Photo by Rick Ravenstine

Not many people working at Metropolitan today can count Robert Diemer and Henry Mills as friends, but then there are not many people who have worked at Metropolitan for a few months shy of 49 years.  And that’s just “official” years of work.

Joe Pipins was practically raised at Metropolitan’s desert facility, Gene Camp, located in Parker, Arizona.  His mother Jane was a cook in the mess hall for more than 20 years, retiring from Metropolitan in the early 1960s.  As his mom’s dish washing helper, Joe befriended founding members of the board of directors and other Metropolitan luminaries who passed through Gene Camp and enjoyed the mess hall’s then-and-still-famous home-cooked meals.

Joe’s immediate family has rivaled his tenure.  Both brothers Butch and Donnie retired with 38 years of service with the district.  His brother-in-law Jack Nobbelit, married to his sister Sandra, retired with 40 years of service.  And the district lineage continues with the Nobbelit’s son-in-law Russ Ingram (married to Dena) who currently works at Iron Mountain and their daughter Laura who works at Gene Camp.  

Photo courtesy of Joe Pipins

Joe officially joined the district in 1959 when he returned to Southern California after living briefly in Texas.  He was 17 when he and his brother left home to work in construction with an uncle.  It was during this time that he also pursued his life-long passion for building and racing fast cars.  He is still considered to be one of the pioneers of drag racing. 

Proof of his celebrity can be found at Joe’s desk.  It is in three-ring binders loaded with old newspaper clippings and original photographs which feature a strapping, handsome young Joe at various racing events.  And it also is visible in a handful of trophies on display in a four-tier metal bookshelf positioned behind his desk.  

It was the lure of racing which brought him back into the Metropolitan fold.  He happened to run into Al Preston, another accomplished Metropolitan builder, who offered him a job at La Verne with the bait that it was close to the historic Pomona Raceway.  Originally built in 1961 to move street racers to a safer venue for competition, the track is the oldest venue on the National Hot Rod Association series circuit.  

Joe took the bait, took an oath of service and rode in his first high-rise elevator in Metropolitan’s early-rented headquarters in the Million Dollar Theater building located on 2nd Street in downtown Los Angeles.  For nearly 20 years, he was a jack of all trades.  According to Joe, the list included painter, sand blaster, mortar liner, welder, machinist, and auto mechanic.  He was one of the builders of the control gates at Morris Dam.   

An earlier photo of a warehouse at La Verne’s Weymouth plant.  Photo courtesy of Joe Pipins.

Not only did he operate a bunch of machines—he also built them.  One was a tunnel cleaning machine used to remove sludge and algae from the aqueduct pipeline running from Copper Basin to Lake Mathews.  The machines were fashioned on old Ford Diesel chassis with big brushes rigged to the sides.  They were pulled out from the tunnels manually by a crew of three.  Joe only dropped the machine once.  It was still running at full throttle when it plunged 180 feet into a siphon full of water.

“I was pulling it out of the hole, when it slipped and fell.  Divers had to hook it onto a cable so we could lift it out with a crane,” he recalled with a chuckle.  “I was scheduled to take Henry Mills and his wife on a tour of the San Jacinto tunnel later that week, but when he heard I was the one that dropped the tunnel cleaner, he asked for a different driver.”  Joe said he’s been through every MWD tunnel at least once.

In 1984, Joe had moved through a progression of positions and was in charge of the garage when he suffered a brain aneurism that left him on disability for a year and a half.  Because he was limited physically, Joe was about to retire, when he was lured back for a second time to Metropolitan – this time to run the shop.  He did this for many years, sidestepping offers to be a foreman – a managerial job he says he never wanted. 

“I’m not a boss,” he explains.  “I can direct people, but I don’t want to be in charge of them.” 

Photo courtesy of Joe Pipins

And Joe knows people—A lot of them.  He doles out advice to future and fellow employees, including his current lead person Cristian Pesantes, who started working with Metropolitan in 1996 under the Don Adams Memorial Program established to teach young adults about different trades within Metropolitan

“Joe took the time to teach me all about tools and their purpose, as well as the valuable skill of customer service,” Cristian says.  “Joe’s unbelievable knowledge of mechanics is something you cannot find in any textbook or library; it is pure experience and it was motivating to learn and work alongside a good company man.”

“I tell the young ones, never stop learning.  You can never get enough education.  Be sure you understand and if you don’t, ask,” Joe says.

A lot of people come to talk to Joe.  “I’m a storyteller,” he admits.  “You can’t tell them the whole truth.  That’s why they have me in the front.  I give them a little bit of fiction and a little bit of truth.” 

“When I think of longevity, Joe is the first person who comes to mind,” says recently retired WSO group manager Eddie Rigdon  “Joe started 18 years after MWD’s first delivery of water through the Weymouth plant.”

