GloboCars: THE NEXT CENTURY : Workers Recall Their Lives on the Line

There was a time when Southern California prided itself as a top auto manufacturing center--second only to Detroit. In South Gate, Commerce, Pico Rivera and Van Nuys, the Big Three auto makers churned out vehicles for a state and city that were wedded to the car, where freeways had surpassed palm trees as a civic symbol.

Men and women on the production lines earned a good wage for bone-wearying work. At the high point, more than 8,000 auto workers filled the plants around Los Angeles and shared the benefits of Southern California’s boom economy.

There was a tight friendship on the line that spilled over to after-work activities. They were a family, and no strikes, layoffs or pay cuts could take that security from them.

All that changed in the past two decades. The oil crises of the ‘70s drove down demand for luxury cars. Foreign competitors shipped in compacts, giving local auto makers a run for their money. Detroit consolidated.

In 1971, Chrysler closed its plant in the City of Commerce. Nine years later, Ford shut down at Pico Rivera. General Motors folded its South Gate plant in 1982, after a brief effort to compete with “J” cars--compact Chevrolet Cavaliers. GM auto workers in Van Nuys thought their plant would never shut down, but it rolled out its last car--a flame-red Chevrolet Camaro--in August, 1992.

Today, all that remains of big-time auto production in California is a GM-Toyota joint venture in Fremont, which is making GM’s Geo Prizms and Toyota Corollas.

In Los Angeles, there are only memories for now, and three former auto workers share theirs in this look at an era not long gone.

‘We used to work almost 10 hours a day’

When Jessie Dominguez was 17, he left college after one semester to go to work at GM’s Van Nuys plant, hoping to make enough money to buy a car and then return to classes. Instead, he stayed almost 19 years, married and fathered three children. After the plant shut down in 1992, Dominguez and his family lived in limbo for a while. Now 37, he’s back in school at Valley College, pursuing a degree in communications.

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When I was hired by General Motors, I went right to the assembly line. Because of my youth, I was put into a very hard job there. I worked on the assembly line where I’d install steering columns in the cars. I would wire them up and secure them, bolt them down to floorboard and to the column. We used to work almost 10 hours a day. Back then, it was very common.

I went from that to what they called an ARO, which is an absentee replacement operator. Because I was able to learn a lot of jobs, you know, whenever somebody was sick, absent from work or was out on vacation, I would take over their jobs. I had to know at least 20 jobs. And the pay you got, I think, was a nickel (per hour) more for knowing that.

So, that’s when I started doing my next job--in repairs, and I did that for a number of years. At that point, say in ‘83, that was when I started getting involved with the union. I ran for an office in ‘84, and I became an executive board member. A lot of people knew my father (who was a union representative) very well. Because of my father’s name, and because I was his son, for that reason, I became heavily involved in the union. . . .

My work was like part of my life. It was the kind of work I enjoy. Working for the union, you work at a nonstop basis. You’re not just a representative, you’re a lot of times a confidant of the people. You’re a social worker on one term and a negotiator with the management on another.

Even when I worked on the assembly line, I enjoyed my work. I took pride in my work. I have no problem telling people I work for General Motors, I build cars. Working in an auto plant, you had a sense of prestige. We had a sense of, how do you say, satisfaction building cars. We didn’t look at it as just, oh, it’s just a product. We look at it as it’s part of America. . . .

I have a lot of friends that call me on the phone and ask me how I’m doing. Everywhere I go, to any shopping mall, anyplace, I always see someone from General Motors, and it’s different. Every auto worker, when we see each other on the street, we’d stop, we’d hug, or hand shake, whatever the case may be, and we ask how you’re doing, and we talk. The closeness is something I couldn’t even describe. Because you grew up together. I went to General Motors as a teen-ager, became a young man and ultimately entered manhood at General Motors. . . .

What General Motors was doing was downsizing. The only auto plant that was remaining (in Southern California) was us. . . . In July ‘91, I think it was the second week, they ushered us all out to a meeting in the back yard. They brought in an individual from Detroit, Mich., one of their (General Motors’) spokesmen. He came out with his speech, which was supposed to be, hey, General Motors’ reasoning why they had to close the plant, and then announced the plant would close a year later.

For me, it was . . . I was breathless. I just sat there and (was) in shock. We couldn’t believe what was told to us. We couldn’t. What? This isn’t happening--we are just dreaming. A lot of us thought, no way. . . . People were stunned . . . stunned. People went home that day. Many times on a Friday, when the plant closed, people would go off to the local taverns and have a drink with their buddies. Everyone’s in a cheerful mood. Nobody stayed around (that Friday). Everybody went straight home.

‘The company used to have dances, get a big crowd’

Manuel (Manny) Talavera, 70, worked at Ford’s Pico Rivera plant for 28 years. He had a good job and a good home. All that changed for him and his wife, Cora, when the plant closed. He was 56 and still had to make house payments. “What the hell am I going to do? Who’s going to give you a job at 56 years old?” he asked himself at the time. The Talaveras recall the good old days, and the not-so-good ones.

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Manuel: The job? It was rough. I was spot welding. I had an easy job before. Well, I used to go by there (the Ford plant) every morning. I said, “One of these days, I’m going to come in here and apply for a job.” So finally, one morning, I’m going to stop by and apply for a job. I was working graveyard at my other job. I was getting out at 6. So on my way home, it was 7 o’clock in the morning, I stopped by and got a job. I started working that same day. And I (was) working 10 hours a day. In 1952--February, 1952.

