And there was that nagging sense that, though I was taking photos that were supposed to say something about these communities living in the aftermath of folded industries, I didn’t really know what it was like to live there. One night, at a bar in Youngstown, this grizzled old man came up, looked at me coldly, and said, Go back to where you came from. I had retorted, politely, Where’s that, sir? He’d responded, Korea, Vietnam. I don’t give a shit. You don’t belong here. You don’t know us.
