Self Portrait in pink bathroom. Somewhere in central Illinois.

From my Journal;April 2004

So far I have been in the regional manager’s office about four times for one-on-one interviews. Every one of those conversations has revolved around one main theme: commitment, my commitment to this career and ultimately my commitment to the company. Unfortunately for me, as I’ve come to realize in my life as an adult, my father instilled in me, from a very early age and by example, an almost fanatical loyalty to whoever I work for. At the same time he passed this loyalty to me, he also gave me a deep sense of what is morally right. It appears that these two values can become shortcomings to whoever is unfortunate enough to possess them as far as work is concerned. The way most companies seem to be run now a days, these values make for some serious conflict. I could never steal so much as a paper clip, yet can be profoundly disturbed and moved to commit an impulsive action or vocalization if I feel something has been done with the intent of hurting or cheating an employee. You see, the new world of corporate politics calls for two things: 1) You must display utmost loyalty, like that of a soldier to his country but 2) should not speak up or question the fact that you are just that: a disposable soldier in the battle for the biggest profit.

As to my talks with the Head Boss, from day one as nice as he was, and pleased as he seemed to be to have me on board, he always appeared rather doubtful of my staying power. If it had to do with my gender, then it was a lose-lose situation. If I were single then my staying power would have rested solely on the fact that I’d surely date someone, very likely from the company, possibly even a foreman (as one girl did) and then drop out, or get into conflict and drop out, or get hitched and drop out, or get pregnant and drop out, or do any combination of the above- and drop out.

Since I was married, then my staying power rested on how long before 1) my husband got tired of my little adventure or 2) I got pregnant. If it had to do with the nature of the job, then surely I’d get fed up sooner or later. Regardless of the cause, the doubt was there. Translated from his attitude and looks and diluted into a few words it would have sounded like this: “Yes, our door is open, but are you willing to step in and stay in? I’m not holding my breath”. That open door policy was a comfort. It could so easily been much harder for me. This does not mean to say that I did not have to deal with the: “Ahem, what are your plans? What does your husband think? How long will he let you do this? When will he be moving here?”

I. Commitment and welding. “Yes, we have the welding program and we need welders but don’t do it now. There’s the coatings program, it’s more your size.” And the welding opportunity got pushed aside and eventually discouraged and moved entirely out of my reach. When it was first announced that there would be coatings and welding training offered I shrugged at the thought of welding. I did this because I wasn’t sure I was up to par, I thought it took some special credentials to get anywhere close to the training so I turned my attention more toward coatings. Coatings seemed simpler, not quite as strength oriented, more likely for me, a woman, to be able to easily pick it up. When they saw that I thought this way, they urged me harder toward that direction. I didn’t think I could pass the weld test. Simple as that. My only experience with welding had been a single glorious month at school. This was a month where I went from abject fear of the whole concept of electricity underwater to absolute fascination. I was very shaky at first, electricity and I being nothing more than respectful strangers. Having grown up in so many third world countries I heard my share of stories about horrible accidents having to do with electricity from my father’s experiences at work. Whenever possible I always had someone else do the plugging and unplugging of the most mundane objects: TVs, radios, toasters. How utterly selfish! (but saddly true). When welding came up in school, I decided to learn all I could, pathetically enough because I did not trust my classmates with the “plugging and unplugging” of things. I dug around the measly little library until I found a few rather old books. I also asked my father and he emailed me a lesson or two: Electric Circuits for Dummies. During the practical applications I made sure I always stood close to those who had experience. I watched them. I watched the angles, the movements, the positioning of arms. I also listened. I compared the sound of a good weld against the sound of one that wasn’t coming out too nicely. Everyone who welds will tell you that a good weld sounds like sizzling bacon. A bad weld can sound like grease popping in a wet skillet. Not to mention the horrible hum of a stuck electrode. The hardest part for me was getting the arc started. Old Willy made it look so easy, he had talent. Months later at work I was infuriated when someone who knew nothing about Willy and his history, shrugged off the fact that he had been one of the divers to patch up the Exxon Valdez. “It takes no talent to weld a patch.” One said. I was furious. Obviously if Willy had been called out to participate in such a high profile job, he was good; if this guy had been the one to do the job I bet he'd be the first to brag about it to anyone who'd listen. This was another typical example of the immense threat that a decent diver poses on others and the rampant insecurity that all divers (including myself) seem to feel when other divers’ achievements are discussed. I know that the comment was more a reflection of this than a dismissal of Willy, but I was miffed anyway. Willy welded the old fashioned way; he’d sometimes bend his electrodes. Then again Willy was one of the first Navy divers. One of his lessons to me was lending me the book “Descent into Darkness” ; I recommend this book to anyone remotely curious about commercial diving. I’d watch Willy then imitate him and pretend it was simple. In doing this I fell in love with welding. The three hour dives felt like ten minutes and I tried any way I could to get more time underwater. Some of my classmates soon tired of the novelty and no longer cared to be in the rotation. It was at this point that I, along with a couple other fellow fanatics, was able to dive all day and weld rod after rod.

