I love business trips. At night, sleeping in hotel with pillow-top
matresses, the Wall Street Journal at doorstep when morning arrives.
For lunch, cruising along with managers from the factory somewhere in
Georgia, Ohio, Florida, Ontario, Tennessee, Kentucky, Mexico and
looking for a proper lunch. I understand I won't be seeing Mexico any
time soon because even the reliable hotel in Monterray has been
violated with kidnappings. Ah, even a small factor such as Lake Effect
snow can put the chill into travel plans. So instead of talking my
work party into lunch at Diamond Jim Brady's in Novi, Michigan, I was
found in the office for Christmas potluck. I always sign up to bring a
dish, even if I'll be on the road. This year, I volunteered to bring
loaves and fishes. Next year, manna from heaven or maybe ambergris.
When a few women from sales demanded I point out my contribution, I
replied that human resources called me and released me from any
obligation to bring a dish since the company was short staffed during
Christmas season and couldn't afford sick days. But I did bring some
safe food items. I cleaned out my desk and snuck two bottles of wine
and a sealed plastic honey bear of star thistle honey, from Manistee
Michigan, onto the long table in human resources. I placed the honey
bear proudly by the squeeze bottles of mustard and ketchup. I also hit
the collection can for Feeding America with a twenty. That's what I
had in my wallet: twenties and fifties. It's not like I could reach
into the can and make myself such a change, risking a call from
internal audit. I must admit I get all sappy about these Christmas potlucks and shop
summer picnics before the annual shutdown. I try to time my itinerary
so I'm visiting a factory the day before shutdown because lunch is
always a barbecue with burgers and potato salad. With luck, there's
ice cream sandwiches at the end of the line. If the plant is on the
edge of an endless field, take the Indiana or Illinois prairie or a
landscape of Ohio planted to corn and soybean, all the better. Ever
hear that Barber tune about summer in Knoxville, say around 1919 As
the plant manager, comptroller, production manager and other notaries
fill up my plate, I'm humming that quietly. Very early in my career, I was assigned by Detroit Public Schools to
teach on the grounds of the McGraw Glass plant, corner of McGraw and
Wyoming in Southwestern Detroit, on the Westborn border. West
Dearborn, keep up. The DeSoto plant constructed of concrete according
to the plan of architect Albert Kahn still stood. It was owned by this
erstwhile company called Chrysler The DeSoto plant came down and it
took blow torches to slice the rebar in Kahn's columns. All the
politicians came to visit and film commercials. I think Carl Levin
even claimed to have worked in the DeSoto plant as he stood amid the
half demolished shell of that building. Maybe I'll look up the film
clip which has to be out on Youtube now. Coleman Young and Jesse
Jackson arrived to shake hands on camera as shift changed. I glimpsed
Jesse in the left rear passenger seat as the two cruised out of there,
chaufferred in a Chrysler luxury car in black. They were all out there
to save the jobs, save the plant. Even I was out there to save the
plant by raising the educational level of the employees. I had Apple
IIgs computers, video cameras and all manner of pre-Internet
educational tech. I even had a subscription to the first volume of
Edutopia. I looked up MCGraw Glass on the internet the other day and a
commercial real estate firm is trying to rent it out as a distribution
center. In the end, none of us could save it. PPG and Guardian were
just too good at making automotive glass. Wonder how Cooches Club
House is doing, the 5 O' Clock bar right at corner of McGraw & Wyoming I digress, but let's return to McGraw Glass in 1990. We began with the
Clothe A Child, where we took pretty much every child in need at our
neighborhood elementary school and bought them two hundred dollars of
boots and warm weather gear. Everybody gave and head count was up and
overtime was good. I think of the budget now and feel a need to check
my facts in astonishment. Even the Spark, the daily Communist
photocopied newsletter handed out at shift change, wrote good copy
about it. On the day before Christmas shutdown all the machines went quiet
before noon. And then the tables went up and the food got laid out.
And all of us from the training trailer set out to eat our weight in
ham and fried chicken. The skilled trades guys, the line folks, they
all called me professor. And I could beg off more food and had to beg
it off, but good heavens, we had to make the stops, enjoy the cheer.
It was an immense interior, with stadium high ceilings, a half mile
long and a quarter mile wide and cozy as a womb on a winter's day. I was told by the woman who is now the mother of my child that I talk
in my sleep. She claimed once, during a stay in a tower of the
Renaissance Center, high above the streets and structures of Detroit,
I sat up in bed and exclaimed, "I can see McGraw"! Then I reclined and
returned to REM. She's always impressed me with her cleverness. Plant
security at two different plants waved her right through without
authorization when she dropped in to visit me. So I believe her now. It is 9:21 PM on December 15, 2010, 19 years since my days on the shop floor. I can see McGraw.
matresses, the Wall Street Journal at doorstep when morning arrives.
