It isn’t hard to see why women demanded an opportunity to work on the docks, even though it taxed every common notion of femininity. The alternative was often “women’s work,” performing low paid, dead-end service jobs. Women still make seventy-four cents for every dollar a man brings home. To make matters worse, women are now breadwinners and often the sole support of their children.

Although it’s been nearly twenty years since women gained a foothold on the docks, their numbers remain thin. The official count of women in the union’s Longshore Division last year was 13 percent. While it isn’t much to brag about, statistics are even worse in many other non-traditional occupations. In the building trades, retention rates for women are less than five percent.

“A job like this is such a plum, such a rarity,” said Kevin Castle of Seattle’s Local 19. A woman’s life changes profoundly with a chance at a union job and equal wages with men.

It’s been a long haul, with litigation and recrimination all around. Still, many men are disgruntled and are quick with reasons why women don’t belong on the docks.

“If our old timers were alive,” said Henry Graham, B.A. from Local 10, “women might not be here today. They didn’t want women on the job. They’re turning over in their graves with these women down here.”

To seafarers in years past, the presence of a woman on a ship was a bad omen. Witches brought storms, havoc and death to seamen. Women, with their enticing and alluring ways, appeared dreadfully dangerous.

It wasn’t only folklore that influenced men’s prejudices. As women showed up as casuals, men claimed they couldn’t carry their own weight. The work was too hard, too demanding for them. Even though much of the job was now automated, men dismissed women’s abilities to operate machinery, as well.

“I’m not a very large woman,” said Castle, recalling her early years on the docks in Seattle. “I’m in no way physically threatening, but the guys were so uncomfortable, so hostile. Later, I realized it was fear. Women were threatening their world and their identities, the sense of who they were as men.”

The waterfront had been a man’s world. In the old days, it took strength and brawn to handle cargo, lift barrels and drums and bales of cotton. But today with containers, heavy equipment and computers, it takes less muscle to get the job done.

“Women can do this job,” said Jolita Lewis, Secretary-Treasurer of Local 10. “A lot of women can out work the guys.”

There are longshoremen who’d disagree. “There’s women down here that can’t do the job,’ said Henry Graham. “Jolita and other women hold their own. But there are a lot who can’t. And they expect the guys to take the load for them. I think that’s wrong.”

If casuals remain in the industry, they must pass a strength and agility test. Strength alone may not always be the best indicator of a good worker. Sometimes it may be a question of attitude.

“There are women down here you’d think, ‘why is she taking that lashing job? Oh my God, I can’t believe it! She’s so little and petite,’” said Patricia Aguirre, longshore worker from Local 13. “It’s tough work, it takes strength, but it also takes technique and maneuvering. And these women have mastered it. They can do it.”

With years of experience behind them, there’s now a generation of women committed to their jobs. Some of them are brimming with a sense of personal accomplishment.

“Hey, I’m in. I’m working,” said Aguirre, a third generation ILWU member. “I think people see me on the job and think I’m a decent individual and a hard worker.”

Aguirre drives a UTR on the Wilmington docks. “I’ve always challenged myself. I drive something that looks like a big rig. It takes maneuvering. You have a forty-foot chassis and container hooked up to you.”

In Seattle Castle is a certified crane operator. At 47 she’s been a registered longshore worker for twenty years. It took that long to get a chance to operate the cranes in the seniority system. Like many women, she feared she’d make a mistake or not measure up to her own expectations.

“I thought, ‘God, it’ll be embarrassing to make a mistake, to move slowly.’ Everyone’s attention is focused on the crane,” she said. “What happened when I got up there, it was so damn hard—I didn’t have time to think of anything else. You’re being bumped around. You’re feeling every jog. You’re sitting like a frog moving levers. It’s very intense.”

When it was over, Castle had time to reflect. “There’s an enormous satisfaction when you see yourself getting better at something that is so challenging.”

Women are also finding new challenges working on boats. The venerable Inlandboatmen’s Union has been a part of the ILWU for twenty years. Dispatched from the IBU, women work on ferries, tugs and barges.

Captain Laura Smith is a member of IBU. At 33 she works for a small ferry company in Alameda. She received her master’s license three years ago. Several years before she learned engine maintenance, skills that are now a part of her job.

“As a woman I knew nothing about tools or engines or how mechanical things functioned.” she said. “I was raised to get married and have kids.” Smith was born in large Mormon family in Utah.

“There are so many things women are told they can’t do. Sailing was one of these things,” she said. “I set out to prove to myself that I could.”

Smith wanted to learn to sail and to be good at it. To increase her skill, she crewed on a 32-foot boat sailing to Costa Rica. “We had really bad weather the whole way. I faced fear out there steering that boat on my own. It was fear I’d never known before,” she said, standing on deck of her own sailboat in San Francisco.

The trip was a turning point in her life. “It confirmed to me that I could do anything that I wanted,” she said. “Nothing was going to stop me.”

Smith needed more than sheer grit to become a master mariner. She needed to understand the operations of a boat, its engine, its wiring and its myriad of instruments. In her world the only people with this knowledge were men.

