Telling Lancaster to surrender and call U-Haul made it easy for America to ignore its Lancasters. Sure, there was a lot of talk about such places and the people in them, but few wanted to spend much time learning about how they’d been left behind by the financialization and digitalization of American life. Silicon Valley kept promising nirvana but delivering new ways to gossip, even while disconnecting people from each other and their real communities. Politicians soothed the blows of globalization with promises to retrain and educate, but none of that happened for Lancaster’s working class.
To so blithely dismiss the value of community was to pretend there was no loss. But there was, and the effects of that loss continued to ripple throughout the town.
Lancaster, as a place, would survive; it was too big to dry up like a Texas crossroads bypassed by the interstate. Maybe it would sell scones and coffee to visitors and one day complete a transformation, already well under way, into a Columbus bedroom community with organic delis and rehabilitated loft apartments in the old Essex Wire building. Or maybe it would slide into deeper dysfunction. For sure it could never go back, no matter how much some in town wanted to believe Lancaster could recapture at least the spirit of what it once was. Whatever its future, Lancaster would be a lonelier place than the one Nancy George had found.
When Anchor Hocking quality control supervisors tested the strength and shatter patterns of baking dishes, they used a tap-style punch and hammer. They placed the baking dish on a wooden block within the bounds of a walled frame, held the punch in the center of the dish, and hammered at it—gently at first, then with increasing power, hit after hit, until the dish fragmented into isosceles shards. If the glass had been melted, formed, and tempered just right, it would shatter along lines of stress. You can see the stress lines in an intact dish by holding it under polarized light. You can’t see them with the naked eye.
* * *
Brian took another sip of whiskey and explained his idea for the trees. The pair of them would be slightly abstract, with leaves big enough for writing on. As guests walked into Bayat and Victoria’s wedding ceremony, or maybe the reception, they’d use a gold marker to write their names on the leaves. Afterwards, Brian would have the trees framed and present them to Bayat and Victoria as keepsakes. He’d been working on the trees for a few days now, up in the studio. It was the first art he’d made in months. He lifted his glass and said he was excited about getting back to work creating something.
The studio was clean and organized, his drawing tables neater than they’d ever been. He’d also hung up a few pieces of art—a couple of prints of Renaissance paintings, and the December 31 issue of the Eagle-Gazette. That was the one with the big picture of Bridget Kuhn being arraigned in court. He’d turned the paper into an icon to remind him that he wasn’t crazy at all; his view of The System had been the right one all along.
He’d also been decorating at his parents’ house—repainting a room, buying a new mattress. In a few days, he’d be moved out of the Colfax place. Aaron was cool with his leaving. Brian had paid up for January so as not to leave Aaron with a full tab. Besides, Aaron had started spending a lot of his time up in Pickerington with his girlfriend and would probably be leaving Colfax, too.
Brian emptied out the Colfax freezer by taking the backstrap from the deer he took with the crossbow—he and Brant had had a successful hunt in November—and grilling it at Hilltop for some friends. The meat was delicious. Hilltop hadn’t changed. The rocks we’d collected in December 2014 lay where we’d dropped them. The hillbilly cabin was going to remain a dream, but his affection for Hilltop was undiminished. He liked taking naps in the woods and feeling a little disoriented when he woke to the sounds of the trees in the wind. He was never more comfortable with himself than when he was at Hilltop, on land where that early Gossett had made a home.
In December, Mike took a bus trip out to Colorado to snowboard with a busload of kids from school. Brian was a little envious, but proud of his brother. Soon Mike would graduate from Ohio University. Brian wished he’d figured out a way to get to college, too, and to finish, but “at least one of us made it,” he said. He knew now that Mike might move away from Lancaster and never go into the silkscreen T-shirt business, or the skateboard graphics business. “I can’t imagine what it’d be like to lose him,” Brian said.
He planned to stay at Drew. He still hadn’t signed up for the 401(k), but maybe there’d be some way he could make a career there. Anchor Hocking was still on his mind, though. “You know,” he said, “Anchor was the only job I’ve ever really been proud of.”
Brian took another sip, then spotted somebody staring into a phone. “I hate Facebook,” he said. “I have to be careful who hears me say that. Hating Facebook makes you an evil person.” He laughed. “Everybody is alone. Like, even these big houses: In them, you’re in the same house, but you’re still alone.”
