slightly off-topic: Winches and Watercolors: Artists on the Waterfront

[David Christian]

Reprinted From March 2002 ILWU Dispatcher

Winches and Watercolors: Artists on the Waterfront
story by Maria Brooks

There was a time on the waterfront when you might see a longshore
worker pull out a sketch pad. Standing by, he'd pencil a few quick
lines, then stuff the pad into his jeans. Today, the worker-artist
is not so easy to spot but he's still around.

"We have members here who are talented - I mean really talented." says
Robert Costa, the Sergeant of Arms of Local 10. Talent turns up in
every ILWU local. Among the rank and file you can find stain glass
artisans, lithographers, screen writers, poets, web masters, potters,
carvers, musicians and watercolorists. The list runs on and on,
reflecting the kaleidoscopic interests of ILWU members.

The ILWU encourages these endeavors and has put money where its heart
is. Its locals not only support their own artists but they often
commission art from the community. At Local 10, murals were
commissioned for its walls to illustrate the union's history. The
hall, once dark and bland, became bright
and colorful. Workers noticed. "Members bring their wives and kids
to the Hall to show off the paintings," says Costa. "'Look at these
pictures,' they tell their kids. 'This is what we're all about."

Art work shows up when you least expect it - even in the international
offices of the union in San Francisco. Displayed prominently are
paintings of men working, bundled in dark jackets, their white caps
pushing against the wind.

These pictures reveal the emotional power of the waterfront - what it
feels like to work under the hook, or to walk a picket line, or to beg
for a day's job in a shape up. The artist, James Grosso, had been a
longshoreman. He painted the weariness and dignity of workers and he
did it boldly.

Grosso, a native of Oakland, moved to the East Coast in the 1950's to
set up a studio in New York City. Harry Bridges and Lou Goldblatt had
met the artist and stopped by his studio to view his work. They
liked what they saw. Within months the union had purchased the
entire collection of Grosso's waterfront art.

James Grosso had established himself in New York. But on the West
Coast, there were many other artists on the docks who found
inspiration from the vitality of their workplace.

Someone may wonder why this particular union has so much talent. The
answer appears surprising simple. It's time. Longshore workers can
control their time, that shifty essence that makes dreams possible.

"We're freed up to pursue whatever the hell it is we want to pursue,"
says Herb Mills, a pensioner who earned a doctorate while working in
Local 10. "We're the original inventors of flex time. The union gives
everyone, whether he's an artist or not, a wonderful opportunity to
structure his life the way he wants."

Lots of things demand our attention today, so why spend time on
creativity? It's question that Robert Costa, an artist and writer, has
thought about. "Art touches every part of our being," he says. It's
that thing that sets us apart. It can inspire us to reach for the
best within us.

Years ago, before containerization, there was a special liveliness on
the docks. Many workers lived near the waterfront and socialized with
one another. Longshoring was the kind of work, as writer Kenneth
Rexroth described it, where you could "make a pile and take it easy."
That was before workers needed two trucks in the garage, a boat, a
hefty mortgage and tons of dough for their kids' education.

Making a pile and taking easy reflected the Bohemian lifestyle of the
1950's. People gravitated to seasonal jobs or casual work on the
waterfront to support their non-work lives which often involved travel
or writing or music or art.

Steve Parun, a retired walking boss from Local 91, remembers this era
after WWII. He used his GI Bill to go to art school. A kid from a
poor family on the Sacramento Delta, he dreamed of becoming an artist
and living Paris. And he did it. He moved Paris, he painted and
visited galleries until his bucks ran out. Returning to New York, he
supported himself with odd jobs while he continued to paint. At the
end of five years, he came home to the West Coast.

In 1959, Parun got on the B-List at Local 10. On the docks he met
other artists. One was Jake Arnautoff, whose father, Victor, had been
the project director of the momentous murals at Coit Tower in San
Francisco. Jake Arnautoff worked for 30 years as a top pick and strad
driver on the docks. He kept sketch notebooks and documented daily
routines of work. In his drawings, men hand handle "stinking maggoty
cattle hides" or drive picks and shovels into dried copra stuck
together in huge bricks or work at countless other jobs. When
Arnautoff retired from Local 19, he published his drawings, with bare
boned descriptions, in a small book titled simply, "Work on the
Waterfront, A Longshore Artists View".

There's nothing in Arnautoff's book that would look unfamiliar to
Larry Yamamoto. He, too, is an artist, an accomplished watercolor
painter and a retired longshore worker.
"I don't think in words too well," says Yamamoto at his studio in Muir
Beach. "I think in shapes and light and color. It's hard to
describe." Yamamoto worked for 31 years, moving from warehouse to the
waterfront in Locals 6, 10 and 34.

His paintings are exhibited in galleries and art festivals. They have
won prizes. His art have been purchased by private collections on the
West Coast, Hawaii and Japan. "He's exceptional," says Steve Parun,
"a truly fine artist."

Yamamoto's studio and home is perched on a cliff not far from San
Francisco. Favorite paintings hang near his easel. One of these is
called, "The Winch Driver". It's an image of man, standing ram rod
tall. He peers at the viewer, bundled to his nose in clothing.
Yamamoto knows the feeling of the work since he was a winch driver for
several years.

