So this assumes someone who is in the middle of a job?

ROGER:

Yes. You're in the middle of a job and you don't want to work tomorrow for whatever reason. To a lot of people that was a wonderful aspect of the process. As long as they did two things. One, they had to replace themselves and two, they were allowed one replacement a week. 

If they did it more than once, they had to add eight hours to their total hours so that they wouldn't do this as a gig in order to get advantages in job placement. You you can come back to the hall and get another job. But you have to wait a day. That's part of the penalty so to speak.

There are marvelous types around the waterfront. I knew people on the front who were good artists. They liked to paint, but they had to make a living. Now and then, if they had enough money to last a few days, they went out with easels instead of cargo hooks.

So it attracted this great mix of people. A remarkable number of them were well educated. Later, there was a wartime influx of African-Americans from the Deep South. It added a significantly different culture to the waterfront. That's the way it is now.