YELLOW JACKETS ON THE STEEL

By Marty Rice

I spent a big part of my union apprenticeship at a powerhouse called Tolk Station.  The business agent at the union hall got some funny stares from east coast “boomers” (Iron Workers who traveled to jobs outside of their locals) when he gave directions.  “Head about one hundred miles southwest of Amarillo until you’re right between Earth and Muleshoe” he would say.  One hundred miles each way made for a heck of a commute. 

It was a few weeks into winter and it was COLD!  I was on a welding gang working on the 14th floor, welding up columns, beams, and braces.  We would hang a basket over a beam, climb down into it, and weld the "point" (where the connection of two structural members met) with 7018.

A tornado had literally ripped beams, and twisted columns on a previous power unit so we were welding every connection solid.

For some reason there happened to be a bunch of yellow jackets on this floor.  Usually they would've been hibernating or whatever it is they do in the winter, maybe fly south and sting some people in Houston or something.  Well, since it was cold the little guys could barely move around.  Although slow, I was still leery of being stung.  A spider had bitten the heck out of my finger previously on this job.  The little guy was waiting in ambush inside my glove.  When I put my hand in he bit it. 

I should've known better.  In Texas you always shake everything out before you put it on.  My grand dad put on his pants one morning not realizing two scorpions were mating inside.  They didn't appreciate getting interrupted and stung him a few times to let him know. 

I never have cared much for yellow jackets since about twenty of them attacked me at church camp when I was a boy.  So I took out my 8-pound beater (sledge hammer) and killed the ones at my point.  A bit of "overkill" but it worked.

"Look at this" I yelled to my friend Rex on the bolt-up gang.  "They're like sitting ducks!"  Rex shook his head in disapproval and told me I'd be sorry for being so cruel.  Later that afternoon he said he saw a couple of yellow jackets fly by carrying one of the ones I had killed on a stretcher!  "They said they were going to get you!" Rex laughed as we headed off the steel at quitting time.  "Yeah, Yeah, I'm really afraid!" I shot back. 

Each morning before we went to work, we would meet in a shack on the ground by the power unit we were building.  Each gang had a separate shack.  The raising gang, bolt-up gang, welders,  and the other trades such as carpenters, boilermakers, pipe fitters, etc.  would meet in their respective shacks.  There the gang foreman (also called a pusher) would lay out the work we would each be doing that day. 

I'm sitting there going through my lunch box for some breakfast when all of the sudden my leg felt like someone was burning it with a hot piece of steel.  Man, it was on fire!  I jumped up slapping my leg and I'll be danged if a yellow jacket didn't fall out.  I kept slapping and out they kept coming.  Out of a shack of 15 Iron Workers, those yellow jackets had picked my leg to climb up onto!  Of course,  Rex and my fellow welders thought this was funny as heck.

Now I don't know if it was true they were getting revenge like Rex had said, but that afternoon I could've sworn I saw one fly by with a smile on his face!

Marty Rice
Welding Instructor/Dale Jackson Career Center
Honorary Member Iron Workers Local #263