Gary V. Powell, Author

Gary,

Congratulations! And thanks.

You have wonderfully captured the confluence of cultures that existed in those factories during those summers. I particularly liked the exchange between Jack and Red after the fight with Fields. As we all discovered, we couldn't just be a spectator, even as summer help. They expected us to take sides and be a part of it. We all had exchanges like that one to determine "whose side we was on". It sometimes took some creative talking, but we all emerged intact to write about it 40 years later.

Again, thank you; for the blog and the story.

Wow, this really drew me in! I had to print it and take it to a quiet place to absorb the mood. Well done.

I only got exposed to some of this environment, for which I am glad. My Union Steward at NIBCO was the local head of the Klan -- something that I still can barely grasp. It was not easy being a college kid in that situation. I did what I needed to do to survive. As Jeff mentioned, the confluence of cultures (great term) was quite difficult to navigate at times.

My toughest cultural trial by fire came from a different direction. I had the assignment, many times, of reposessing rented wheelchairs, walkers, and hospital beds from people who had fallen behind on the rental fees. This was usually in the area just south of the tracks. Benham Avenue rings a bell.

I can honestly say that I never felt like I was in danger, though perhaps I just did not realize it. It could be heartbreaking, though. I saw things that I never will forget.

My other summers were spent working in sheet metal and plating factories outside of Newark, NJ. I am glad for those experiences, too. The only time I felt in danger was when my local union (Teamsters) went on a wildcat strike. We stood in the parking lot throwing frisbees and yakking, unitl the Union goons came over from New York to send us back to work. The threat of violence was thick in the air. I walked right back to my bending brake, no questions asked. I didn't really want to strike, but had to go out with my co-workers, who all carried weapons of some kind. When the Teamster goons arrived, it appeared they had greater firepower (or something) so I didn't argue.

My cultural sensitivity prevents me from writing a few things here. In person, this would be some discussion.

Thanks guys. I'll be curious to see how this story is received when I send it out in a couple of weeks. I don't know if it has prize-winning potential, but I expect it to eventually be published. Editors and readers remain fascinated by the 60s.

I don't know if you guys remember a classmate by the name of Paul Nelson. Paul and I worked the set up crew at Nomad the spring and summer of '69. We survived together, looking out for one another. He was a quiet guy, largely overlooked by everyone, but he was smart, very smart, and had a great ironic laugh.He made a better hand than me and was the foreman's favorite. Any idea what happened to Paul?

By the way, and I swear to God I don't know where this stuff comes from, my favorite lines from the story are these:

"He worked like a piston in a sleeve. We didn’t stop for coffee or lunch, and stayed late. We built three roofs ahead for the following day, so we could keep pace with the line. The other men treated him with deference. They worked all day and raged all night. Only Red went home with Red."

You had to be there to get it.

I think I remember Paul. Glasses, thin, quiet, light brown hair. Of course that described most of us, then, except for hair color. I'll look in the yearbook. To my knowledge, nobody has heard from him. I'll see if I have anything, or if I can find him.

The "piston in a sleeve" line was so original and descriptive! I loved it. It summarizes the intensity, tight focus, and unrelenting motion. If I can remember it, I might use the term in conversation now and then. It describes my wife, when she is housecleaning -- nobody within a mile can get any rest, just from the adenaline and electricity that she puts into the air.

You have quite an economy with words -- the mark of a good writer. Great story.

I checked the yearbooks, his pictre was in the sophomore book, but nothing after. I don't remember him at all. My guess is that he moved to another local school.

I liked that entire sequence, it describes so well what was and still is in those factories. It's ironic, even though Elkhart was the womb of the trailer industry, after the very early years, the labor was never native. In the 50's through the 80's it came mainly from Tennessee, Kentucky and W. Virginia. It now comes from Mexico. Blacks never did fit in very well. But your lines still fit. The only difference is that now they go to work at 5:00AM. It gives them longer to rage.

Jeff, thanks for taking the time to post. I googled for Paul and came up dry.

Anyway, I took down the rest of the story this morning for copyright protection purposes, at least until after its published. I got an e-mail a couple of years ago from a college student who thanked me for one of my stories, I think it was "Boat to Build." He said he'd received an "A" for his efforts, the little asshole.

By the way, we're coming north the week of the 23rd. We're in town 24-27. We're usually slammed with visiting family and it's tough to get out other than that, but if you're available for a cup of coffee or a beer let me know. I'd love to see you and hear about your family.

I was thinking of Bob Nelson. Sorry. He was in the yearbook, and is the guy that I remembered. No contact from him, or from Paul... my brain cells are tired from sorting out the details. Kate said, "What are you doing with that yearbook?" I mumbled something.

Kate and I will be doing a high-speed run across the top of Indiana on Friday the 27th. We will wave to the Powells and the Freers as we pass by. Wish we could work something out! Next time. We need to get around Chicago before the weekend traffic ramps up.

On Sunday we are dropping down to I-65 and I-70, out of hailing range. This is one of those "1800-mile weekends" for us. More time spent in the car than seeing anyone. I guess we will see the $5/gallon premium gas, too. Who would have guessed?

Next trip through, I promise. Maybe gas will be $10 by then.

Gary, about the kid who stole your story -- he will cruise into his share of grief, with that way of operating. It is the "Law of General Retribution" in life. (You probably studied it in law school.) Still, this kid sounds pretty annoying!

Wow. Ships passing in the night. We are going to be on an Austin Healey trip to northern Michigan that entire week. Sort of makes you feel as if we're in a giant shell game, doesn't it? I guess a visit is not to be this time. I still haven't given up on North Carolina though.

Gary, have a good trip and say hello to your family for me.

Bill, I cam't believe you're doing another one of those marathons. You're a better (or much younger) man than me.

Ditto to Bill's comment on the asshole.

As I was going through the yearbooks, I ran accross Pat (Laughman) Stadel's message to me in the Senior book, still pertinent after 40 years: "Hope the left wins!" Jan asked what I was smiling about.

Thanks for letting me know -- at least I don't feel guilty now! There was no chance anyway.

No, I'm not any younger. But 1800 miles on the highway is a lot more relaxing than most of my weekends doing elder-care. As you probably remember.

NC is another option. Maybe in the late fall, after we get back from Italy. If not then, certainly in the Spring.

We hope that you both are having a good Father's Day.