Rust: A Memoir of Steel and Grit

by Eliese Colette Goldbach

I often wondered whether the stories told by the older employees were meant to scare me. Their stories certainly had that effect, but I was beginning to sense that they were motivated by more than a blatant attempt at hazing. I started seeing the stories as a type of memorial. Death graced the strangest places in the mill. In the corner of the Social Shanty, there was a bulletin board filled with the obituaries of past employees. Notices for upcoming funerals could be found on doorways and lunch tables, and people often took collections for the families of those who had passed away. It didn’t matter if someone died from a heart attack or old age or cancer. Everyone was remembered with enthusiasm, like family. The gruesome stories weren’t told for shock value. They were a way to remember all of the men and women who had given their lives to make a living. Perhaps more important, those stories were a way to speak a hard truth: It could have happened to anyone. It could have happened to me.