06/02/2025
01 June 2025
The Trade Bleeding Out — And We’re the Ones Holding the Knife
(Adult Language Warning)
152 days into the year. Twenty-nine days is the longest we’ve made it without a serious accident.
Let that sit for a second. That’s four fu***ng weeks. In a trade full of grown men with the power to move mountains, hang steel, and light cities — we can’t make it one damn month without someone getting hurt or killed.
I’m not sugarcoating this:
And don’t talk to me about “inherent risk” or how “it’s just part of the job.” I’m sick of that bu****it excuse. I’ve said it myself. We’ve all said it. But deep down, we know it’s a crock of s**t. It’s the story we tell to sleep at night, while the people we were supposed to teach and watch over (Be Your Brother’s Keeper… Remember) are getting hurt because we didn’t do our part.
This isn’t just about one bad day on a pole or a fluke accident in a bucket.
This is about a culture that’s circling the drain.
We are failing our brothers, sisters, apprentices, and it’s costing them everything: their confidence, their future, and their damn lives.
I’ve been in this trade for over 20 years. I started with nothing — non-union, working for scraps, chasing hours, and sleeping in the truck. I’ve stood in ditches, I’ve climbed rotten poles, I’ve flown wire in ice storms. I’ve done the kind of work that eats your back, destroys your shoulders, steals your knees, and brands your soul. I’ve buried friends. I’ve watched body bags loaded into ambulances. I’ve told mothers and wives, “I’m sorry.” I’ve stared at a casket, watched kids ask Mommy… when will Daddy wake up… and wondered why in the hell it came to that.
And I’ve had enough.
Somewhere along the line, this trade got twisted. It used to mean something to be a lineman. We took pride in passing down what we learned. You weren’t just a hand — you were a teacher. A mentor. A fu***ng lifeline.
Now? Too many of us act like it’s a burden to help the new guy.
We talk s**t.
We roll our eyes.
We watch apprentices struggle and say, “Well, that’s how I learned.”
Let me be clear:
That’s not tradition — that’s neglect.
And it’s a one-way ticket to the graveyard.
How in the hell did we let it get this far?
We’ve got a culture problem — and it’s not creeping in, it’s already here. It’s eating us alive. We’ve built this false macho image where suffering equals toughness, and teaching is treated like weakness. We’ve convinced ourselves that nearly dying is the best way to learn. What a fu***ng joke.
You want the truth?
We’ve grown soft where it matters, and hard where it doesn’t.
We’ve become too proud to teach, too lazy to give a s**t, and too scared to speak up.
And meanwhile, our people are being fed to the wolves.
They’re climbing poles with little to no clue what hazards are waiting. They’re flying buckets without understanding how fast things can and do go wrong. They’re rigging, grounding, cutting, and gloving up with nothing but half-assed guidance and luck — and when they screw up, we act surprised?
Bulls**t.
We’ve got a generation of young guys coming in — hungry, capable, and scared to speak up — because they don’t want to be labeled weak. And we’ve got a generation of veterans walking around with all the knowledge in the world, refusing to share it because “no one showed me either.”
You know what that makes us?
Selfish. Lazy. And complicit.
We are not protecting our own. We’re chewing them up, spitting them out, and then acting surprised when they don’t make it.
Let me tell you something:
Every person who gets hurt on our watch is our failure, and on us.
Every close call we ignore is a future obituary waiting to happen, that we’re helping to write.
Every lesson we could have taught but didn’t is a story their family may never hear.
So yeah, I’m fired up. I’m pi**ed. I’m sick of funerals. Sick of hearing radios go quiet after someone hits the dirt. Sick of seeing candles at utility poles and hard hats with black tape. Sick of hearing “He was a good kid, or A hell of a guy” after we stood by and let him learn the hard way.
What the f**k are we doing???
You want to fix this trade? Here’s how:
Journeymen — Look in the Mirror.
If you’re wearing the hooks, you’re a teacher. Like it or not. Don’t give me the “not my job” bu****it. If you’re not willing to look out for the guy beside you, take your belt off and go home. Because this trade doesn’t need another quiet bystander.
You knew he didn’t know what he was doing.
You knew he wasn’t ready.
And you stood there anyway — arms crossed, too cool to step in.
You’re not a lineman.
You’re a weak ass punk.
And that blood is on your hands.
Let me say it loud:
If you’ve got years in this trade and you’re not teaching, you’re part of the fu***ng problem.
We don’t need any more tough guys.
We need people who give a damn.
Men who see the apprentice or even another hand struggle and say, “Hold on, let me show you, or Hey, you know what works for me.”
Men who understand that building a lineman means building a life, not just breaking their body and spirit for tradition’s sake.
Stop hiding behind this “that’s how I learned” garbage. You learned the hard way because nobody stepped up. That doesn’t make it right — it just makes it tragic.
If you’ve got scars, stories, and mistakes — they’re not trophies. They’re tools. Use them. Teach with them. Save someone with them.
Apprentices — Earn It, But Demand It.
You’ve got to want this. Show up early. Be present. Be hungry. But don’t ever let fear or ego keep you silent. If you don’t understand something, ask. If something doesn’t feel right, say it. You don’t owe anyone your silence — you owe yourself a shot at going home. Respect is earned, but your life is not on the table.
Foremen and Supervisors — Wake the Hell Up.
If your crew is getting by without real mentorship, you’re failing. Stop measuring success by how fast you finish the job or how many units you make, and start measuring it by how many of your people still have all ten fingers, go home whole, and still have futures.
This isn’t about being soft. It’s about being accountable.
We don’t need more martyrs.
We need more mentors.
We need more guys who give a damn.
Companies: Do Better!
Start promoting leaders, not just linemen who can run fast and bark loud.
Not every journeyman is a mentor, even if they should be, and not every mentor wears a title.
If you're not investing in mentorship, training, and true leaders, you’re investing in funerals.
I’ve seen enough death. I’ve seen enough silence.
And I’m done pretending this is just the way it is.
This trade gave me everything. It made me who I am.
But it also took pieces of me I’ll never get back — and I’ll be damned if I stand by while it takes more good people because we’re too lazy, proud, or pi**ed off to do the one thing that matters:
Because right now, we’re not just losing time — we’re losing lives.
And I don’t want to bury one more brother or sister, because someone didn’t feel like speaking up. So, to every lineman out there:
Step up or step aside.
Because this trade’s bleeding out — and you’re either part of the solution…
Or you're holding the knife…
Stay safe and stay prepared,
LTASFS
Leave A Legacy,
~KR
