Back when I was a teenager, my uncle, Tom Buckley, said that if I wanted to be rich, then I should do something no one else wants to do.  “Look at Ben Nickerson or Joe Dubis”, he said.  “Garbage and septic tanks.  Lenny Fougere, too.”  It was true.  They were all locals who had done very well for themselves doing things most of us have a natural inclination to avoid.  Smart choice.

The supply of the service is inherently low, the demand is high.  So there’s money to be made. These days, however, there’s a big lie floating around, and it is being believed by many because it plays to our own sense of elitism.

That lie is:  We don’t have enough workers on Cape Cod.

This is an outgrowth of the original idea that:  Americans won’t do these jobs.

Economists working for the state and federal government clearly acknowledge that an influx of workers from outside the system are depressing wages.  But larger media outlets add a dismissive caveat that this is only at the lower end of the scale, mostly for those who have a high school diploma or less.

I recall something that State Police Colonel and candidate for Lt. Governor Reed Hillman said in 2006.  There’s no better crime prevention measure than a job.
 
By importing cheap labor into our system, you are telling the poorest in our society that they are overpaid.  People who cut your grass.  People who pick up your trash.  People who clean your toilet.  It is an affront to their dignity, and yet too many in the business community say it, and the media, by and large, repeats it without question.

Those who do question it, by and large, are attacked as keeping white hoods and nooses in the trunks of their cars.  These charges typically come from comfortable whites who have the most to gain from large and cheaper labor pools.

Isn’t it strange, though, 1964 saw both the passage of the Civil Rights Act and the Immigration Act that greatly loosened our borders?  This was pointed out to me by a Masters-educated middle-class black American woman.  It stacked the deck against hardworking black Americans who wanted something better than a cycle of poverty.  Sure, you could vote;  but you couldn’t find a job.  Defending the current system — one that effectively keeps black Americans down and denies them their dignity — is racism.  Not the other way around.

Recently, the Cape Cod Chamber of Commerce showed true self-interest in opposing a casino in Southeastern Massachusetts.  Chairman and fellow Republican Dick Neitz has said, “Our biggest concern focuses on the effect (casinos) would have on the work force of Cape Cod.” He described the shortage of workers here reaching “almost crisis proportions in some businesses.”

Meaning, the city of New Bedford and Plymouth County should not create better jobs, with health benefits and child care, because that could lure workers from the Cape.  By that reasoning, no more businesses at all should open up on or near the Cape, either, because that would rob existing businesses of their employee pool.

That reduces all of us here to serfdom.  My only value on Cape Cod, then, is to work for a member of the tourist-heavy Cape Cod Chamber of Commerce.  But if I am not content with minimum wage, working overtime with no benefits, being laid off for the winter but unable to collect unemployment, and paying exorbitant rent back to my boss for crowded housing, then there’s someone from overseas who will.

State, regional and local governments on Cape Cod all acknowledge that young adults are leaving in droves.  They also admit that while the cost of living is equal to that of Boston, the pay scale is 40 percent lower.  The problem is not that we don’t have enough workers, it is that we don’t retain them and attract more from a labor pool of 300 million through a natural economic law: pay people what they are willing to accept to do the job.

Why should the government support a business whose model requires it to hire a white man from Bulgaria instead of a black man from Louisiana?  What has local government done to plan for our economic future here on Cape Cod?  The course we are on now takes us to a “cruise ship economy,” a few regular managers in between a transient labor force and a transient tourist clientele. 

All because of an attitude with disdain for the true value of hard work.  It’s not work that Americans won’t do.  It’s pay Americans can’t afford to take.

(read the column here at The Cape Cod Chronicle )

(Photo credits:  1) Massachusetts Coastal Coastal Zone Management, 2) Yahoo Movies)

Now, here’s the thing:  I’d read up on the Zuiderdam.  The Dutch take their art seriously, and they had thrown a lot of it around this ship.  Well before the cruise, I’d looked up the ship to figure out where the best cabin was… and then seen what was left at bargain prices.

The first cabin I almost booked was close to the elevators.  Great.  But when I scanned the ship’s floor plans, I saw it was one floor above the men’s room.  No, not in a tropical atmosphere.  So we went with something further down the hall, but above a shop.  Should be quiet.  Partially-obstructed view, but so what?  If I want to look at the ocean from my window, I can do so right now.

But I heard that the Zuiderdam had been made for a different market than the usual Holland America Line (HAL) clientele.  HAL has a reputation as not your father’s  cruise line, but maybe your grandfather’s cruise line.  Navy blue and white are the color schemes.  Dowdy.  These are not the “fun ships” — not that they go out of their way to make sure you don’t have fun.  But the impression I got was adrenaline was not a priority.  That all said, Zuiderdam had some glittery, sparkly touches and splashes of red that said, “Grandma’s wearing rubies tonight! — and don’t call me Grandma.”

 First tip-off was the art tour podcast I found on their website.  Then there’s that giant rhinestone seahorse in the lobby.  Not some great atrium you can handglide in, but nice.  In fact, it quickly became apparent that the ship had no huge spaces, save for the  Vista Show Lounge (the theater in the rear of the ship).  This created both a feeling of intimacy and of size.  For someone who had never cruised before, I liked it.

