When you pull up to Bruce’s Recycling Company at the end of Barney White Road in Port Orchard, it doesn’t look like much. Aging hulks of cars parked along the side of the road across the way. A dirt driveway running between chain link fencing. The sign at the drive reads simply, “Bruce’s Recycling Company.” Beneath that there are other, less welcoming signs. “Private Property.” “No Trespassing.”

There are more cars to see as you pull into the driveway, all in various stages of disrepair; a building festooned with an amazing variety of paraphernalia (including, most memorably, a cheerful, bearded Santa Claus head hanging from the eaves); and a few men in coveralls and heavy coats sorting through who knows what around to one side. All the place needs, you think, is one of those mean, junkyard dogs and a sour-faced man brandishing a shotgun ready to run off any strangers who make the mistake of turning down his drive.

There is a dog – sweet-natured and friendly, with the slightly stiff gate of doggy middle-age and pre-disposition to having her head scratched. There’s also a man, but instead of toting a shotgun, he is greeting newcomers with a smile and a hearty hello.

Clearly, there’s more to Bruce’s Recycling Company than meets the eye.

The same could be said for Bruce Johnson, he of the hearty hello, and the owner of the company. Tall and just this side of lanky, his work boots, jeans, plaid shirt, and ball cap make him look more like a construction worker just off a job than a successful businessman. But like Bruce’s Recycling itself, looks can be deceiving. Johnson has been in the recycling business full-time since 1995 and in that time he has outgrown one location and is quickly outgrowing his current space.

“We’ve doubled every year,” said Johnson. “I’m hoping to double again this year.”

The path Johnson took to reach this point was not an easy one. Born and raised in Seattle, Johnson was in and out of trouble – and jail – from the time he was in his early teens. He got heavily involved in drugs, and, although he worked off and on, most of the trouble that he got into as an adult was from stealing to support his habit.

The turning point in his life came on June 14, 1990, when he was sent to prison to serve a 59-month term for burglary.

“They saved my life, sending me to prison. That’s when my whole life changed,” said Johnson.

Johnson used his time in prison to kick his drug habit, earn his GED, and earn college credits.

“I used prison,” he said, “Prison didn’t use me.”

Johnson served 39 months of his sentence and was released in October 1993. He spent six months in Seattle working as a telephone solicitor as part of a work release program and then moved to Port Orchard. He spent time working for Pacific Coast Evergreens, and then worked for Paul’s Carpet Cleaning.

To supplement his income, Johnson began hauling scrap metal on the side.

“I’d go into the woods and find great stuff,” he said. “I’d make $100 a day on stuff I’d find in the woods.”

This side gig became more serious when his father gave him his first truck. From that point, said Johnson, “It just snowballed.”

Within two years Johnson had five trucks. He’d drive around the county to the shops that he hauled metal for, fill up one truck, take it back, fill up another, and so on, until all the trucks were full. Then he’d drive them to Tacoma to drop each load off for recycling at Snitzer Steel.

The hauling led to another business avenue.

“When you start hauling for people they give you neat stuff,” said Johnson. Along with scrap metal customers would give him old books, costume jewelry, toys, memorabilia. You name it; someone was ready to give it away.

At first Johnson held garage sales in his yard on weekends to unload these treasures, but he quickly outgrew that space. He then moved to space in Gorst and outgrew that space in just one year. He moved into the business’s present location in August 1999.

There’s no doubt about the fact that Johnson built his company with a lot of hard work and long hours, often working 16 to 18 hour days, seven days a week. He recently began taking Sundays off, but admitted that he often comes down on Sundays, anyway. He estimated in that in the last 10 years he’s had maybe 50 days off.

“I live my job,” he said. “My job is my life.”

Although he laments the long hours it’s clear that Johnson is deeply committed to what he does and it’s also clear that he’s a workaholic. He talked of selling if the price was right, and taking a year off, but it’s hard to imagine him being able to relax for that long.

Bruce’s Recycling Company now has four full-time employees, a part-time secretary, and a full-time accountant. In addition to hauling and scrap metal recycling, Bruce’s Recycling now takes estate collections, has added excavation and demolition to its services, and, in recent weeks, has created a presence for itself on eBay, in hopes of moving more of the seemingly endless amount of merchandise available for sale.

And there is a lot of merchandise. When a load comes in, Johnson and his employees sort through it, saving out items that are deemed re-usable or re-sellable.

“I’ve just always had an eye for stuff,” is how Johnson explained how he can tell the treasures from the trash.

The seemingly small building is in fact a veritable warehouse crammed full with just about every kind of thing you can imagine. Rows and rows of books. Racks of old magazines. Old tools. Louvered doors that look as if they have just come off a showroom floor. One set of shelves is heavily laden with nothing but cast iron skillets. Bruce’s Recycling is, frankly, the kind of place where, if you have a husband, you truly can’t decide whether to run home and tell him about the place right away or to do everything in your power to make sure he never finds out about it.

“It’s like paradise,” is the opinion of one customer.

“I hate to throw stuff away,” grinned Johnson.

One of the other notable things about the merchandise, aside from the sheer volume and dizzying variety, is that nothing has a price tag. At Bruce’s Recycling the retail formula works like this: you pick out what you want, and Bruce will tell you how much it costs. This further creates the illusion that this isn’t a thriving business, but rather just a bunch of guys hanging out, trading tales and swapping tools.

Johnson’s current dilemma is that he’s running out of room, and as of right now, he has no where new to go. Every drawer, shelf, and cabinet is stuffed full with nearly every item imaginable. With no room left to display these items, every corner of the building is bursting.

“We’re throwing away a lot of stuff now that should be recycled,” said Johnson. “It’s a damn shame.”

There is a 12-acre empty plot just down the road, but he lacks the capital to buy and develop it himself and so far has had no luck finding investors.

“It takes big money to make big money,” Johnson said. “I have million dollar ideas, without the million dollars in the bank.”

So in the meantime, he’ll continue to load the overloaded shelves, and stuff the overstuffed drawers. Recycling is not just a way to make money for Johnson; it’s also an important service to the community – one that he doesn’t see other, bigger players stepping up to the plate to do.

“It took a stupid white boy with a sixth grade education to figure it out,” he said. “Why didn’t big business figure it out?”.