I'm Charlie Walker

Ann: San Francisco, 1971.

Thousands were marching in the streets to demand an end to the Vietnam War.

Racial tensions were high after the Hunter's Point riots.

And on January 19th,

two oil tankers collided in the San Francisco Bay

spilling 800,000 gallons of crude oil into the water.

Back then, there was no plan for how to clean it up.

On one side, you had the oil company who was responsible.

On the other, you had the hippies who wanted to protect their beaches.

And in the middle were the truckers.

This is the story of how that oil spill changed my life

because I was married to a trucker

named Charlie Walker.

Charlie only had one truck to his name,

but he had plenty of hustle.

In the days leading up to the oil spill,

the power center for all trucking in the Bay Area

was a man named Chuck Sumner.

Maybe Chuck himself was a racist. I don't know.

But his dispatchers were another story.

Every day, Charlie would go down to Chuck's worksites and try to get on a job,

and every day the same thing would happen.

Howdy, foreman. Load her up.

- No. - Why?

'Cause you ain't got no work order.

You ain't got no Chuck Sumner truck.

Hell, you probably don't even have a Class B.

Besides, you're blocking the goddamn line.

So if you don't haul this pile of shit out of here right quick,

I'm gonna hook it up and drag it off myself.

Maybe you'd think things would be different,

this being San Francisco, but you'd be wrong.

Money was tight,

and I was trying to do my part in managing the numbers.

What the hell are you doing? Put that jar away.

They don't be counting pennies for food.

The market doesn't care how you pay.

Well, the neighbors do, and I'll be damned

if I have them passing the basket around for us on Sundays.

What's your pocket money gonna do for us?

Buy food, keep the lights on.

- And what about next week? - Same pocket.

You should be laying bricks with Willie.

They got steady work. He called again last night.

Do you want to drive around in that old rickety dump truck

burning gas, hoping, I don't know,

Santa Claus is gonna fill it with dirt?

I can't lay bricks no more.

You can't or you won't?

- I won't. - Pooki, go play with your sisters.

You're gonna have to decide.

You gonna keep dreaming about being your own boss

or lay bricks to feed your family?

We lose this house in February if you don't find work.

Listen, baby, if I thought laying bricks

would make me a foreman someday, I'd be first in line,

but there is no such thing

as a Black brick laying foreman.

Now, that truck is the only thing we got.

Well, maybe come February we should all live in the truck then.

I told you, I'm not tearing my goddamn hands up

doing that brick laying bullshit no more.

Buy some gloves.

Instead of buying gloves, Charlie doubled down,

decided the only way to get what he wanted

was to make even more trouble for Chuck Sumner.

Thought maybe if he made enough trouble,

eventually Chuck would have to start paying attention.

We moved the drop-off to Third and King Street.

Sure thing, boss.

All right. That's it.

Hey, get going, Willie. It's on.

- ( radio chatter ) - That's right. Negro.

Not "hero." I said "Negro."

I got a Black Panther son of a bitch blocking my trucks.

No, goddamn it. There's a Black man!

Man on radio: He don't have no sand loader,

but he says we can get one over here for you.

You know what? I am one of those uppity Negros looking to crash the party.

- Merry Christmas. - Shit!

I'm gonna whip your ass, boy!

Ann: Charlie just wanted a fair shake,

a chance to have something of his own,

- to be his own boss. - ( siren wailing )

It wasn't about race for him,

but for everyone else, it was always about race.

Step out of the cab.

Charlie: What the hell?

You know, it is hard to find good help these days?

I just dropped my worker Willie off,

and I say, "Willie, make sure you untie the banner from the truck."

And I'll be damned.

They say if you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.

- I'll take care of it. - Don't you move.

Hey, man, that's not necessary.

I said I'll take care of it. Be cool.

You don't take direction very well, do you?

Now turn around and face the vehicle.

Old cracker-ass cracker.

Charlie got 30 days, but Chuck Sumner got tired

of having Charlie be a thorn in his side,

gave him a contract,

put him in charge of all the Black truckers.

Suddenly, on our side of town, Charlie was the man.

And that's when it happened.

