Tuesday, July 19, 2016

a poetry reading at studio b this july.

studio b in boyertown hosted a poetry reading for the labors of our fingertips: poems from manufacturing history in berks county on sunday. this stood as the third poetry reading which the gallery hosted for the project in two years, and the support of those in charge is a big help, to say the least. like this project, studio b pushes art forward in our community thanks to grant funding from the pennsylvania council on the arts and the berks arts council.


leonard crowdell (born in 1928) of boyertown borough, and his family, attended the reading (you can glimpse a picture of them posing together below). some comments received in the surveys after the reading noted that the sidebar personal stories about crowdell were favorite parts of the event, according to some people in the audience. beyond the content of his poem, we talked about how when he moved here from england to work at great american knitting mills, inc., he had a temporary rented room for his residence, and after his wife and daughters relocated here the following month, they stayed with one of his co-workers until a home for all of them had been secured. he would walk from bechtelsville to his co-worker's home down route 73 in boyertown to see his family in that brief time because he had no car right away. and that is not a short walk, either, compared to how much faster it is to travel by car.

walter delong (born in 1936), and his wife dorothy delong (born in 1940), live in ruscombmanor township and visited as guests, in addition to crowdell. walter brought along old clippings of newspaper articles about boyertown auto body works, and we passed those around for everyone in the audience to see. pat erb, in the audience, asked if he knew dickie haas, her stepfather, and her uncle honey (what a name and such poetry-- to be able to say you have an uncle honey in the family !), and walter nodded. they had been his co-workers for several decades in building specialty truck bodies. everyone loved the story of dorothy's long-awaited pregnancy sparking into motion after a plug and electrical outlet shocked her while she worked at a cowboy boot factory on jefferson street in the boyertown borough. her doctor had the original theory about how her body rebooted from the jolt. long excerpts from the delongs' poems from the second year of this poetry project are below, after the eye-scenes from the reading.


all photography for this poetry reading is kindly courteous of laura kline.











*

walter delong, ruscombmanor township | born: 1936

at boyertown auto body works, i often welded front ends
together. at some point, we dived into building trolleys. at 
first in 1956, they hired me as a laborer, joining my skills
with the others through assembling the vehicle bodies.
at the end, i’d become a crew leader. with the trolleys, 

they sometimes had brass interiors, soft velvet seats.
we made some for anheuser-busch beer and even
las vegas itself, but also the city of philadelphia when 
it celebrated its bicentennial in 1976 and dolly parton’s
dollywood in tennessee, too. we only made trucks—dump 

trucks, mail truck for post offices, expandable vans for the u.s. 
army. the engines came in, and we built the trucks around 
them, custom but also stock orders. certain parts we had 
shipped to us, but mostly, we fabricated what we needed. i 
believe i earned $1.25 an hour, at first. i remember getting

a raise of 5 cents by 1957. in the 1970s, they hired women 
as laborers, too, although some had worked there back 
in the 1940s, before my time. my wife, she memorized a line 
of mine from those days, nothing fit, when i’d be worn out 
from engineered parts not matching each other, frustration 

from that inefficiency exhausting me. on paper, it looked like
it’d work in the design, but in the end, we learned otherwise. 
i’d eat lunch outside or in a truck. our bosses had carver’s 
dairy bringing us white or chocolate milk cartons in big crates 
around 10 a.m. for a few years, and i worked at the other end 

of the building, so i’d often get there late, once the other guys 
had grabbed all of the freebies. honing a clever side, i’d sneak 
down a few minutes early, a pad of paper and a pen in my 
hands so it’d look like i was busy working. i’d get a carton 
to sip before the supply ran out. other guys grew wise like me...


