Fifty years ago many islanders shared a common summer experience: working at one of the several pineapple canneries in Hawaii. Many teenagers earned their college tuition in this manner. I asked readers what working at a cannery was like.

“My brother and I worked at the cannery when the minimum wage was $1.60 and $2.40,” Donald Chang said. “I think it was the rite of passage for all the kids and parents in the 1950s-1970s.

“It was probably the first job for many of us, and it was tough, long and hard work. But it was enough to pay my annual UH college tuition and books.

“I remember advancing up from being a palletizer — stacking cans on a pallet — to giving breaks to people along the canning line (behind the trimmers) and policing up the area (sweeping, pulling broken cans and spilled fruit from the drains).

“The canning line never stopped, unless something jammed. You didn’t want to be responsible for a jam, which would cause a pile up of cans in the rest of the line.

“This taught us the value of the money we worked for, and the incentive to go to college or do anything so as to never work this kind of a job again.

“I remember the Hawaiian aunties that gave me candy and tried to help me pace myself to get through the long hours, and the uncles who looked after us and taught us the ropes there.

“We also had some fun near the end of season when the cannery would shut down on the weekend to clean up and do necessary maintenance.

“The occasional water fight could not be helped, and no one seemed to mind when the bosses joined in.

“I wish the cannery was still around to teach my kids or their kids the value of money earned from hard work.”

Trimmers

Ethel Fleming said, “I was a ‘trimmer,’ stationed at tables between the Ginaca machines, which shot the pineapples down an assembly line to our tables, and then onto the slicing machines for the next step, the packers.

“We had wonderfully sharp knives to cut off any leftover skin and pick out dark/spoiled parts of the fruit. That and rotten ones were squished down a particular chute. We placed the good ‘clean’ ones on the conveyor belt that never stopped unless the crew couldn’t keep up and pineapples started to pile up.

“We wore heavy rubber gloves that went halfway up our forearms to protect against the splashing juice. Sometimes the gloves were accidentally sliced. That acidic juice caused bleeding ‘burns,’ and a temporary break from the work was the walk to the dispensary to get the skin on your fingers and arms washed and bandaged.

“We became adept at spinning the pine in our hand to trim the other end. Small sweet pines nearly ‘clean’ of skin came faster. The really big ones (looked like 12 inches) came down the line slower but were really heavy. I think we called them two-tons.

“We’d sometimes have to hold them on the counter to do the trimming job; we thought we’d break our wrists otherwise.

“This was my first summer job when I was a teenager in the early 1960s. Trimmers were paid five cents more per hour than the packers. Maybe it was more dangerous?

“It was hard work, especially doing 12-hour shifts during the peak season. We were happy when they moved to three eight-hour shifts!

“I’ll always remember smelling like a pineapple on the bus home, because even though I took off my apron and bonnet, I usually forgot to wipe down my shoes in the hurry to get home.

“To this day, because of my experience as a trimmer, I’m the designated one to cut the pineapple. I wish I could buy one of those knives we worked with in the cannery. They were the best.

“While the work gave me spending money, I went on to college and worked part time in the afternoons at Liberty House, a different job setting. I still love fresh pineapple, and can tell which one is best by color and fragrance. Early experience is a good teacher in many ways.”

Choice, fancy or tidbits

Sister Geraldine Ching, former CEO of St. Francis Medical Center, remembers different parts of a pineapple might have different uses.

“The top slices of the pineapple were ‘choice’ ones that went into the top cans in the rack in front of you.

“The lower part of the pineapple was the ‘fancy’ (sweeter) slices. Those went into another set of cans.

“As the cans got filled, you moved them to a container that the ‘guys’ had to pick up. As you removed a can, an empty can appeared in front of your workspace.

“If the pine was not fit for either choice or fancy sale, it stayed on the belt for ‘tidbits.’ The packer at the end of your table had the mechanism to make tidbits. Every hour or so, packers rotated spaces.

“To keep all of us working, popular music of the day was piped in. The best pay was at the peak of the season when the cannery operated 24/7. On Sundays we were paid time-and-a-half!

“It was a social institution, too. There were luncheons with your table-workers and floor lady. It was a great place to see your classmates and meet new friends.”

‘Mellow Yellow’

Ewa historian John Bond said, “I was a tray boy one summer, midnight shift, seven days a week.

“My biggest memory was the constantly repeated, almost like water-boarding, replaying of the same 45-rpm records — maybe 12 songs in total — over and over. Donovan’s ‘Mellow Yellow’ is permanently embedded in my brain.”

Peas guisantes

Wayne Sumida remembers the rail line that transported pineapples from Pier 38 to the cannery property.

“Barges from Lanai laden with pineapples docked at Pier 38, and cranes loaded the large crates of pineapples onto the rail flat cars. I remember traffic being stopped while the train crossed Nimitz highway.

“There were two cafeterias at the Dole cannery: the main cafeteria within the cannery and a smaller one in the can plant, where the Dole Ballroom parking garage is today.

“The food was good. I believe it was about $1-$2. They usually had two entree choices plus rice and mac salad. I really liked the peas guisantes and beef stew.

“One thing I do remember was the total friendliness of the staff — they were great.”

Sex education

Gere Best said she learned some things she didn’t expect at the cannery. She and her friend Leatrice Goo were trimmers at Dole in Iwilei, being paid under $1 per hour in 1958.

“We’d pick up the cored pineapple, cut out bad parts and put it on the conveyor belt to be taken to the packing table. We did this for eight hours a day and sometimes overtime, too.

“Being a sheltered 16- year-old, work at the pineapple cannery meant that we were exposed to the very best that could be offered from the ‘Ladies of the Cannery’ on sexual matters.

“Sex education back in the mid-1950s was very circumspect. It was a subject that was delicately discussed, if ever.

“While parents were subdued in cluing us in on sex education in the 1960s, the Cannery Ladies were the exact opposite of our parents or any other trusted adult to deal with teaching us sex education.

“They had absolutely no filter when ‘discussing’ sex with us; pointing out techniques that were best used. Nothing was left to the imagination.

“We sat there in shocked silence because the lessons were really, really raw.

“This was all taken in stride as the summer passed. We all took on double shifts to pick up overtime money for our college fund. Tuition at UH back in 1958 was $200, which included school and books per semester.

“The end of the summer would find me with a net of $400, which took care of my tuition and books at the University of Hawaii for a full two semesters.

“Many of life’s lessons were learned and imparted by our cannery teachers. They all wanted us to succeed and really made us work for our money.

“I have great memories of working eight summers at the Dole Cannery. It’s sad to see it’s slipped to the wayside due to progress.”

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Bob Sigall is the author of the five “Companies We Keep” books, filled with interesting stories of well-known Hawaii companies and schools.