Perhaps one of the few people in a position to understand Joe’s attachment to Met, Eddie, who is the second long-term MWD employee at 43 years, explains his theory, “Within the workplace, we develop and build long-term relationships with people we care about.  Over the years, Joe has developed many friendships and this is one of the reasons he is still here.  I consider Joe to be a special friend of mine.  He has always been very helpful and supportive.”

“Joe Pipins was already an experienced District employee when I started here in 1976,” says Betsy Shepherd, a team manager at the Water Quality Lab in La Verne.  “Joe has always been friendly and outgoing to me; he used to call me “Betsy Ross” and still does now and then.”

Betsy is amazed at how Joe’s experience comes in handy.  “One time I was looking for one of the guys in the shop for help and ended up coming across Joe.  He knew exactly who to ask, where they were, what they had done before for such a request, why they were the right one to do it, and told me to go find them and ask.  He was right!” she said.  “He is one of the good guys and is definitely part of the history of the District.”

Photo courtesy of Joe Pipins

Joe’s desk is situated in the perfect spot for free consultations.  He sits at La Verne’s warehouse entrance, behind a counter where employees come to place orders for parts and supplies.  Although a computer is nearby, Joe fills the orders by memory, recalling 10-digit tool numbers with only an occasional peek at lists he’s created by hand in dozens of marbled black and white composition books piled haphazardly on his desk.

“I can find the parts faster than someone can find it on the computer,” he says.  Each item has 10 numbers and it’s something that just sticks with me.” 

So do a lot of memories.  Joe recalls friends through work, now mostly gone, who he says were “colorful.”  “I never imagined that I would work this long, but this is a good place to work with good people.”  He rattles off the names of past supervisors and bosses. All he considered friends, whose children worked at Met and have even retired before Joe, including Al Preston and his son Al Junior, Bill Meglan and his son Bob and Bill Hickson and his son Roger.

“I say retire when you are done educating yourself for life,” Joe says.

Joe’s clearly not done with his education.  An avid traveler, restricted somewhat since his aneurism, Joe still loves to learn from the History Channel and How-To shows.  He has always read a lot.  “I live in the future,” he says.  He’s clearly afraid to stop learning.

“I wouldn’t do much if I was home,” he says.  “Once you get home, you can get awfully lonely.  There’s a stranger there who you’ve only seen for a couple hours a day whose attention is on other things.”

Joe says he would never expect his wife Angela, of 47-years, to stop pursuing her interests if he was to retire.  “I let her do her thing and that’s probably why we got along so well all these years.”  “Her thing” includes hours of community service, following in the footsteps of her family who have lived in Claremont for more than 90 years.  In fact, just last summer, the city of Claremont dedicated their newest park to the memory of Angela’s mother, Rosa Torrez, who in the early 1900s was a pioneer for the Mexican American community in Claremont and encouraged Hispanic residents to be active in community affairs.

Joe and his wife have two grown children, Erik and Roseanne and two grandchildren, Mercedes and D.J.

Joe traces his heritage to the Chickasaw Nation.  His great grandfather was a Chickasaw Chief and many cousins currently hold tribal government offices, including Linda Briggs who serves as Lieutenant Governor.  His grandmother, Minnie Keel Liddell, daughter of the Chief, was wooed by an Irishman who followed the custom of many Europeans to marry into Native American tribes to gain land.  Interestingly, the Irishman she married was Vernon Liddell, the nephew of the famous Eric Liddell, a committed Christian known as the “Flying Scotsman” whose refusal to run an Olympic race on Sunday at the Paris 1924 Olympics was featured in the storyline for the film “Chariots of Fire.”

Photo by Rick Ravenstine

Joe admits that he’s “never been afraid of challenges,” but faces a formidable one in the guise of recently diagnosed prostate cancer.  Undergoing chemotherapy treatment with the same “take-it-as-you-will” attitude that’s allowed him to outlast most everyone at Metropolitan, Joe is undergoing chemotherapy everyday for two months.

“The clock is always ticking,” he says.  “And you don’t want to be caught saying I wish I’d done that and find you haven’t any more time.  I haven’t passed up many things.  I’ve had a pretty full life.  The District has given it to me.”

When asked what he would have pictured on his retirement poster, should the time ever come, he was scornful.  “I think there’s a lot of baloney in recognition and I don’t thrive on the stuff.”  Instead, he plans “just to not show up one day.”  

In the meantime, he’s still engaged in all things Metropolitan.  He tracks current issues like the fight to contain Quagga mussels and even offers his own suggestions like running an electric current through the water to shock the Quaggas.

“You don’t think, you don’t get nowhere,” he says.