For lunch, cruising along with managers from the factory somewhere in
Georgia, Ohio, Florida, Ontario, Tennessee, Kentucky, Mexico and
looking for a proper lunch. I understand I won't be seeing Mexico any
time soon because even the reliable hotel in Monterray has been
violated with kidnappings. Ah, even a small factor such as Lake Effect
snow can put the chill into travel plans. So instead of talking my
work party into lunch at Diamond Jim Brady's in Novi, Michigan, I was
found in the office for Christmas potluck. I always sign up to bring a
dish, even if I'll be on the road. This year, I volunteered to bring
loaves and fishes. Next year, manna from heaven or maybe ambergris.
When a few women from sales demanded I point out my contribution, I
replied that human resources called me and released me from any
obligation to bring a dish since the company was short staffed during
Christmas season and couldn't afford sick days. But I did bring some
safe food items. I cleaned out my desk and snuck two bottles of wine
and a sealed plastic honey bear of star thistle honey, from Manistee
Michigan, onto the long table in human resources. I placed the honey
bear proudly by the squeeze bottles of mustard and ketchup. I also hit
the collection can for Feeding America with a twenty. That's what I
had in my wallet: twenties and fifties. It's not like I could reach
into the can and make myself such a change, risking a call from
internal audit. I must admit I get all sappy about these Christmas potlucks and shop
summer picnics before the annual shutdown. I try to time my itinerary
so I'm visiting a factory the day before shutdown because lunch is
always a barbecue with burgers and potato salad. With luck, there's
ice cream sandwiches at the end of the line. If the plant is on the
edge of an endless field, take the Indiana or Illinois prairie or a
landscape of Ohio planted to corn and soybean, all the better. Ever
hear that Barber tune about summer in Knoxville, say around 1919 As
the plant manager, comptroller, production manager and other notaries
fill up my plate, I'm humming that quietly. Very early in my career, I was assigned by Detroit Public Schools to
teach on the grounds of the McGraw Glass plant, corner of McGraw and
Wyoming in Southwestern Detroit, on the Westborn border. West
Dearborn, keep up. The DeSoto plant constructed of concrete according
to the plan of architect Albert Kahn still stood. It was owned by this
erstwhile company called Chrysler The DeSoto plant came down and it
took blow torches to slice the rebar in Kahn's columns. All the
politicians came to visit and film commercials. I think Carl Levin
even claimed to have worked in the DeSoto plant as he stood amid the
half demolished shell of that building. Maybe I'll look up the film
clip which has to be out on Youtube now. Coleman Young and Jesse
Jackson arrived to shake hands on camera as shift changed. I glimpsed
Jesse in the left rear passenger seat as the two cruised out of there,
chaufferred in a Chrysler luxury car in black. They were all out there
to save the jobs, save the plant. Even I was out there to save the
plant by raising the educational level of the employees. I had Apple
IIgs computers, video cameras and all manner of pre-Internet
educational tech. I even had a subscription to the first volume of
Edutopia. I looked up MCGraw Glass on the internet the other day and a
commercial real estate firm is trying to rent it out as a distribution
center. In the end, none of us could save it. PPG and Guardian were
just too good at making automotive glass. Wonder how Cooches Club
House is doing, the 5 O' Clock bar right at corner of McGraw & Wyoming I digress, but let's return to McGraw Glass in 1990. We began with the
Clothe A Child, where we took pretty much every child in need at our
neighborhood elementary school and bought them two hundred dollars of
boots and warm weather gear. Everybody gave and head count was up and
overtime was good. I think of the budget now and feel a need to check
my facts in astonishment. Even the Spark, the daily Communist
photocopied newsletter handed out at shift change, wrote good copy
about it. On the day before Christmas shutdown all the machines went quiet
before noon. And then the tables went up and the food got laid out.
And all of us from the training trailer set out to eat our weight in
ham and fried chicken. The skilled trades guys, the line folks, they
all called me professor. And I could beg off more food and had to beg
it off, but good heavens, we had to make the stops, enjoy the cheer.
It was an immense interior, with stadium high ceilings, a half mile
long and a quarter mile wide and cozy as a womb on a winter's day. I was told by the woman who is now the mother of my child that I talk
in my sleep. She claimed once, during a stay in a tower of the
Renaissance Center, high above the streets and structures of Detroit,
I sat up in bed and exclaimed, "I can see McGraw"! Then I reclined and
returned to REM. She's always impressed me with her cleverness. Plant
security at two different plants waved her right through without
authorization when she dropped in to visit me. So I believe her now. It is 9:21 PM on December 15, 2010, 19 years since my days on the shop floor. I can see McGraw.
1 comment:
I enjoy the blog, Wilbo.
There are many things I'd like to say (mostly complimentary, some inquisitions, maybe a few criticisms), but let's start with this:
CARRIAGE RETURN / LINE FEED! :-)
I'd guess you're composing in MS Word and then pasting to the blog -- but something is being lost in the translation, resulting in a somewhat disjointed reading experience.
A minor complaint. Carry on!
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