Somewhere—he couldn’t remember exactly, but it was probably NPR, because he liked to listen to it on his way home from work—he’d heard about some experiment on rats where the dude put some rats in cages by themselves and other rats in this, like, park with a bunch of other rats. And then he gave all the rats plain water and something like dope or something, and the rats could drink whatever they wanted. The rats in the cages totally went for the dope. They’d take so much, they’d kill themselves. The rats who hung out with all the other rats in a park hardly took any drugs, because they weren’t lonely. Lancaster, he said, was like a cage. “We don’t have a population problem,” he said. “We have a consumption problem.”
People consumed to distract themselves. If it wasn’t dope, it was real estate, cars, cash, Facebook, politics, screens, religion, rote patriotism, stupid movies, dumbass music.
Brian mentioned Mike’s trip to Colorado again and said it might be nice to move out west someday. The fact was, though, that he still loved Lancaster. Hilltop was Lancaster. The old buildings were Lancaster. The generations of Gossetts were Lancaster. The picture of Bridget Kuhn on the studio’s wall proved he loved it enough to be offended, if not surprised.
A football game had been playing on the flat-screen TV above the bar, some postseason all-star game, most likely. Brian hadn’t been paying attention—he wasn’t much of a sports fan. But an odd tableau drew his eye: There was a cute girl in small red shorts jumping around with frenetic enthusiasm. She was backed by NFL cheerleaders wearing sexy uniforms and giant, almost insane smiles, their perfect rows of perfect white teeth frozen and miraculous. And around the girl and the cheerleaders, a group of gospel singers shook with fervor as they sang to empty seats. He stared for a few seconds and then said, “The United States of America, dude.”
We decided to stay for another drink. The food at Cherry Street was pretty good. Billy and Lorena seemed to know everybody who walked through the door, and you could almost always find somebody you knew to chat with under the pictures and signs and memorabilia. Besides, it was cold outside.
A NOTE ON NAMES AND SOURCES
All names in Glass House are real with the following exceptions: The names of minor children have been changed. The names of several people identified by first name only have been changed, but most have not. I reluctantly granted the wish of several people who asked to remain anonymous. In two cases, I chose to grant anonymity to people who did not ask for it; these people are identified only by occupation.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It was my belief that Lancaster had an important story to tell. Telling it would have been impossible without the generous cooperation of its people, its officials, and its various agencies, both governmental and charitable. Lancaster allowed me into its life with much more generosity and openness than even I had expected. I thank all those people whose names appear in this book, and those many whose names do not.
Key logistical and/or research assistance was provided by the board of the West After School Program, Lancaster police chief Don McDaniel and officer Ray Hambel, court reporter Janice F
ry, the staff of the Fairfield County Board of Elections, the staff of the Fairfield County District Library, the Fairfield County District Attorney’s office, Stuart Stevens, James Linehan, Eleanor Hood, Milton Taylor, John McGraw, John and Mary Snider, the Barrows family, Lisa and Evan Murphy, and Doug Barber.
Photographer Shelley Metcalf shot the image of Plant 1. Amanda Allen created the map of Lancaster. Thanks to both for putting up with me.
The important role played by local newspapers is illustrated by the number of Eagle, Gazette, and Eagle-Gazette stories referenced herein, from 1900 to the present. Please support your local paper.
My buddy Smokey was a most welcoming landlord, efficient taxi service, television and fast food concierge, and a font of information. There are not enough chicken wings in the world to compensate.
Sam Solomon admitted me into the company he was trying to save, and willingly revealed himself in the process. He answered every question I asked without obfuscation. Because he did, he provided a rare peek into the workings of a troubled company. This book would not have been possible without him. I am convinced Anchor Hocking would have folded long ago without the presence of Janet Rayburn. I thank all the executives and workers of Anchor Hocking, past and present, including my friendly nemesis, Erika Schoenberger.
Thanks also to the many bartenders of Lancaster.
Rosemary Batt of Cornell University, Mike McMahon, Victor Fleischer of the University of San Diego School of Law, Denny Garvis of Washington and Lee University, and Debra Riley—experts in the fields of private equity, banking, investment tax law, business journalism, and bankruptcy law, respectively—provided valuable insights, tips, and welcome critiques. Suzy Spencer, who read and critiqued drafts of early chapters, helped set a course.
