Lead Line — August 2003

The smartest companies treat boatbuilding like a trade.

I’ll never forget
the first boat factory I toured. It was in 1983, and driving to the factory,
I anticipated a modern industrial campus, a fancy sign, and plush offices.
Instead, I got a dirt lot, choking dust, and a building that looked right
out of Blade Runner. To minimize overhead, the owner had purchased
a defunct cement plant.

I unsuccessfully tried
a number of doors—they weren’t locked, just rusted shut—and
finally walked into the production area, which was open on all sides.
Amid rusted-out tanks and dangling cables, a motley crew of workers was
building high-performance sportboats. Two were half-completed, and a third
was being laid up.

A disheveled chap introduced
himself and offered to show me around, warning me of the sticky pools
of resin that littered the floor. We walked over to the mold, and I peered
in. Five men wearing cut-off jeans, flip-flops, and stained and shredded
T-shirts were slopping resin onto fiberglass cloth, but the fumes were
so strong, the poor guys, who wore no protective gear, had to shut their
eyes or look away as they worked.

When I commented that
the workers seemed more concerned about catching their next breath than
the job at hand, my host explained that lamination was such a disagreeable
task that paid so poorly, only lowlifes would do it. Most left after six
months, so it was pointless to invest in better working conditions or
protective clothing.

At the time this struck
me as a bit short-sighted, an impression solidified as I gained experience.
I learned that building boats is highly labor-intensive, and that companies
that failed to invest in people produced inferior boats. Even today, with
CAD-CAM, computerized routers, and robotic sprayers, it still comes down
to men and women on the line. If they work in a nice place for people
who care about them and pay them a decent wage, they do better work.

Such boatbuilding sweatshops
have become rare, and many builders now have employee programs so attractive,
they not only retain people, they lure workers from other industries.
The smartest builders realize that to get and keep the best workers, they
must treat boatbuilding like a trade and create apprenticeship programs.

The most impressive
such program I’ve seen is run by the Australian builder Riviera.
In 1997 it developed a one-day-a-week apprenticeship for high school seniors.
Students who successfully completed it could become full-time apprentices
upon graduation. It’s been a big hit. Garry Appleby, Riviera’s
training team coordinator, recently told Qantas Magazine, “Students
don’t just have a job, they have a career. All of a sudden a lot
of things they learned in school have relevance. Their respect for teachers
and the school increases.” And Riviera gets a workforce that does
things its way.

Indeed, the program
benefits students, but it’s really about helping Riviera prosper.
Managing director Wesley Moxley told me the program is a key component
of Riviera’s growth strategy. “We can’t grow without
good people,” he says, “and this is the best way to get and
keep them.”

Do programs like these—underway
at a number of American yards as well—mean better boats? All I can
say is that I’d rather have someone who came through one build my
boat than someone focused on catching his next breath.

This article originally appeared in the August 2003 issue of Power & Motoryacht magazine.