*

dorothy delong, ruscombmanor township | born: 1940

in 1958, i graduated from high school. i didn’t want to work
at a shoe factory. it seemed everybody worked at one. so by
1959, i had applied to albright knitting mill, with its factory
along englesville road, where they made plain white sets
of underwear. shirts, shorts for men and boys. no sized 
numbers on the pairs back then, and no XL—i only recall 
S, M, and L marking the tags. a lot of older women worked 

there, and i remember them looking in my direction, saying, 
she  ain’t gonna make it—what is she doing here. these little 
old ladies with their ivory lace hair went to bingo a lot,
and they were often telling each other what meals they
planned to make for supper that night. in the finishing
department, i folded the clothing. two boys carried big bolts
of yarn in for the cutters, i noticed. they also took away

all of the boxes after i had them packed full. i left after one
year, and i ended up at a shoe factory after all, a place
situated along jefferson street in boyertown. i did lavish,
fancy stitching up the sides of cowboy boots for men. some 
had eagle wings facing upward toward the knee-sections.
the women there were more rough with their language, 
a whole different breed of them than the caliber of the ones 

i worked alongside when i folded, folded, folded all day long 
at my old job. ginny kuser, pearl weller, pauline jones, and 
mabel mest, they knew that boot hide, just like i did. i had 
a hell of a shock there, pulling a cord out of the wall, a bad 
jolt, but walter and i had been trying for a baby for two years, 
and within three months after the accident, i found myself 
pregnant with deneen. the doctor thought maybe that brief,

tiny earthquake in me rebooted my system, sparking my
route into motherhood. when they switched me from
leather to suede stitching, i broke out in hives...

Friday, July 8, 2016

the boyertown bulletin featured this poetry project in its july 2016 edition.

the boyertown bulletin published a feature about the labors of our fingertips: poems from manufacturing history in berks county in its edition for this month. here are a few eye-scenes from it.


a glimpse: leonard crowdell, born 1928.

the next poetry reading for this project is sunday, july 17 @ 1 p.m. at studio b at 39a east philadelphia avenue, boyertown, pa 19512.

this reading is limited to seating of 30, and 13 people are already signed up to attend. these readings in boyertown do often fill up quickly. so if you can and would like to attend, please RSVP as soon as possible to 610.401.3392 or thelaborsofourfingertips@yahoo.com.

leonard crowdell as well as dorothy and walter delong will be the poem-source guests for this particular reading. 

below is a long excerpt of the poem about leonard crowdell's time spent close to gold toe socks and repairing the machines which sometimes broke down in making them. born in 1928, he relocated here from england in the 1960s for this new job and has lived in the boyertown borough for many decades.

*

crooked water in 1963—i noticed this in my drinking glass 
on the RMS queen elizabeth as the captain announced our 
invitation to glide to the side of the ship because lady liberty 
with her quieted torch stood as that american symbol of what 
touches the stretch of sea opposite my homeland—leicester, 
england. the crew expected that ship to tip, tilt a little bit from 
huddling onlookers reaching at its edge, gripping the rails, 

their eyes fixated on her wordless promise in copper. my 
father bought me a construction set in my days of boy-world,
when i used a toy crane to pick up cargo of railway carriages.
he made shoes and boots; mother cut the patterns of dresses.
once old enough to have my own job, i worked for the bentley

engineering company. how i digested the idea of moving 
here on loan for great american knitting mills, inc. in bally—
apprehensively. but after 3 years, i told my boss i wouldn’t 
be returning across that wide pond. my first day in the place, 
a november morning, i toured the operation to examine those 
broken machines i’d be repairing, and as we paced slow lanes
around the distinct lines of gold toes, we took in new history. 

president kennedy had just felt the sudden song of a bullet 
meeting the brain. but with three shifts of socks to fashion 
and orders to fill, production pushed pitiless responsibility.
people still need something to wear each day on their feet 
even after a president dies. before i arrived, machines were

always on the fritz. i took them apart, stripped them down
to all of their cold metal, showed the men every last detail
of how they functioned, what worn gears looked like, how
to replace parts. a knot in the yarn would bend the needle. 

*