From Sweeper to Superintendent: My Time at H&H Ship Services
How I got the job at H&H Ship Services was a unique story in itself—one I’ve written about before in this blog, but it’s worth retelling. At the time, I was on the verge of homelessness after being asked to leave the Green Gulch Zen community for my less-than-stellar conduct. Perhaps I’m one of the few to be kicked out of a Zen monastery. I can’t say I blame them; my old habits, especially around women, had caught up with me again.
My friend Joshua B., who lived at the corner of Haight and Ashbury in a basement garage converted into a single-room apartment, took me in. I slept on the floor, sometimes under the kitchen table, for a week. Josh eventually arranged for me to do yard work at a friend’s home in Oakland. I was to meet Will Harris Jr. at his office on the San Francisco waterfront. It never occurred to me that Josh was a supplier for Will, who was the son of San Francisco's who is who, Will Harris Sr. Sr. had a picture of himself shaking hands with the late president Ronald Reagan and he was also at one time the President of the San Francisco Yatch Club. I learned all these later when I was employed by H&H.
The office was located at Third Street and China Basin—an area that’s now home to the SF Giants’ baseball stadium. Back then, it was the headquarters of H&H Ship and Environmental Services, a company involved in hazardous waste management and dealing with the underground fuel Tank Disposal (USTD)
I arrived at 7 a.m. and met Mr. Cleveland Valrey, a bald-headed African American gentleman in blue coveralls. He was the dispatcher. The only other person there was the president of the company, Mr. William Harris—whom I later came to know as “Big Foot.” Will Jr. hadn’t shown up yet, so Big Foot listened to my story and offered me a job—cleaning the company yard. I accepted on the spot.
The work was simple: sweeping and all the grunt work that came with it. But having spent almost two years doing the same kind of chores at a Zen monastery without pay, this felt like a breeze. I did my job with pride. Within a year, I was promoted to Yard Superintendent, answering directly to the president. My salary doubled, and I was given use of a company pickup truck.
But the yard I inherited had a dark past. A supervisor had recently died in an explosion while attempting to cut into a 6,000-gallon underground fuel tank. The Coast Guard had tagged and locked the entire Underground Storage Tank Disposal (USTD) operation. The company was under scrutiny, and morale was low. I kept my head down and learned everything I could.
One morning, I spotted a Chinese gentleman approaching the office. Something told me to stop him and ask what he was there for. He was a Department of Health official sent to shut down the USTD operation. I practically begged him to give me a chance to fix things, to clean up the operation and make it right. He agreed—and even gave me his contact number in case I needed help.
That moment changed everything.
Over the next year, I enforced strict health and safety protocols. Every worker had seven pairs of coveralls, fresh gloves, and respirators. We brought in a lab to test all incoming hazardous waste. We trained our staff through courses led by DOSH, the EPA, the Fire Department, and the Department of Transportation.
By the following year, the company turned a $2 million profit. H&H became the only company handling USTD facilities across nearly the entire Western seaboard of the United States.
It was the longest time I held a single job in my life—six years. I started as a sweeper, and left as someone who had helped turn around a company on the brink of collapse. It was proof that no matter how low you fall, there's always a way back—if you're willing to do the work, keep your head up, and meet fate when it comes knocking.
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