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My first years of commercial seafaring were spent sailing the Great Lakes
on ore carriers. After hitting all sorts of ports for a couple of years,
from the taconite docks of Duluth to the grain wharves of Sept Iles, I
was constrained to conclude that Midwestern cities and towns were alike
in at least one respect: They were invariably jam-packed with highly skilled
people, most possessing a work ethic that would put Puritans to shame.
Whether one of the ships I was working on needed new stanchions welded
in Saginaw or radar repairs in Superior, it seemed there were always plenty
of shoreside folks around who could do the work, do it fast, and do it
well.
Carver Yachts is a Midwestern firm, of course. So I guess I shouldn’t
have been that surprised when, prior to a recent sea trial of the
company’s new 466 Motor Yacht in Sturgeon Bay, a visit to nearby
Pulaski, Wisconsin, and the plant where the boat is built, engendered
a heartwarming dose of déja vu. The enthusiasm, expertise,
and commitment to quality I encountered among the Carver employees was
every bit as compelling as anything I’d seen on or near the lakes
years before.
The Wire Shop was a prime example. About the size of a small house and
smartly staffed with 17 men and women of varying ages, the place felt
charged with can-do enthusiasm and expertise. It was as if you could drop
virtually any kind of design or engineering problem on these folks and
they’d come up with an answer—fast.
Organization was an obvious priority. Up front were large, meticulously
installed and maintained terminal-crimping machines, which Carver uses
to obviate the unevenness and unreliability of terminals hand-crimped
on an assembly line. In the back, similarly well-cared-for injection-molding
devices held sway, deftly turning out beefy, pin-type harness connectors;
Carver says they stand up to corrosion and other problems better than
cheaper, looser products. And just about everywhere else in the place,
amid stools, toolboxes, and long workbenches laden with everything from
humidity-resistant magnetic breaker switches to heavy coils of corrosion-resistant,
tinned-copper wire, stood huge (8'x16') “harness assembly boards.”
Embellished with giant, blueprint-like templates punctuated by hooks,
brackets, and other fitments, these babies serve as giant jigs for the
modular electrical harnesses that Carver substitutes for more glitch-prone
piecemeal wiring.
The other spot I found especially indicative of the Midwestern work ethic
during my tour was the Wood Shop. Staffed with 85 people divided among
three shifts, it had just about the same can-do, red-white-and-blue atmosphere
as the Wire Shop. While most of the machine operators I met here had worked
for Carver for at least a couple of decades, I ran into one guy who was
finishing off his 32nd year. With obvious pride he showed me several cherry-wood
door- and door-frame assemblies destined for 466s. The craftsmanship was
superb, with doweled joints, countersunk and smoothly bunged-over stainless
steel fasteners, and elegantly chamfered fascia and other surfaces.
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