The one thing we had heard raves about was Holland America’s food was the best of all cruise lines.  Well, the Lido deck was one big cafeteria, but it really was top notch stuff.  Before the cruise, they try to sell you a soda card, good for godawful amounts of the stuff.  But there was an ice tea and lemonade fountain in here, so I just mixed the two and was happy with that for the entire cruise.  Why pay inflated prices for something I really shouldn’t be having anyway?

As the ship left port (click on the image to watch the YouTube video), we were discussing our options for the next few days.   There were just a few excursions we were considering, and then Chandra told me there was a karaoke contest at the Northern Lights nightclub that evening.  Having heard her sing, I knew this was definitely something we needed to check out.  But we also needed to see our cabin.

For what it cost, this was not bad — not bad at all.  We were expecting cramped.  Instead, it was fairly open.  In addition, the window was not just a porthole, but floor-to-ceiling windows.  Sure, it was obstructed by a lifeboat.  But there was tons of natural light, and if I wanted to, I could see the water.  And get to the lifeboat before anyone else.

It wasn’t perfect, though.  The handle on the mini-fridge was broken.  There was a very obvious patch job to a hole in the wall above the bed.  But there was a couch, a TV, plenty of closets and drawers, and a bath with tub and shower.  And except for outside our door, we never heard a soul.

So after unpacking, we took a little rest.  But not too long after, Chandra realized that she had developed a rash right where her face touched the pillow.  I was fine, though.  She called down to the front desk and they said would have new sheets put on while we were at dinner.

O-kay.

But right after, I found I had lucked out, because when asked at booking, I asked for a table for 2.  I was told there were no guarantees.  There was the upstairs of the Vista Dining Room, and the lower.  I had read somewhere that the upper was better.  But there was greater availability for the lower, and also better for the later seating than the earlier.  So I played the odds, and when they showed us to our seat, the water said, “the newlywed table”, with a big toothy grin.  Chandra feigned shock, but I’m not one to quibble over details.

Our meals were exceptional, especially, I think because the portions were senior-sized.  Just big enough to feel you ate, but not so big you couldn’t walk.  They were rich, and that was enough.  No aruAnd we headed off to book our excursions.

 Now, we’d heard that we really shouldn’t waste our money on booking through the cruise line.  So we limited ourselves to those things that were fairly specific.  Our next stop, 2 days away, was the dive center of the Western Hemisphere, Grand Turk.  Chandra, not one for doing things in or below the water, decided she might just try a helmet dive.  I. on the other hand, hadn’t used my scuba license in some time, and thought I better.  “How long has it been since you last dove?”, the clerk at the excursion counter asked, as I was trying to decide on the beginner class and the experienced class.

“Some time,” I said.

“Would you say it was more than a year?”

 “Yes.  Maybe a couple years.”

So she decided to fax the dive outfit on Grand Turk and let them figure out which I should do.  The real disadvantage was that the beginner class was for people with no experience diving at all, and you spent the first half of the class just learning.  Prior to my trip to find the Lady Washington ten years ago, I took a scuba class with Bob Peck with Adventure Diving in Eastham.  My certification dive was in the Mill Pond in East Orleans in October.  COLD!  A swirling vortex of bubbles and murk and a stray striped bass in my face.  So the clear waters of the tropics were no problem.  Even if it really had been 10 years since I last dove.

Just in case they decided it had been too long, I signed up for the helmet dive.  Leaving it in God’s hands whether I would be put in grave danger alone or spend the morning sharing an one-of-a-kind experience with my steady.  The clerk said they’d call and let me know the verdict tomorrow.  The verdict, she said.

Casting aside my concerns about punctured eardrums or nitrogen narcosis, Chandra was very excited to check out the karoake.  But stopping back into our room first, we found new sheets and a towel sculpture of… umm… an animal.  Perhaps an armadillo.  Or a Gremlin.  Maybe even a Disney version of a cute, cuddly bedbug.  To me, it looked like a cross between a crab and a rabbit — a Crabbit.  Whatever it was, Chandra squealed appropriately, and I half expected her to tuck it under her arm for the rest of the evening.

When we got to the Northern Lights Disco, things were pretty much already in full swing.  As it turned out, it was part of a competition.  So I managed to throw enough elbows to get through to the precious clipboard with the signup sheet, and back to Chandra for her choice.  Then I had to escort her back again to the DJ booth so she could pick out a song.

 After a few performers with various degrees of talents, Chandra got her chance, giving a rendition of “Heartbreak Hotel” that really impressed the slightly-older-but-not-quite-regularly-on-Metamucil crowd.  Then there were a few more good performances.  Then Julie Andrews got up.  Okay, not really Maria from the Sound of Music.  She was early middle-age, very tall, thin, blond, blue-eyed.  Maybe wound a little too tight.  But a woman who obviously did A LOT of musical theater in the midwest.  She hit her cues flawlessly, had perfect choreography and stage presence, and so her rendition of “I could have danced all night” was just a kinda creepy in the dark, glossy disco.

And then we learned that this was just the first round in something called the Zuiderdam Zuperstar — their version of American Idol.  There’d be two rounds to winnow down the competition, which meant now we’d have to go back and do this again.  Which was not what Chandra really had in mind, but people were really being supportive, so why not?  All she’d have to do is find a good song to do next time.

“What do you win?” I asked.  They wouldn’t say.

Next  installment:   A Day at Sea, Finding a Song, and The Verdict