After the Mill Shut Down

How Bethlehem Steel helps laid-off workers find new careers

The rapid decline of the once mighty American steel industry has made messes out of thousands of lives. Workers who have lost their jobs must often cope not only with disruption and financial strain but also with intense emotional turmoil. One steelworker spent nine days in bed after being laid off. Some berate spouses, drink destructively, abuse children or even try to kill themselves. Wives sometimes become hysterical. One unemployed steelworker’s family sought counseling because its child had stopped speaking.

The latest quarterly reports of the two biggest steel companies sum up the grim state of the industry. U.S. Steel lost $112 million during the April-June period; Bethlehem lost $93 million on top of its nearly $1.15 billion deficit in the fourth quarter of last year, the largest ever for any American company. For the men and women who still make steel, the loss reports are ominous at the very least. For the 104,000 steelworkers already laid off, the bad news underscores what they have long known: perhaps as many as 30,000 of them will never again work at the trade that was once the symbol of American power and pride.

One major steelmaker, however, is trying to help dislocated employees understand that the end of a steelmaking job is not the end of the road. Bethlehem, where employment has gone from a peak of 115,000 in 1975 to 48,500 at present, was the first major U.S. corporation to develop a comprehensive program to deal with the emotional impact of permanent layoffs.

In many companies, it is not unusual for fired top-and middle-level executives to be provided with secretarial help, résumé-writing assistance and psychic support from counselors who help them vent anger and wage effective job campaigns. Bethlehem was the first big firm to give white-and blue-collar employees the same kind of help. It maintains “career continuation centers” for displaced people in Johnstown and Bethlehem, Pa., and in Lackawanna, N. Y., near Buffalo, site of an 83-year-old plant whose shutdown was announced three days after Christmas.

The Lackawanna center functions as a touchstone for 3,000 former Bethlehem employees, and is preparing for 3,100 more who will go on layoff before the year is out. So far, most of the people using the center are foremen or white-collar professionals, those least accustomed to periodic layoffs. The Steelworkers union, still angry at Bethlehem’s action, has been slow to embrace the program, finding it unsuitable for its members who, as one union man said, “have jobs, not careers.”

The center is housed in a spacious office once used for accounts payable. In the corner, a tree from last Christmas still stands, a reminder of the unfortunate timing of Lackawanna’s death knell. Employees are given a tour of the center in groups of ten or 20 before they are laid off. There is a bulletin board with 500 job listings, most of them technical, as well as 25 desks with telephones. In a corner are references like The National Job Finding Guide.

Once they are laid off, workers may choose to participate in a two-day seminar on job-seeking techniques that includes tips on how to write a résumé, dress for interviews, and use friends and relatives in the job search. They get up to 30 hours of psychological testing to help them overcome denial of their joblessness and the frequent “Why me?” syndrome. Among other things, they are asked to write down their work experiences. That act alone can help restore confidence and a sense of worth.

For those suffering from more severe anger, humiliation or depression, professional one-on-one counseling is provided. There is a telephone hotline for suicidal or otherwise deeply disturbed former employees. Says James Ross, a senior industrial-relations coordinator at Bethlehem: “Only something akin to death counseling can help these workers.”

Meanwhile, the search for job leads goes on constantly. Says Michael Hubbard, the Lackawanna center’s director: “Only 15% of available jobs are advertised. We have to dig up the other 85%.” They were successful in the case of a 42-year-old industrial engineer in Bethlehem’s robotics operations. “I could not accept it at first,” he said. “I was always above the crowd. Then suddenly I had the props knocked out. It can destroy your confidence in one day.” With the support of his wife and Bethlehem’s family counseling, he wound up in another city with a better-paying job in his field. Now, says he, “I feel like a success, and pity those left behind at Bethlehem.”

If they participate in the program and gear emotionally for a job search, some 55% to 65% of laid-off Bethlehem people find jobs within 90 days. Unlike the engineer who got a raise, though, nearly all must settle for less money. For the others, the centers provide a place to goduring the day and swap notes. As they talk, workers show a strong resolve to avoid depending on any one job. Wilfred Morrison, 31, a former management trainee, has set up his own distributorship for hose and hose fittings. Says he: “No one will control my destiny again.” Everyone seems determined to follow the hopeful dictum of a new sign in the lobby of one of the centers that says THERE IS LIFE AFTER BETHLEHEM. It replaced one that read STEEL IS BEAUTIFUL.

—By John S. DeMott. Reported by Frederick Ungeheuer/Bethlehem