He often carries a palette and brushes to the hillsides near his
studio. He works primarily in watercolors, although he's comfortable
with acrylics and oils. His colors are bright and luminescent. A
skilled draftsman, he draws lines and solid shapes and washes them
with color. When he's done, he's turn a sketch into something that
looks like sunlight on paper.

He says he became interested in watercolors "in the concentration
camp". This is what he calls his imprisonment at Gila River, Arizona,
one of the relocation centers in World War II that held Japanese
American families.

Yamamoto was born in Hawaii. His parents were second generation
Americans. The family moved to Los Angeles during the Depression where
his father worked as a gardener. "I felt secure." he recalls. "There
were Mexican families and black families around the neighborhood. We
all got along."

But suddenly life changed. Yamamoto was sitting with his buddies at a
movie matinee, when Pearl Harbor was bombed. As he left the theater
he saw the black headlines of war. "It was frightening", he says. "I
was very loyal. I felt like an American."

Like all Japanese Americans living on the West Coast, the Yamamoto
family was locked up for the duration of the war. The government
called them a "security risk". Huddled into barracks and cut off by
barb wire, these Americans had done nothing against law - except be
born of Japanese ancestry.

His father was embittered by the experience. But young Larry was
resilient. He learned to paint. He played baseball and looked forward
to high school. At war's end, Yamamoto was 16. His family had no
money or possessions. In order to finish school, Yamamoto worked as a
"house boy" in homes in Los Angeles, doing kitchen work and gardening.

It was hard for his parents to start over. His father had no job and
he was nearing fifty. He was hesitant to return to his community.
"He didn't know what to expect", he remembers.

Yamamoto enrolled in art school and for a brief time thought of
becoming a commercial artist. His experiences had politicized him,
made him aware of racial and social injustice. In the early 1950's he
moved to San Francisco.
The city, during these years, harbored a lively 'underground' culture.
It was found in a section of town called North Beach. The placed was
abuzz with life. Jazz clubs and art galleries and pool halls
clustered to together on the tiny streets. Pool sharks would show up
gallery events. In the gin joints, poets and politicians and winch
drivers drank Irish whiskies together and swamped gossip.
Yamamoto painted, and got interested in folk music. He learned the
banjo. He met old timers on the waterfront who told him about the '34
Strike. He started showing up at the Warehouse Union for day jobs.
When he married his wife, Judith, forty seven years ago his Bohemian
life was curtailed. Even as the children arrived, Yamamoto continued
with his art. Disciplined and serious, he puts in regular hours
everyday at his easel. "I enjoy painting but it's a struggle - an
enjoyable struggle. My goal is to paint something and do it well."
"Painting makes me feel good. I paint primarily for myself," says
Yamamoto, his long white hair tied back like a Samurai warrior. His
eyeglasses dangle on a chain around his neck. Every so often he
nudges them up his nose.
His studio looks out a garden filled with bird baths and berry trees.
"I go through my paintings once or twice a year and throw out the ones
I don't like," he says. "My ideas change. The main thing, for me, is
to keep working."

In our world where hustle and self promotion are common place,
Yamamoto appears free of ambitious striving. He doesn't fret about
attracting patrons or winning prizes or getting reviews in the right
magazines. He simply works everyday at his art for the sheer
pleasure of it.

Robert Costa has admired Yamamoto's work for years. "Larry paints for
the love it," he says. "That's what the union has provided. It's
enabled him to paint."

Twenty years ago Costa was chairman of the Waterfront Artists group at
Local 10 and organized a successful art show. The show was a genuine
success, people remember it today. Costa would like to see another
event organized - but on a grander scale.

"These shows are important because the community can see the other
side of longshore workers," says Costa. Art shows spotlight the
abundant talent in the union. "The waterfront is not about the steady
worker, it's about the individual who is choosing for himself."

"I think the ILWU should have a "Cultural Arts" officer who would put
together events that would benefit all the members," he adds. Costa
wants to see a coast wide 'festival', an event where members would
show off work skills in a fun competition, along with their art. "We
could send our best lashers, our best lift drivers, our best tractor
drivers to compete with other locals. We'd demonstrate our skills.
Competitiveness brings out that pride in our work."

Costa envisions this festival with all kinds events unfolding. The
union's artists would exhibit their works and offer mini workshops for
members and their families. Master artisans from the waterfront would
demonstrate stain glass techniques or how to play a saxophone or paste
together a collage.

"We have nothing today that brings us together and gives us
cohesiveness." says Costa. "The workplace doesn't do that any
longer. Although we're doing similar work, we're becoming too
separate, too alienated from one another."

Costa, as Sergeant of Arms at Local 10, spends long hours at the Hall
surrounded by paintings and portraits. "I'm proud this place. When
people walk in here they see what we are all about, what it means to
be a longshore worker," he says.

The hall, too, is the only ILWU local guarded by a saint. A large
granite statue of St Francis, purchased by the members years ago,
stands between the union and the bustle of Fishermen's wharf.
With all the talent in the union, perhaps it will be art that brings
the membership together. Those cool cats in the gin joints of North
Beach were probably right. After you make a pile, it's art that
makes life easy.