Sasee Magazine

We live in a time of great freedom for all people. Men and women of all races and religions can compete for the same jobs, go the same schools, live in the same neighborhoods and reach for their dreams. It has not always been this way. Someone had to be the first to break down the walls and glass ceilings erected by those who feared change. One of those courageous souls who instigated change lives quietly in a small tidy home in Georgetown filled with beautiful African art and antique furniture. Susan Armstrong never set out to change anything but her own life. She isn’t an activist for women’s rights or racial equality. Susan simply wanted a good life for herself and her family.

Born in Georgetown, one of seven children, Susan was raised by loving parents. But, after graduating high school, Susan was ready to see more of the world and moved to New York City to live with relatives and began working for an insurance company in Manhattan. It was there she began to see how hard it was for women to get ahead. Her co-workers warned her not to get in the elevator with certain male managers, and to never go into the copy room alone. This was not the career Susan wanted.

One day Susan noticed a barber school on the way home from work and enrolled. She felt comfortable working with the guys and found she was good at cutting men’s hair. However, at that time it was unusual for a woman to want to be a barber, and her first job taught her how to endure. She worked for three weeks before anyone would allow her to cut their hair. But, gradually, Susan’s skill won out, and she became successful.

Meanwhile, Susan’s high school sweetheart had finished college and convinced her to come home and marry him. After spending the summer at home, Susan and her new husband moved back to New York where he had taken a teaching position. Two children later, Susan’s marriage fell apart and she moved back to Georgetown with $57, a cat and two children to raise alone.

There were not a lot of opportunities for women in Georgetown at that time, especially black women. Susan could not make a living as a barber, and she had to do something else. Georgetown Steel had recently opened and offered the opportunity for good pay and benefits.

When Susan was interviewed by the personnel manager, he told her she didn’t look like the type to work in the mill. At that time, no women worked there, except in the offices. The manager finally agreed to hire her and gave her a list of equipment she would need; steel-toed boots, hard hat, etc. On the day she was to begin, the secretary claimed to know nothing about her being hired and claimed there was no one there to talk to her. So, Susan sat in the office and waited, and waited. For five days Susan reported to work only to be left in the outside office where she was completely ignored.

“My mother was very upset that I kept going back,” Susan remembers. “I told her that I have to push or nothing moves. She taught me that! I knew this is where I needed to be.”

Susan kept coming back, and one day she was able to follow a salesman through the locked door. The secretary tried to make her leave, but Susan refused. As luck would have it, the president of the mill came through and asked what was going on.

“I told him, ‘I work for you! I’ve been here a week and no one will talk to me.’ He took me into his office and brought in the personnel manager that hired me. After we established that he did indeed hire me, the president told him to put me to work somewhere.”

Susan was taken to the hottest part of the mill to begin work and she prayed that she would make it. The foreman told her he wasn’t working with a white woman, much less a black woman and sent her to another part of the mill. It was hot, loud and dirty. The first job Susan was given was picking up the jack that turned the ladle holding the molten steel. This jack usually required two men to lift it, but Susan was asked to do it alone. Everyone on the floor stopped and watched to see how she would do.

“I prayed and asked God to help me do this. My mother had taught me how to lift when we would carry heavy baskets of wet clothes to the clothesline, so I squatted down and lifted the jack, putting it where it was supposed to go.”

The foreman threw his hard hat on the floor, and then kicked it, furious that Susan had successfully completed this task. It didn’t get any better for Susan, though. No one would work with her or even talk to her. There was no ladies room in the mill, so for two years Susan hiked three blocks to the nurse’s office.

To try to get rid of her, Susan was assigned to work as a crane operator. Of course, no one would tell her how to get up to the cranes, which were three stories up. Finally, Susan made her way up to the top of the mill. There were two cranes in operation moving ore from the floor into the three furnaces. It was a demanding job, requiring skill and endurance. Susan had been assigned to train with one of the crane operators. When he saw her, he at first refused to let her in the crane. Then, he told her he was not working with a black woman (he didn’t say black, either) and he left Susan alone in the crane.

Again, Susan’s strong faith helped her persevere. “I liked being in the crane. There was a wonderful view of the mill and it was air conditioned. It’s so interesting to watch steel being made.”

For six days, Susan reported to her job and sat in the crane doing nothing. No one would help her, or even give her the protective glasses required to look down into the vats of bubbling steel. So, she tried one lever first, then the other and, learned by herself. Everyone stopped to watch her first attempt.

“I carefully, praying the whole time, moved a load of ore into the furnace. I saw the foreman throw his hard hat down and kick it again, so I knew I had done it right!”

Later, Susan found out that crane operators receive six to twelve weeks of training before being left alone. Eventually, someone was sent to train her and he was shocked to learn that Susan had no experience, and even without any training she was able to run the crane.

“I loved it though. I was up there by myself and could pray while I worked,” she remembers. “We took scraps of metal and made these beautiful billets of steel.”

The harassment and discrimination continued for eight long years, but Susan did not quit. She was spit on, called names, forced to use the men’s restroom and endured constantly rotating shifts unlike the other steel workers who were given consistent working hours. One steel worker even asked her why she didn’t go on welfare like most black women.

“My mother was a private duty nurse, and she worked very hard. Some of her patients called her names, but she kept working. You just go through whatever it takes to get where you need to be.”

Today, Susan is retired after 28 years as a crane operator, and has remarried. She spends time with her daughter, Zenobia and granddaughter, Alexis, shops, travels, creates beautiful stained glass art and a spectacular garden.

And, most importantly, she harbors no malice toward the men who made her life so difficult. “I am friends with all of them now. My life has been a good journey, and I know I have made a difference.”