Morning In Marinette

Only if you haven’t turned on a TV lately could you have missed Mike Bloomberg. In a lack of subtlety brazen even by political standards, Mayor Mike bought ad time across the country like a sailor on shore leave discovering dollar happy hour at the bar across from his ship. In this case, Bloomberg bought a $30 million round proclaiming, in sepia-toned still photos, his grand accomplishments and self-described ability to defeat President Trump. 

Reagan’s “Morning in America” spot it was not.

Of course that 1984 ad, while shot in California, was more of a mythic place for invoking overarching themes of American pride and prosperity. What most people don’t realize is that the ad’s title is actually “Prouder, Stronger, Better." All of which begs the question, is there a place in the country that feels prouder, stronger, and better? It turns out there is, and I got the chance to spend a few days there.

Marinette, Wisconsin is on the Michigan border, some 45 minutes north of Green Bay. Home to Fincantieri Marinette Marine, builders of the Navy’s LCS ships, the factory started as a WWII dirt floor plant and, after a $100 million remodel (and plenty of concrete for hard floors), now produces decidedly 21^st hardware. The LCS class is a low-draft vessel that, through a modular design, can change its mission with a few fork lifts and properly-equipped storage boxes. From launching surface-to-air missiles, amphibious Marine assaults, and probably a whole bunch of classified things they didn’t tell me, the ship is a force to be reckoned with. At $400 million a copy it might not break Bloomberg’s billionaire bank account, but the 100,000 gallons of fuel oil to make it go might give him pause. Then again, with his Napoleonic fervor about eliminating fossil fuels, Mike would be too busy trying to put in solar panels to turn on the ignition.

What made visiting the factory so interesting was the people. This wasn’t just a factory, this was a heavy industrial plant. The workmen (and a few workwomen) had dirty overalls, clothes soiled with steel dust, grease, and other muck that just doesn’t wash out. They carried heavy tools. They were focused on their dangerous work. They were strong.

Once a ship is floated into the water, a factory civilian takes over as the officer in charge. Nothing moves on or off, no change made, no bolt tightened without his sign off. Such an officer was Big Tom. While his name isn’t actually Tom, he is big. 6’3” and probably some 280 pounds, Big Tom owned the boat, and probably 75 pounds of extra heft from a Wisconsin diet of bratwurst, cheese curds, and beer. But get him talking about the ship and he was like a teenager in puppy love. He purred about the inspections of every system, x-raying individual welds, and presenting the results to the Navy. In the pilot house he pointed out how every computer cable had to tested, making his point by separating a strand from its bundle, his thick fingers working with the delicacy of a flower collector taking off an individual petal for pressing into a book. This is a man who is proud, very proud, of his labor.

And then there was Maryanne (not her real name) who ran public relations and events for the boat yard. Lithe with a long mane of red hair (and about a third of Big Tom’s body mass), she made her steel-toe work boots seem more of a fashion statement than a factory floor requirement. By coincidence I happen to have pictures on my phone of the LCS ships made by a rival in Mobile, Alabama. Glancing at them her faced puckered and she simply said, “Oh, the tri-hulls [a difference in the competitor’s design]. Ours are better.”

Prouder, Stronger, Better. In the complicated mix of union politics, conservative culture, and economic hope, it is this kind of town where the candidates will target their resources to pick up every last swing vote. We will find out who wins that election in November. But one thing is for sure—when the sun rises tomorrow it will be morning in Marinette.

© 2019 Alexander W. Stephens. All Rights Reserved.