The Permanent Last Call

Little Andy stared out the car window, watching the scenery pass by, when suddenly he excitedly pointed to a derelict factory complex and shouted, “That’s the place, Grandma, that’s the place I was talking about last night. It’s scary looking. What do they do there?”

“Nothing. No one does anything there anymore. It’s just an old, abandoned factory that hasn’t been used for more than fifty years”

“Fifty years, that’s a long time. If nobody uses it, why did they build it?”

“I can tell you all about it when we get home if you remind me.”

Andy went back to quietly staring out the window until they got home. He helped his grandmother carry in some bags and waited for her to get settled in.

“Okay, Grandma. Will you tell me about the building now?”

“Before I start, go over to the bookcase and bring me the book with the title Lansburg. It has a picture of the factory on it.”

Andy did as she asked, and the two settled on the couch for his history lesson.

“That building and this town grew up together. Most of the people who lived in and around Lansburg worked at that factory from 1825, the year it opened, until 1975, the year it closed down for good. Here is a picture of the man who started the company, James Lanston. He was a blacksmith by trade, but discovered a way to make high-quality nails, screws, hinges, and all sorts of metal parts. His business grew so large he built that factory we drove by.”

“Gee, Grandma, he must have been rich to build something that big.”

“He didn’t start out rich, but as his company grew, so did his wealth, and unlike some of the other men of that time, he shared his good fortune with his employees by paying them a fair hourly wage. There was never any talk of forming a Trade Union or going on strike.”

 “The demand for Lanston's products continued to grow, so additional shifts were added. A loud horn was installed on the roof that sounded similar to a train whistle or ship’s foghorn. As each shift began and ended, the horn would blast out a deep resonant sound. It could be heard all over the town. People got so accustomed to hearing it, they used the sound to keep track of the day.”

“Did you or Grandpa ever work there?”

“We both did, Andy. I worked in the office, and your Grandpa was a foreman in the shipping department. It’s where we met. Both your great-grandfathers worked there too. It’s the same with many of the families still living in town. Our futures were all connected to Lansburg Manufacturing.”

“I don’t understand, Grandma? If the company was so busy, why did it close?”

“Greed, mostly. Mister Lanston had no children to pass the company on to, so before he died, he sold it to an investment firm. The only reason those companies exist is to make money, no matter who gets hurt in the process. The new owners immediately began sending production to foreign countries where the products could be made cheaper. Profits increased as local jobs dwindled until one week before Christmas 1975, the owners announced the factory was closing immediately. At 3 p.m. four days before Christmas, the shift change horn sounded for the last time.”

“That’s sad, Grandma. What did people do?”

“A few of us stayed, choosing to commute to work, but the majority of the people moved to other towns in search of better opportunities. That’s what your father and uncle did when they were old enough to leave. Those of us who stayed talk about finding a way to revive the old factory, but we’re too old and poor to try it. No, that final blast from the horn was our last call.”