Spot welding was hard. I would come home and my arms would be burning. My wife said, “Dinner’s ready.” Oh hell with dinner, I went straight to bed. I didn’t take a shower or eat anything. I went straight to bed.

Cora: It’s a wonder he survived all those years. Very hard, very hard. I mean he used to come home so exhausted that he would not be able to enjoy the food. He was hungry, but he couldn’t even eat.

Manuel: And it was a rough first few days, and . . . but jobs were scarce then, so I stuck it out. The pay was good, good benefits. But you have to work your butt off. I was 70 in December. I was 56 when they closed the plant down. . . . It was terrible!

I felt bad. What the hell am I going to do? Who’s going to give you a job at 56 years old? . . . I went on an early retirement. At Ford, you can retire (at) 55 and 30 years’ service. But since I only had 28 years and 56 years old, I went on a special. . . . Because I didn’t have 30 years, I didn’t get full benefits.

All these auto factories were rough--Chrysler, General Motors, Ford. Well, I tell you, we had big turnover at the body shop where I used to work. Later on I started breaking in new people . . . hiring in. They started working and, next day, they won’t show up.

It was heavy work, spot welding, putting the metal together. And you worked about 50, say, 55 minutes out of the hour. You’re always on the go. It’s harder than any other department in the auto industry putting the body together. You have to keep up with the line. . . .

Cora: I think the hardest job for him was when he was in the body. The spot welding machine is heavy. I remember you telling me your limbs hurt because you had to squat down for a few minutes. And when the car comes by, you (lift it up) and then again . . . ooo . . . it hurts right now (thinking about it). He created big muscles. I always remember the big muscles you created then.

Manuel: The best was quality control. I had different jobs. They had me all over the place. I was like a utility man. If somebody was out, they’d throw me in there. And then at times I used to inspect the cars in the final (stage) before it goes, and check the front end . . . check for water leaks. I had different jobs. Quality control was a lot easier. You didn’t get dirty.

Cora: He really went through a lot. Sometimes he comes home tired and the kids are ready for baseball, to go practice. He did a lot for them. He did! He always has, always.

Manuel: I was involved in Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts.

Cora: Oh yeah, all the time. And now they appreciate that. My younger son has two kids. He has a little boy too. And he says, “God, I don’t see how Dad used to do it. I have half the job he has, and it’s hard for me to do it.”

Manuel: No, no regrets. Ford is a good company to work for. Real good friends. We still get together. Yeah. The company used to have dances, get a big crowd. We work together, we associate. We used to form our softball team, played baseball for my department. Every department had a team. So, we used to play each other after work. And we like to get the tension out of our system. Don’t get old. Once you get old, you fall apart.

‘At first, the men didn’t want us around’

Abigail Martin, 52, of Sylmar was one of the first women to join General Motors’ Van Nuys plant. During her 22 years there, she fought sexism, took care of two children and gave birth to two more. “The money and benefits were good . The job was hard,” she says.

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I started at the bumper line, assembling the bumpers. It was in the 1970s. It was the assembly line. Everybody was on the line, and I had my part to do. It starts from the bumper taillights, gutters. The bumper line would be the main. People were there to reach for the bumper to fix it to the car.

It was heavy. It was a man’s job. When I first started there, many, many times I thought of quitting. The money and benefits were good, the job was hard. The moment I hit the pillow, my arms would hurt so much. My bones, my joints, my muscles--they were aching. But when I saw my first paycheck, I said to my ills and pains: “Hang in there; we got a long way to go.”

The hard part were the first seven, eight years. After that, the people were more gentle. On my first day, the foreman told me that “this is going to be your job. You have three days to learn this job. If you don’t learn it in three days, out you go.” I showed him that a woman can do this job. And I showed him. They treated us like men from the beginning.

At first, they, the men, didn’t want us around. For them, it was like their own private kingdom. What made them hire women was because of federal laws: Ten percent of employees had to be women. It all started in Detroit. The government made them hire women. It was equal right.

Men used to mistreat us, giving us the hardest jobs. They wanted to make sure they made it hard for us so we would hang (up) the apron and leave. They used to harass us with Playboy magazines. They used to hang pictures on the assembly line with Playboy magazines. Ooo . . . that used to get us so mad.

When I worked there, I had two children already. And that was another job! Now, I don’t understand how I did it. I got off work at 3:30 a.m. At 7:30 a.m., I was up already, getting my son ready for school. When I came home, I would do the chores and clean the house, cooking. Sometimes, I would take the time to take a nap before work. Sometimes, I wouldn’t. By the time I went to work, the house is clean, dinner cooked. God knows how I did it. My husband, he wanted me to quit. He could tell in my eyes that I needed sleep.

So, here we are. I have two boys and two girls. I’m proud I was able to help my husband raise our kids and give them education. It takes sacrifices, and it takes two.

I retired in November, 1992. It was like leaving a family, a family that split. We used to organize potluck. Everything started with one green salad. Everybody get together and enjoy a big meal. Everybody looked at me as their mother. I was 50 when I left.

Even over here, just now, I stopped at the store, I met a couple I worked with. Everywhere I go, I see someone I know. My kids will say, “Must be GM, huh?”

Motor-vehicle registrations

1992: 25,770,043 Source: California Department of Motor Vehicles