On the day of the test I was very nervous. To put so much love and effort into something and find out that you are mediocre at best, can be a bit of a slap in the face. This happened to me in high school when I attempted to pick up volleyball when I realized that I absolutely loved the sport. Up to that day I had only participated in solo sports so the team effort involved in volleyball was attractive. The ball was not too hard (I always seemed to get hit with a ball if a ball was involved so at least this wouldn't hurt too much) and there seemed to be a balance in standing relatively still and sudden bursts of movement. Above all else I had noticed that all the girls who played developed rather limber and beautiful bodies. I gave it my all trying to learn to play. I was all over the place; “I got it!” became my mantra, motto, and call. Sadly, I hardly ever had it, and when I did the ball landed in an entirely different court not currently involved in our game. In the end I was rarely picked to play. When the team captains (you know, the popular girls no one dares stand up against) had us all standing in a group and got to pick us out in turns I was called on only after the very tall girl with the back brace for her scoliosis had been picked. That is just how bad at volleyball I was.

For the welding test we had to cut and grind our own pieces. We had to drill a hole in the center of one and weld that smaller piece on top of the larger one. The test of the integrity of the weld was made by injecting air into the hole and soaping up the welds to see if any air was getting through. If the weld bubbled up then the pieces had not been completely welded together. We were allowed 4 rods for the test, no double passes and one practice piece before the test piece. I went down with my pieces and my first four rods. I began on what was supposed to be my practice piece. Tack weld. Tack weld. Start the first side straight then angle when I got to the lap joint. Let the rod place itself on the metal. Don’t linger or force it. Don’t pull away or speed up. I watched the slag float off as it peeled off the fresh weld.

That was a good weld.

“Topside.” I said quietly.

“What’s up Richter?”

“Ask Mike if I can make this my test piece.”

“You want that to be your test piece, Richter?” Came the unsure reply.

“Affirmative. Please, Mike?”

A minute of silence followed and I could picture my classmate asking Mike.

“That’s a Roger if you want but you cannot take it back if it fails.” The voice of my classmate on comms replies.

“Roger that.”

I weld on the sides, then my little crosses as Mike, our instructor required. I look at the finished piece. I flip it over. I still have 2 rods left. I weld a large capital K, if I fail then I'll own up to it, but I'll be miserable, I know.

I waddle over to the bucket and deposit the left over rod and my finished piece, then I pull three times on the line and watch the bucket ascend.

It is at this point that my heart begins to race. Was I mental to do this? Shouldn’t I have given myself a second chance? I realize I am clasping my hands as if in prayer. This is so meaningless to countless experienced divers out there, and even to many of my classmates who are secure in the idea that they will be going offshore to work and this is just another waste of time class. Even the instructors are constantly reminding the students that grades don’t really matter. It’s nothing to them, but everything to me.

Every day I attended that school was everything to me. I waited so long to finally take the step to become a commercial diver and wasn’t, still am not, sure of what success I will have in the end. There is so much machismo and bravado, even from the few women involved, that you’ll hardly ever hear the truth: was it hard or not, were you afraid or not?

“They’re testing it, Richter.” Topside tells me, and then is silent again leaving me to listen to my hesitant little breaths and speeding heart.

“You got 100% Richter.” Even topside seems happy for me.

“I did?”

“No leaks Richter, congratulations!”

“Yay!” I am jumping up and down underwater, clapping my hands with the joy of a little girl.

I’d have done the same if I had gotten picked first to play volleyball 17 years earlier.

In the real world the 100% that mattered so much to me became meaningless to others. I know this now, but the 100% remains a reflection of my potential. I forgot this for a moment when they passed out the sign up sheet for the weld test which could place 8 of us in training. I let the paper pass me without even touching it. Days later, for lack of anything to keep us busy with, Bob sent me and one other guy over to the shop to join those who had signed up for the test. Over the previous weeks the weld test had become a big deal for many of the guys. The idea of being part of an Elite group (as the manager talked it up) and making the extra money was like a siren song to them. I dragged my feet and vacillated; I went to the office and hung out there, chit chatting with Jan, the manager’s assistant. I went back to the shop and stood about, watching the other guys welding. I could see the intensity in some of their faces: they want this. The supervisor for this event is a guy who scared me a bit from day one. Quiet, chilly eyes, thin smile; unreadable. In retrospect I see I am as guilty of having preconceived ideas, and profiling as any Johnny Redneck (see what I mean? bad, bad Kyra!).

“You want to try?” he asked me.