Charlie was driving home,

saw a line of trucks heading to the beach

in the middle of the night.

Woman on radio: The police are here.

There's trucks everywhere.

Ann: He didn't know about the oil spill yet,

but he knew something was up.

Man on radio: We have a report that a large ship hit

the Golden Gate Bridge just after midnight tonight.

Ann: Decided he had to follow those trucks.

Street's closed. You can't get through. You gotta go left.

Those six trucks ahead are mine. Charlie Walker Trucking.

I gotta stay with my trucks.

Yeah, and I'm the chief of police.

Get out of the line and turn left.

Ask the guy behind me. Please, go ahead. Ask him.

Look, officer, you're holding them up too. Those are Chuck Sumner trucks.

Behind those are Mike Folgers trucks.

Behind those are the damn National Guard.

Now are you gonna hold this line up because I'm Black

or are you gonna keep this train rolling?

All right, get out of here.

Woman on radio: Every truck and loader within a 50-mile radius

is headed to the coastline.

Ann: Charlie followed those trucks

all the way down to the beach.

And when he got there, guess who he found.

Chuck Sumner himself.

What the hell's going on here, Chuck?

You got half your trucks on this beach, so what gives?

We're cleaning up the million some odd barrels of crude washing up.

Hot damn! When did it happen?

Midnight. Broke the ship in half.

So you got the call, Folgers got the call,

but nobody bother to give old Charlie Walker a shot?

Look, goddamn it, what am I supposed to do,

call every bar in San Francisco

until I find the one that you're getting drunk in?

If you want in, I suggest you hop in

that new Cadillac of yours and hightail your ass

up to the Long Wharf in Richmond.

- Richmond? - Every contractor around

is bidding for a piece of this right now, except you.

Don't send me over there just to get me off your ass now. I want in.

Look, my hands are tied right now. Just-- here.

- Go see Mike Marshall. He's the oil man in charge. - Mike Marshall.

Oh, Charlie, you think about pulling any shit

like that billboard stunt in the Mission,

and they'll have your ass in a sling for good.

This is Tower Oil. They're already integrated.

All: Tower Oil out! Tower Oil out!

Ann: By sunup, the hippies were already out protesting the spill.

Charlie didn't have to worry about them,

but he knew Tower Oil wouldn't just let him in.

Just to get in line, he had to use every trick in the book.

Yo, hold it up! Hold it up! Stop.

Didn't you see the sign?

What's the matter, boy? Can't you read?

- What's your name, officer? - What did you say to me?

I said, "What's your fucking name, off-ic-er?" Don't you speak English?

I don't think you understand what's going on here, son.

See, this is private property.

Now you're gonna have to back this piece of shit up and move it on out of here.

Look, damn it, I work for Tower Oil in Los Angeles.

I'm the superintendent in charge of contamination for the entire North Coast.

Yeah, well, this ain't Los "Ang-geh-lees."

I don't need this shit. Give me your name and badge number

so I can report this to Marshall.

- Marshall? - Name, badge number.

You know Mike Marshall?

Mike Marshall, white dude, about yay tall,

bosses peckerwoods like you around for a living.

- You gotta understand, um... - Yeah, yeah, yeah.

- ...we don't get many, uh-- - Still ain't no excuse.

No. I'm sorry about this, sir.

Now what did you say your name was again?

Man: Look, fellas, we're gonna need every truck we can muster.

We got small areas, but a lot of them.

Look about, boys, I got me a beast.

Some of you are gonna have to pair up,

but do not worry about the money.

Every contractor's gonna get his own purchase order with an open end.

- All: Yeah! - Now at the end of the day,

a Tower Oil rep is gonna sign off on your invoices,

but we need some kind of billing every day.

Now if there are any problems, feel free to call me.

All right, Half Moon Bay.

Who can work the beach at Half Moon Bay?

All right, you, you, and you.

Uh, San Mateo. Red, that's your neck of the woods.

You take San Mateo and take two other guys from this group.

Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle.

Why, that doesn't surprise me. Now I see the resemblance.

You owe me a construction tower, boy, and I'm gonna get it.

You and you, let's go work.