On Writing: Buildings Have Stories to Tell

How one call to readers brought compelling tales of how people spent their lives working, laughing, falling in love at their workplace long ago.

I am turning back the clock to show you how a story about old buildings can yield powerful, personal and important non-fiction narrative.

Imagine with me for a moment. I am driving to work at The Akron (OH) Beacon Journal on May 9, 1995 in my red Volvo (which branded me, in that city of made-in-America tires and automobiles, as a probable vegetarian). At the bottom of the hill, where B.F. Goodrich had built its empire of dozens of manufacturing buildings (tires, zippers, raincoats, pipes, you name it), I saw a dozen old guys watching a giant crane setting up to begin demolition of Goodrich’s Building 40 to make room for a new enterprise coming to town. I sped to the paper, rushed in and saw Janet Moore sitting at her desk.

A word about Janet: Janet is snarly kind. That is, sometimes she’s kind of snarly. But mostly she’s just plain kind. And people sense both those things about her: A person not afraid to speak her mind but who will treat you with respect, who will listen. So people trust Janet. They tell her things.

Another word about Janet: She moved to Minneapolis where she married another veteran of the Akron newsroom, Will Outlaw, who decided the best way to safely exit the news business in lieu of laying off some of his reporters was to become a 737 pilot and captain. Which he still does.

Janet stayed with reporting, went on to head her newsroom’s union and did so with all the strength and in-your-face persistence that a good union chief should have, and then shed the duties to return full attention to reporting.

But back to May 1995: I walked into the business news department.

“Janet, can you go out and talk to those old guys watching the demolition?”

Janet snarled, as in, she folded the morning paper with drama, rolled her eyes, got up, grabbed a pad and pen and went out the door. And she didn’t come back for four hours. And when she did, she was smiling. She was excited.

What she found was this: The oldsters had all worked at Building 40 and had been meeting for lunch once a month ever since the building operations were shut down in 1983. So, before eating, they decided they’d watch some of the demolition. Janet did a story. A basic news story about the demolition, the new company coming to town, a few of the reactions of the men. But she wanted to do more.

We were blessed then with a new-fangled piece of technology—a phone answering machine and a dedicated line—so that Sunday we put a notice on the front page of the paper asking for anyone who had worked in Building 40 to give us a call and tell us a story.

Monday morning we went into the office and found 94 blinks on the machine. Janet called every single one of them back. Some she interviewed by phone. Others she went out and visited. They made her coffee and gave her Rice Krispy treats and shared photographs and souvenirs and, of course, stories.

They had stories of the local bars they’d hit after work, of the stepped-up production during World War II, of the monotony of some of the work, the danger of some of the work. Some talked of the stench of tire-making or, in some of their minds, “the sweet smell of jobs.” They talked of having a good job and a family and a comfortable life. They talked of making friendships. Like this one from Margie Zvoleff, 78 at the time of the interview, as she reflected on her early days at “The Goodrich” in the late 1930’s:

“ ‘I worked close to the time clock, so there was no problem to get out of the building about 5 after midnight to catch my bus. One night, it was raining terribly hard, just pouring down. Right across the street was a Universal Ford dealership that had a recessed doorway. I stood inside the doorway, waiting for the bus.

“ ‘Oh, it was raining so hard. And the bus didn’t come. I was standing there and standing there. A man came up to me and introduced himself. … drove a 1935 black Plymouth … He said his name was John. We worked in the same building, only he was way down at the other end.

“’Could I drive you home?’ he asked me. He took me home. He drove me right up to the door … Later he asked me out on a date. We went to a place called the American Serbian Club. We could sit at a table and there was a little area to dance. He asked me to marry him first date we had. Honest to god. It made me laugh. I thought ‘My God, this guy doesn’t know me.’