“I’d like to watch.” I remember saying and I moved closer to Daniel, one of the guys trying out who had previously been a fulltime welder. I watched him make the rod dance as he welded neat little patterns. Julian, my best friend from school, was concentrated trying to follow Daniel’s lead. Yesenia, the only other girl there, was in a place by herself. She had graduated a month before me. I had admired her and looked up to her since I was in school. She had hired on a few weeks after me, and having her there made me feel like we had a little group going. Yesenia wanted this more than anyone there. She had talked of nothing else since she hired on. Her face was set and she was trying it every which way. I was afraid of what would happen when I tried, and try I would have to sooner or later.

When my turn could no longer be avoided, knowing full well that I’d get nowhere, I reverted to class/ play mode. I was just here to have fun and a little practice. Though in reality I could not close my eyes, I almost did. I closed everything else and recalled sight and sound from welding class. I suck at understanding voices, half the time people think I am deaf or getting there but when it comes to sounds things are different. Sounds are signals to everything around us, like the way sometimes words don’t matter, only the tone with which they are said does. As soon as I was done with my first basic lap weld I looked over at Daniel. He used the pin hammer to scrape the slag away and his eyes twinkled. “Good.” He said simply.

By weld #3 the slag was lifting itself off like an old scab that’s ready to go. I looked up expecting to see Daniel standing over me but the supervisor was there instead. He was eager to give me tips on how to improve my positioning. I wanted so badly to be able to pick everything up as soon as he said it, but he is incredibly experienced and experienced people can impart the best tips and knowledge and it will only do so much good right then, the rest could only be brought about by my own experience. We broke for lunch and after lunch they called us all into the shop. They made a short speech about narrowing the decision to eight people and blah blah, but all we wanted to hear was names. The manager began to read from his list. “Ben Ryan, Mike Nielsen, Ryan Ferdell, Joe Buchanan, Daniel Stacy, James LeClair, Kyra Richter…”

Truly I felt honored. Truly I felt, at last, gifted and in a nod to those days in high school waiting for my name to be called for volleyball, redeemed. I felt like I had won a lottery, something based on the luck of the draw, but I still doubted or wanted to doubt what was possible. This, like my test in school had felt like dumb luck. Beginner’s luck. But twice in a row? Could I possibly keep duplicating this streak of luck throughout the training in Connecticut which would prepare us to weld in spent fuel pools, dryers and other extremely important nuclear components? Were these guys so stoic or were they at all aware of the responsibility, professionalism and, yes, commitment that would be required of us? I sure felt the weight of all this, still, something I hadn’t considered before had just become a possibility and now, by God, I wanted this too! Perhaps it is selfish and competitive but the more I thought about it the more it became imperative I push on. Me, Latin, female, and petite, a nuclear welder. Come on, how many of us could there be? Could it be, at last, only ONE? This to me was like reaching the summit of Mount Everest and being the first to put down a flag of your country. If I could do this then I’d be making it possible for many other women to do this too. I wanted this because after years of feeling like I failed my parents, myself and my husband, I could have a little vindication.

Then the regional manager, Bob and the weld supervisor stepped in. The supervisor was the only one trying to help me but I misunderstood him and interpreted his advice as a thinly veiled suggestion to not do this. Bob perhaps out of honest desire to keep me in the area and his crew, also told me it was best to wait before doing the welding. The regional manager, oh him. He was all about commitment. You don’t get to where he is by having a readable face do you? I could not interpret him or his words, all I heard was: “…suit’s too big for you, hindering performance… coatings as practice… commitment…. Never home for months on end… very expensive million dollars training for you to back out of it later.”

That’s all I heard. Could there still be doubt as to my commitment? I have been on the road for four months without seeing my husband, moving from hotel to hotel. It is now April, the welding event happened in mid November. I left Glenn shortly after Thanksgiving , had three days off for Christmas and have been working non stop ever since. I have the bad habit of wanting to see things from everyone’s side, of giving chances and excuses for why people say or do things. I come off as a wimp. June 2005 Last year I spent 8 months on the road. I paid for Glenn’s school and when he joined the company (what a wonderful bonus that was) I thought we would see more of each other. Glenn has now been working with the company for 11 months and we have yet to work together. There are many jobs where more than one crew is present, we could easily be in different crews but at least sharing the same hotel room. There are rumors that foremen and divers alike do not want to have us together. We firmly believe that this is purely out of envy because they too spend so much time on the road. For now, this is a battle that we chose not to fight.

As for commitment and potential, though I still have a long way to go and much experience to gain, I believe that I have shown the potential to be whatever they need, but the opportunity has not come my way. I remember the regional manager telling me that welders never see their families. Oddly enough I spent a total of 8 months on the road and hardly saw Glenn. This year alone from January to May we never had more than a couple of days together here and there. I would have preferred to be welding and making more money, but it was no longer my choice.