When the big potash mine near Sussex in Kings County, N.B., opened in 1981, pretty well everyone associated with the project was happy, especially the local dump truckers. They were pleased enough to be hauling the material in the first place, but they never would have dreamed they’d soon be doing it on their terms. “That was back when we still had the Motor Carrier Authority here in New Brunswick,” says Kingsco Transport president Leroy Armstrong. “Everything that came out of [the potash mine] had to be done on a bid, and you had to have the authority to do the work before you could bid on the work.”

There wasn’t a single outfit in Kings County big enough to take on a whole contract — about 750,000 tonnes of salt shipped annually — so the work was liberally spread around. But when a big bulk hauler from Montreal announced plans to bid on the job, local truckers got nervous. With their single-truck authorities, each operator had been doing business with the mine on its own terms. Now, with a formidable competitor lurking around, the locals appeared destined to face a choice: either compete with the bigger carrier or go to work for it.

For most, surrendering their autonomy and independence was not an option they wanted to consider. “They had their territory to protect,” explains Armstrong, whose father had been involved in the local trucking community since 1929. “They wanted to keep their business to themselves.”

At one particular show-cause hearing for the Quebec outfit’s operating authority, it dawned on the Kings County truckers that if they could put aside their competitive and personal interests, they could form an association and bid on the work themselves. It seemed to be the best way to protect each trucker’s interests while leveraging the size of the group

to gain the same advantages of a larger bidder.

“Look,” Armstrong recalls saying at a meeting back in 1984, “we don’t need to be chasing around after one another’s work. There’s enough freight here for us all to benefit from. We can divide it up how we see fit, but that’s what’s on the table, not the work we’re each already doing.”

The speech was a convincing one, because 10 people signed up to be inaugural members of the fledgling Kings County Truckers Association. They also had the fortitude to put up money for their cause. The truckers needed to post a $250,000 performance bond with the mine to ensure they would follow through on the bid and get the work done, but being a non-profit association, they couldn’t get the bond. Several members signed personal loan guarantees totaling $400,000. With that, the bank issued the mine a letter guaranteeing the $250,000. The Kings County Truckers Association — Kingsco for short — was in business. “We didn’t have two nickels to rub together, but we had lots of ideas,” Armstrong says. “The beauty of Kingsco is that all of us were able to set aside our personal interests and preferences to come up with a program that was better than what any of us could manage individually.”

From its original 10 members back in 1984, Kingsco now has 32 shareholders. Each has a single share in the organization and a single truck contracted to work for the association. Indeed, Kingsco functions like most any for-hire carrier, bidding on projects in and around Sussex, billing the customers, and paying its owner-operators (the shareholders). Kingsco carries the insurance, the operating authority, and the fuel accounts, which through the benefit of group buying keeps down the operating costs. It has a safety department, dispatchers, and an office staff to manage the billing, fuel-tax reporting, and all the rest.

Also like any other carrier, Kingsco sets the rate of compensation for its owner-operators and pays them a percentage of the revenue. The difference is that Kingsco keeps a surprisingly small amount — enough to cover its operating costs — and hands everything else back to the shareholder.

There were serious concerns at first, says Armstrong, about the split between the interests of individual truckers and those of the association. The group’s constitution and bylaws state that Kingsco won’t bid on work any of the members might be doing, and they won’t bid against Kingsco. Shareholders are free to manage their own affairs. That ideal, more than any other, is what maintains the trust between Kingsco and its shareholders

“You might not be able to do something like this today,” says shareholder Donna Muir, the association’s corporate secretary, who operates a dairy farm and a small trucking business with her husband. “The foresight that went into this, that we’d work together for the benefit of all concerned, was the overriding principle that propelled Kingsco to its success today.”

The 10 original shares required a $120 buy-in. Now, each of the 32 shares is worth upwards of $30,000. The sale or transfer of a share requires unanimous consent from the group, but the individual is free to set his own price for it.

Currently, Kingsco operates local tractor-trailers and dump trucks, four long-haul dumps, and 15 long-haul flatdecks — all owner-operators. It’s acquired some real estate, including land at the “four corners” in Sussex where the office is located. Kingsco operates the Ultramar cardlock on the property, as well as the Dixie Lee restaurant where we did this interview, and also owns a portion of the aggregate quarry where much of the material it hauls comes from. And because some shareholders own and operate more than one truck, Kingsco has access to close to 100 trucks and trailers should the need arise.

Kingsco Transport may be as close to the ideal trucking operation as one could to hope to find, but as Muir points out, it didn’t happen this way by chance. Can it be done again? If there exists a group of owner-operators with such a common vision, and the leadership to bring it all together, here’s hoping.