“ ‘But he was so sincere. I saw him every single night from then on. Nine weeks later we were married. …

“ ‘He’s been gone for 22 years now. And whenever I dream of him, he’s saving me from something. Just like the night he saved me from the rain.’ ”

I caught up with Janet last week, and we both helped each other’s memories, and she had this to say about the process:

“I remember how some of them were obviously very sentimental, but most of them we're pretty matter of fact about what had happened to not only the building but to their jobs and the whole economy in Akron. They just seem to sort of accept it, a kind of sense of resignation.

“It really was a stark example of how these rust belt cities have changed over the years and how the whole economy of the country has changed. And I think in a lot of ways (it showed) the decline of the manufacturing economy and the outsourcing of jobs first to the south, which was non-union and then to Mexico and then places beyond, and how this gave rise to Donald Trump and the grievances of white men because there weren’t any jobs there anymore that pay such that you can support a family.

“Looking back, I wish I had folded in some more global events.”

But hindsight is always clearer. What stands out, though, was that for the subjects of this piece, time had washed away some of the baggage and perhaps, too, some of the sadness in their reflections. So they shared only their best stories, the ones with the most meaning to them. And they were honored to have the local newspaper ask them to tell them. Because, back then, there was an amazing bond between the Beacon Journal and the city of Akron. An example:

“After the story, one of the guys … came into the Beacon and said he loved the story, and he gave me this little ring that he had made for his daughter. … He said his daughter had died, and he wanted me to have it. It isn't anything I can wear because it is really tiny, but I was so touched that he wanted to give it to me. It was just a really kind and gracious gesture. I still have it.

“And that was another thing that came through: they were just incredibly proud not only of where they worked and what they did, but of their community as well, their city. They wanted to be in Akron for the most part … because that was the place where people went to, you know to make a living, make their fortunes, to make their families.

“I don't know if people feel that way about their communities anymore, you know, especially in the Midwest where a lot of these communities have been totally decimated.”

So Janet’s story had several “understories:” The appreciation older people have to be able to tell their stories and the sense of resignation a lot of manufacturing workers had and still have about losing their livelihoods. Both are and were compelling.

Below is a PDF of Janet’s story, Akron Beacon Journal, May 21, 1995.

Building40

8.35MB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

---

So now it’s your turn.

While this is a story of times long previous, that’s the point. Janet Moore was able to capture a slice of living history, stories that would have turned to dust had she not sat down and listened to what people had to say. Some tips:

Find a building

Admit it. Old buildings intrigue you, too. And there is an old building in your town that you’ve always wondered about. Perhaps it is occupied. Perhaps it is abandoned. Are you curious about it? What went on in there? What role did the building and its occupants have on the community? Does anyone have any stories about it?

Research

Ask people about it – longtime residents, the local historical society, the town clerk, the old guy in the hardware store. Check with the county records for information on when it was built, when it changed hands. What company occupied it the longest? Most recently?

Call for stories

Find a way to get word out – social media, your local newspaper or forum, local organizations – and ask if anyone worked in that building might be willing to sit down to chat. And remember this: People love telling stories. They’ll be honored that you are interested.

Listen

Once you find some older folks who have stories, go visit them (as safely as you can; sadly the pandemic is not over). See if you can get old photographs or mementos to photograph. You might also want to record them – adding the audio of their voices will create a deeper experience for the readers. (NOTE: It is always good to be clear with people that you appreciated their time and stories but once you sit down to write the story it might be that you are not able to include all of what they told you.)

Tell the story

Now the “easy” part: create the story. Choose the best, most diverse stories. Choose the ones with details. Choose the ones with emotion. And what is the understory, the deeper point of the story? Including photographs, particularly historic ones, will add a draw to the story. As will audio of the subjects talking. And if you have more material than you can use in your text, the audio becomes a way to supplement what you’ve written.

I wish you luck. These types of stories can be great fun, tell you things about your community that you didn’t realize and bring a lot of joy to those you interview. Not to mention your readers. If you do write something, please send me the url and I’ll give you some feedback. (You can leave it as a comment or email me at ggevalt(at)gmail(dot)com.)

And I would love to know what you think of Janet’s story. What did it bring to mind? Did it make you miss old style journalism? Please put your thoughts in a comment below.