Serendipity led me to my fellow former Lancastrian Beth (Taylor) Urban, who patiently transcribed many hours of interviews for paltry wages and kept my secrets. Susan Heard’s attention to textual detail—also at paltry wages—made me look like a better grammarian than I am. Alex Heard provided early, and continued, encouragement. Nicole Payne combed through the text, seeking out factual errors and confusions—again, for paltry wages. (I am an exploitive employer.) All errors are mine, of course.
Elisabeth Dyssegaard of St. Martin’s is the bravest book editor I’ve ever encountered: She bought a book having no idea how events would unfold. I’m grateful for her faith, and for the continued faith of Michelle Tessler. Laura Apperson of St. Martin’s helped keep the work flowing despite my frustrations. Copyeditor Will Palmer and legal advisor Henry Kaufman kept me out of trouble.
During the course of reporting and writing this book, my mother, Agnes “Bobby” Alexander, and then my brother, Bruce Alexander, also a writer, died. They both helped instill in me a belief that stories are among the most valuable artifacts a society can produce.
One day, early in my Lancaster sojourn, while I sat in the bar of the old hotel, a man named Andy Ogilvie, whose father would have been, and should have been, the CEO of Anchor Hocking had he not died at too early an age, and whom I had not seen in at least thirty-five years, and barely knew when I grew up there, walked into the room, looked at me for a moment and said, “That’s gotta be an Alexander.” I was proud to say yes, and grateful to be from Lancaster.
NOTES
Please note that some of the links referenced throughout this work are no longer active.
The information in this book was obtained through scores of interviews, more than 3,500 documents, and my own experience and reporting in Lancaster, past and present. The following books provided important background and insights: The Way We Never Were: American Families and the Nostalgia Trap (revised and updated), by Stephanie Coontz (New York: Basic Books, 2016); Private Equity at Work: When Wall Street Manages Main Street, by Eileen Appelbaum and Rosemary Batt (New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 2014); The Future of Nostalgia, by Svetlana Boym (New York: Basic Books, 2001); Dreamland: The True Tale of America’s Opiate Epidemic, by Sam Quinones (New York: Bloomsbury Press, 2015).
The following selected notes are not a complete list of sources or attributions.
INTRODUCTION. THE CEO
He’d signed his new employment contract: EveryWare Global Inc. Employment Agreement, February 21, 2014.
stood at a whiteboard: Sam Solomon, interview with the author, September 24, 2015.
ONE. GLASS HOUSE: DECEMBER 2014
A 2,400-degree lava-like ribbon of glass flowed out of Tank 3: Tours of Anchor Hocking Plant 1, July 16, 2015, and January 28, 2016.
Brian was awed by what he saw: Brian Gossett, interview with the author, December 13, 2014.
Brian had a reputation as a complainer: Chris Nagle, interview with the author, September 28, 2015.
“That place is run … let’s say jerry-rigged”: Joe Boyer, interview with the author, July 24, 2015.
it had a reputation around the industry for being a “shit hole”: Mike Shook, interview with the author, September 24, 2015.
Lloyd Romine was moving, little by little: Lloyd Romine, personal communication with the author, January 28, 2016; Jason Roach, interview with the author, September 24, 2015.
His own lawyer liked him so much he loaned him money: Andrew Sanderson, interview with the author, November 12, 2015.
He once skipped out on bail and took off to Florida: Lloyd Romine, interview with the author, February 1, 2016.
somebody knocked on the door of Mark Kraft’s house: State of Ohio v. Carly Donn Bowman, 15CRA00081ABCD (Fairfield County Municipal Court).
Mark’s grandparents raised a family in that house: Mark Kraft, interviews with the author, various dates.
Wendy Oatney was working the late shift at Taco Bell: Wendy and John Oatney, interviews with the author, various dates.
Cargotec, a Finnish company: “Business Development,” Cargotec 2012 annual report, http://annualreport2012.cargotec.com/en/hiab/business-development.
Ohio Reform Farm at its founding in 1856: Lancaster Eagle-Gazette, June 3, 1950, “Sesquicentennial Edition.”
turned into a state prison for adults, the Southeastern Correctional Institution: Southeastern Correctional Complex, Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Correction, http://www.drc.ohio.gov/public/sci.htm.
