The Power Plant

The Power Plant

"Damn it to hell! I wish we could get Hawkins to pass his exam, Walter. We've done everything under heaven's stars to help him. I want to pay him more money. He's a good fella, real docile. How many kids does he have, Walter?" Chief Engineer Barrett asks. His voice is soft and woeful.

Walter, the assistant Power Plant Manager, looks up from his Navy magazine. His hair is cut into a gray buster brown, but his bald spot makes him look like he's wearing a white yarmulke. He's Irish and in a bit of a stupor. It takes him a minute to remember who Barrett is and whom Barrett is talking about.

"Uh, yeah, Hawkins--I don't know. Six I think. Maybe ten." Walter's head drops back into the magazine. His bald spot shines like a small porcelain saucer. His blue eyes sweep over the article he's reading, "Navy Pensions--Cheating the Actuary."

"Well I wish there was something we could do," Barrett continues.

"He'll pass it next year," Walter answers not looking up. Furrows form between his eyebrows. His eyes follow his liver-spotted finger as it cuts a path through a table of numbers.

I watch the two of them from the corner of my eye. I want to say, "Hold on you guys. You know very well you can give Hawkins a raise as fat as a Christmas turkey." I'm a Boiler Operator II in the Power Plant. However, I've never lit a water heater in my life. My job is to type and file away the stuff I type. I always file everything under "S" for stuff. I'm privy to secrets such as "Salary Ranges for the Plant Operators" and "Steamed Air--The Environmental Impact." I know Hawkins is nowhere near the top of his salary for his job title. But I don't say anything. I just sit and bang those keys.

Therefore, when you release valve A

steam heretofore unmentioned will escape.

I ease my guilt for not speaking up by pretending to believe that Barrett and Walter have good intentions toward Hawkins. They made him Employee of the Month, which got him a dinner in his honor in the University Cafeteria, a five hundred dollar check, plus the chance to park his rusty red truck next to Walter's spunky yellow Corvette. It's not my fault Hawkins can't pass any test.

Hawkins moves fast and does everything he's told to do. He's in charge of fetching the hamburger's from McDonald's at noon on Fridays. He plays dominoes with Jerry the plant supervisor and Walter when he's in the mood. (Barrett snorts at dominoes. I can tell he wishes Walter was more interested in valves and steam.) Sometimes Hawkins beats Walter. Walter doesn't like to lose at "bones." I suspect he knows he would lose more often if Hawkins didn't forget to write down his score from time to time. I believe that's one reason Walter doesn't care if Hawkins passes a test or not.

I catch Hawkins staring at me often, smiling as if we're strangers wondering if we know each other, but aren't quite sure if we should speak. I smile back at him. In my heart, I wish he would stop being so good. Stop bending so much and tell Jerry, Walter, and Barrett where to go. My Mother said my Father died from goodness--always doing what he was told by bosses, by preachers, by his family. He spread himself thin. "He was a doormat and just got wore out," Mother said.

Turn valve stem A counterclockwise

such that it points away from

B valve at a right left angle.

Failure to do so will nullify

all other attendant processes.

This is the value of an education I tell myself as I type. I've just started college but look where I am so far. I'm high up in the air-conditioned office of the University's Power Plant that blows like the hawk, chilled air over the Professor's bald heads. I type purchase orders. I know salary information. I tap my feet and get full of myself. I will never be a doormat.