Page 10 - Demo

8books. Ultimately, the success or failure rested on their shoulders%u2014alone. When I carry my camera through a defunct factory%u2014such as a mill or workshop where hard, manual labor was the norm%u2014I can almost hear the loud repetitive noises, feel the aching muscles, sense the sweat on my brow. I can imagine the cursing when a finger was smashed; laughter from a practical joke played on the new guy; sighs of satisfied relief at the end of a long, difficult job well done; and stoic condolences after a fellow worker was killed on the job. Whether a well-paying factory, or one that doled out starvation wages, it was where a person (usually a man) earned enough (perhaps barely enough) to pay for food, clothing, and shelter for himself and his family%u2014if he had one. It was where he spent much of his adult life. It was central to his identity, of how he thought of himself and how others thought of him.Despite the poignancy and unnatural silence that shrouds these stores, shops, and factories, I%u2019m very aware of an earthy liveliness, vigor, and sense of fulfillment that once electrified the air. These were places of human activity%u2014of calloused hands and calculating minds. These were times before computers or bar codes, when receipts were written with a fountain pen%u2014or typed on a typewriter. Communication was exchanged with letters and stamps, instead of terse, misspelled emails. Because there were few packaged foods, restaurant workers peeled potatoes and shucked corn by hand for noontime diners. Kids picked out penny candy at the corner drug store by pointing a finger and saying, %u201cTwo of those, one of those, three of those,%u201d as an aproned clerk sacked each sugary confection%u2014piece, by piece, by piece. That genuine, direct, visceral, humanness is often missing from many of today%u2019s workplaces. Of course, it was not a perfect world. In the %u201colden days,%u201d machinery could be extremely dangerous, with safety requirements ranging from minimal to non-existent. Yet, if you broke your arm, you knew the %u201cDoc%u201d who wrapped it up in a wetplaster-and-cotton-gauze cast. He answered his own telephone, and he made house calls. When I was a child living in Fowler, if the fire department%u2019s siren went off, I could dial %u201coper%u201d on our black Bakelite phone, and the operator would tell me whose house was ablaze. Without a doubt, there are very real advantages of today%u2019s workplaces%u2014minimum wage, higher productivity, nondiscrimination laws, air conditioning, OSHA, the 40-hour work week, and Social Security benefits. However, there are losses that should not be underestimated. Today, few franchises have strong ties to the communities they reside in. And, as mom-and-pop businesses have declined, so has the belief that %u201cthe customer is always right.%u201d I know we can%u2019t go backwards, nor should we. However, the past must not be dismissed as mere nostalgia. If we look closely, the rusted metal and peeling paint of old storefronts and empty factories can reveal much about those who came before us%u2014how they lived, how they worked, and what was important to them. With this knowledge, we can better understand ourselves. For only by respecting and appreciating their choices and life circumstances can we objectively judge our own. I%u2019m pleased to honor on these pages, all the empty, dusty, commercial buildings that are scattered across Indiana, and the businesses they once housed%u2014barber shops, general stores, flour mills, furniture factories, leather tanneries, gas stations, creameries, and theaters%u2014with a special homage to a small, one-story, two-room typewriter repair shop, and a nearby bakery, where a four-year old boy watched and learned how grown men earned a living.John Bower