TWO. THE ALL-AMERICAN TOWN: 1947–1982
every school kid in Lancaster could tell you at least part of the story: Ruth Wolfley Drinkle, Heritage of Architecture and Arts: Fairfield County, Ohio (Lancaster, OH: Fairfield Heritage Association, 1978), 3–21.
Richard Outcault: “Richard Felton Outcault,” Encyclopedia Britannica, https://www.britannica.com/biography/Richard-Felton-Outcault.
Forbes devoted most of its thirtieth-anniversary issue: Forbes, November 15, 1947, various articles.
Two days after graduating from Princeton: Malcolm Forbes biography, Bryant College Commencement program, May 22, 1976; “Roberta Laidlaw Englewood Bride,” New York Times, September 22, 1946; “Forbes, B. C.,” American National Biography Online, http://www.anb.org/articles/16/16-03558.html.
forming a municipal gas company: Lancaster Eagle-Gazette, June 3, 1950, “Sesquicentennial Edition.”
By 1890, a company called Highland Manufacturing: Lancaster City Directory, 1904–1905.
Lancaster Lens was placed in the Statue of Liberty’s torch: http://www.lancasterglasscorp.com/; Ohio Glass Museum display, Lancaster, Ohio.
Godman sold out to the Irving Drew Shoe Company: Lancaster Eagle-Gazette, June 3, 1950, “Sesquicentennial Edition.”
two young newlyweds, Nancy and Herb George: Nancy (George) Frick, interview with the author, May 15, 2015.
another major employer, Diamond Power: Lancaster Eagle-Gazette, June 3, 1950, “Sesquicentennial Edition.”
General Mills opened a plant: Kevin Hunt, “Bugles in the ‘Mad Men’ Era,” Taste of General Mills blog, April 5, 2012, http://www.blog.generalmills.com/2012/04/bugles-in-the-mad-men-era.
there were the perks, too, like the company softball: AnchorScope n
ewsletters, various years, Ohio Glass Museum archives.
Lancaster was streaked with Copperheads: Gerry Stebelton, interview with the author, October 19, 2015.
segregationist George Wallace attracted 1,574 votes: Abstract of Votes Cast for Offices in Fairfield County, Ohio, at the General Election Held, November 5, 1968; Fairfield County Board of Elections.
In the 1920s, Lancaster fell into the grip of a resurgent Ku Klux Klan: John Acton, interview with the author, August 7, 2015.
the parks department drained the pool, then refilled it: James Miller, interview with the author, December 9, 2014.
expended much of its energy harassing Catholics: Dr. Hubert Eyman, Sr., interview with Ruth Drinkle, May 27, 1981, Fairfield County District Library Historical Collection.
He rented a room in a Lancaster boardinghouse called the Kreider: Lancaster City Directory, 1903–1904.
Born in Maryland in 1874: Margaret M. Iwen, Mr. Collins: Father of Anchor Hocking (n.p.: self-published, 2010).
a Pinkerton strikebreaker named Edward Good: Cy Fulton, interview with Ruth Drinkle and Ginny Fetters, September 13, 1982, Fairfield County District Library, Historical Collection; Pittsburgh City Directory, RL Polk and Company, January 1, 1900.
Good later headed another Pittsburgh detective agency: Political advertisement, Pittsburgh Gazette Times, November 2, 1913, 4.
In 1894 Collins went to work in the factory at the Phoenix Glass Company: Drafts of Anchor Hocking corporate history, c. 1954, Ohio Glass Museum archives.
fallen under the control of a trust engineered by the National Carbon Company: Tariff Hearings Before the Committee on Ways and Means, 1908–1909. Hugo Reisinger: “Now, I wish to explain to you one of the actions of the carbon trust. Knowing they have absolutely no competition on these low-grade carbons (as I stated before, they control every factory; some independent carbon works were built after the organization of the National Carbon Company, a few of which I can mention: The Consumers’ Carbon Company, of Lancaster, Ohio; Dickey-Sutton Carbon Company, of Lancaster, Ohio; the United States Carbon Company, of Cleveland, and others; all of them have since passed into the control of the National Carbon Company.”
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