Smith, a blue-eyed blonde, said dryly, “I had to play games. Men would teach me stuff. I knew they liked working with me because I was cute. I had to use that, so I could learn things. If I hadn’t had that opportunity, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Some day,” said Marina Secchitano “women won’t have to use those vehicles to gain skills. As it is now, we have to tone everything down, go along to get along—until we get in a position of power.”

Secchitano is IBU San Francisco Regional Director, an elected officer in IBU. She sits behind a desk in her cluttered office. “To be successful in this position, you’ve got to be a fighter,” she said. “There’s times you’re fighting to keep a good union company on a certain ferry run—or you’re fighting for somebody’s job. You can’t be afraid to stand up and challenge authority.”

Secchitano has been IBU for 20 years. She puts in long hours, averaging fourteen-hour days. Members can often find her late at night working alone in her office.

“Sometimes I’ve gotten pretty far out there, taking an issue right to the wall—and then gotten defeated,” she said with a wince. “I have to stand there pretending to be proud as a peacock—even though I’ve just been leveled. It’s amazing—you’re knocked down and you get right back up again.”

At 47 Secchitano has been recently re-elected to office. She has few interests away from the union.

“My heart is here,” she said. “It wasn’t until I got involved with the union that I found a home. When I was a teenager, I spent a great deal of time thinking, ‘Why am I here? What’s the point? What’s this all about?’ I wanted answers.”

For Secchitano, the answer was the IBU. “I don’t need to be the center of attention—but I do need to make a difference,” she said.

Lewis is attempting to make a difference too. She ran for Secretary-Treasurer of longshore Local 10 and became the first woman ever elected to office from the local.

“It’s historic,” she said with obvious pride. “I worked for ten years. The members trust me to do the right thing with their money. It all boils down to trust.”

Lewis earned a degree in business while working on the docks. She put her newly honed skills to work for the union. “I want to computerize our office system, help modernize and update our constitution.”

Although Lewis has gained hard won recognition, she remembers her reception on the docks years before. “Guys were horrible when I came in in 1989,” she said. “They’d say to me, ‘we don’t want you here’ and they’d even put you in dangerous situations.”

As a second generation longshore worker, Lewis stuck it out. “I did more than my share of work,” she said. “I got paid for working, so I did my best.”

Graham from Local 10 gives her a nod of approval. “Jolita didn’t try to duck and dodge,” he said. “She took lashing jobs, some of the hardest jobs in longshore work. And she gave it a thousand percent.”

To women on the waterfront, having to prove their competence is a daily part of the job. “There’s a different standard for women,” Secchitano said. “Showing you’re capable isn’t always enough. You have to prove yourself, over and over again, when you’re in the male’s world.”

In Seattle Castle recalls her bafflement at being perceived as a constant outsider. “We did feel intense pressure to do the same kind of work as men,” she said. “You study the guys you work with because your survival depends on it. It was a huge adjustment for the men there, as well as the women. You start to think like, ‘Am I still a woman when I’m here?’”

“I had to dress certain way, I had to talk tough,” she recalled. “I had to be tough. After a while, a few women started wearing perfume on the job. It was a way to assert their femininity, even though few noticed. Over the years, every woman had to figure out a way to preserve that sense of themselves while operating in a man’s world. The experience is incredibly unique for both men and women, to work together side by side.”

Castle’s father was a longshoreman and a trade union organizer. She went to college and earned a degree in history. But in 1980 she returned to the waterfront, learning that women would be included in the next pool of B registrants.

Having made a life for herself on the waterfront, Castle appears less certain about the future. “Unions are busted all the time,” she said. “Between technology and attacks on the union, our workforce is shrinking. There used to 1500 longshoremen in Seattle and now there’s only 572 fully registered in the union.” Pausing a moment she added. “In insecure times, prejudices reassert themselves.”

“It was a class action lawsuit that brought us women in,” said Aguirre from Local 13. “It was called the ‘Golden Consent Decree.’ A certain percentage of women had to be included with every hiring. I did benefit from that.”

Aguirre comes from a large union family. Both grandfathers, her father, mother and aunts were ILWU members.

“First and foremost I’m a hard worker,” she said. “Work is something ingrained in my culture, being Mexican American. The work ethnic was instilled early by my mother and father.”

In her first years on the docks, Aquirre pursued jobs where she learned how to operate heavy equipment, rigs and forklifts. Seeing her persistence and hard work, seasoned men offered her operating tips. “There’s a lot of us who would like to try other equipment, try to operate the heavier machinery,” she said.

Aquirre would like to see women helping women with these skills. “There are women who’ve been members for awhile.” she said. “They know how to operate equipment and operate it well. Maybe we could work one on one, sharing information.”

Aquirre just won election to a seat on the executive board of Local 13. “I want to get involved because I think it’s important to have women’s perspectives in the union.”

At 29 Aquirre is enthusiastic and energetic. She represents a new generation of longshore workers.

“With this job I have so many opportunities.” she said. “I can work my nights and take classes and educate myself. I can get involved with my union and someday, even be a leader.”

With longshore workers like Aguirre, and the other extraordinary women on the waterfront, the future rests in strong hands.