OC - First Visit

My first visit to the Oneida Community Mansion House was in June 1988. I had arrived in Central New York only a few weeks earlier to seek my fortune as a small town lawyer. I was thirty nine years old. I tried law practice for two years in Vermont, but it turned out not to be right for me. A close friend, EveAnn Shwartz, was the law partner of Paul V. Noyes. She convinced me (and her partners) that it made sense for me to join their three-person law firm on a part-time basis. I moved to Hamilton to help EveAnn operate the satellite office there. Paul ran the main office in Sherrill with Randy Schaal. The second time I met with Paul, he took me to the Mansion House for lunch.

As we drove through the little city of Sherrill, Paul made occasional obscure references to “the Company,” “the CAC” and “the Community.” Since I am something of a history buff, I had a vague recollection of the Oneida Community as one of the more successful 19^th century religious utopian communities that sprung up everywhere just prior to the Civil War. It had not occurred to me that there would be any remnant of this religious community a hundred and fifty years later or that Community buildings were actually located near-by.

We crossed a little bridge. Paul announced we had entered “Kenwood.” He pointed out a little side street curiously called “The Orchard” and the shingled house where he grew up. A grand brick building that looked as though it had been air lifted in from Harvard was identified as “the Sales Office” of Oneida, Ltd, the famous silverware manufacturer. We turned right into a little lane passing woods on the left and a few houses backed by a golf course on the right. We soon drew up behind a very large brick building and entered by the back door. The large room we entered was mostly empty of furniture except for a couple of round tables and built-in benches along two sides under the windows. Paul tossed his hat and coat on a bench and walked over to some pigeon-holes along the inside wall. He checked his slot in the bank of old-fashioned mail boxes next to the bulletin board. Some living room furniture was arranged around a stone fireplace at the far end of the room. Paul gestured at the formal portrait over the mantel and said, “That's old PB, he saved the company.”

We passed through an arch on the right and crossed a small dining room. A couple of older women sat with their lunch at one of the tables. Paul took me over and introduced me to Betty Wayland-Smith and Barb Smith. I don't exactly remember now everyone he introduced me to that day but I seem to remember also meeting Jane Rich and Prue Wayland-Smith. Over the next few years these four lively Community descendents would prove to be valuable guides to me. The day after Thanksgiving this year (2010) I attended the memorial service of Jane Rich, the last of them to pass away.

We pushed through a swinging door and entered the kitchen. We took cafeteria trays and helped ourselves to a hearty salad bar. Behind a counter a cook pointed out what was on offer that day, simple, basic comfort food. As we ate in an alcove off the main dining room, Paul filled me in on some of the basics. He said he was a direct descendant of the founder, John Humphrey Noyes, or JHN as he familiarly referred to him as though he were still lurking about. After lunch Paul took me on a whirlwind walking tour of the house, winding through halls, past a beautiful library, up a wide staircase, past a glass Victorian “curiosity cabinet” and emerging in the Big Hall still set up for meetings as in the old days.

I was truly amazed. At the time I had no idea I would soon meet another community descendant, Merry Leonard, who is now my wife. I had no idea I would live for a decade in a house in the Orchard built close by the Mansion House grounds by Merry's grandparents. I had no idea I would one day be conducting tours of the Mansion House for visitors, or that I would for a time play a role in the effort to tell the history of the Community. All of this was still in the future.

What I did know on that day was that I had closely encountered an important piece of living American history. This was no re-creation or re-enactment. This was no museum display. Almost nothing was explained. It just was. I was astounded at the potent melding of past and present.

That day marked one of the most important turning points in my life, although I did not realize it at the time. Over time I've learned a lot about the Oneida Community. I'm still deeply fascinated by the sheer audacity of this particular utopian experiment and what it reveals about the human condition.

Over the next months I'll be posting the brief history of what I've learned.

Brainpower

The culture of Upstate New York is centered in its six largest cities. Five are strung along the Thruway as it cuts west from Albany to Buffalo following the track of the Erie Canal. Albany, the capital, has always benefited from a large number of state employees. Utica benefited from nearby giant Griffiss Air Base, breweries and numerous manufacturing jobs in small factories filled by hard working immigrants, mostly Italian. Syracuse was a transportation hub and center of manufacturing with Carrier air conditioners, Crucible Steel and General Electric. Rochester still remembers the heyday of Kodak. Buffalo has a deep history of manufacturing, shipping and electricity generation. Binghamton, the only major upstate city not on the Thruway, had IBM, Endicott-Johnson shoes as well as a host of other manufacturing giants. At one time Upstate was a very good place for a person with a high-school diploma and a good work ethic.

In the twenty or so years I've lived in central New York all of this manufacturing has been radically scaled back or just shut down. Griffiss Air Base closed in 1995. The cities that were built on manufacturing and transportation now survive on retail, education, prisons, health care and social services. The population has slowly declined as young people look for better opportunities elsewhere. Central cities have generally emptied out. Suburbs sprawl. Almost all the major local retailers moved to malls, only to be displaced by chain stores filled with merchandise made elsewhere. A small core of middle class people continue to live in the better urban neighborhoods, but significant parts of all six cities are steadily deteriorating. A high-school diploma no longer assures steady well-paid work.

All this is not news to anyone living Upstate.

Merry, Joli and I have lived in Strathmore, a stable old residential neighborhood on the west side of Syracuse, since the spring of 1999. Our early 1900s vintage home was inexpensive compared to similar space in the suburbs while being architecturally distinctive. We like our neighborhood a lot. It's only a mile from downtown where I work. On fine days I can easily walk home if I choose to. There is a bus stop right across the street, so we function well with just one car. We have a beautiful park with a big lake only a block way. It's convenient to attend the Symphony, Syracuse Stage and numerous other cultural events. Restaurants are plentiful, dozens within a few minutes drive. We shop at a near-by family-owned grocery and buy local produce at the giant year-round regional farmer's market. High quality health care is nearby. City services such as street cleaning and garbage pick-up are free. Sounds great, right?

Almost all our friends live in the suburbs or in the country. They say they need good schools. They want to avoid poverty and crime. They want their kids to be safe. They spend a lot of time commuting, but they say it's worth it. They get depressed driving through blighted city neighborhoods. I don't blame them at all for these views. Unfortunately, urban flight makes the city's problems worse. With less people there is less money for city services, parks, and schools. As higher earners leave, overall prosperity in the city declines. The city's problems become self-perpetuating.

This pattern exists in all six upstate cities to a greater or lesser degree. Nonetheless some cities seem to be doing quite a bit better than others in holding off and even reversing urban decay. Albany always seems prosperous to me except for the very heart of downtown. Rochester, Syracuse and Buffalo all have partly deserted old downtowns but have thriving center city cultural institutions that seem to be keeping the heart of those cities alive. Binghamton seems to be struggling mightily. Utica has a few remaining bright spots but seems to be sinking.

An interesting snapshot of the health of America's cities was recently published by the financial website Portfolio.com. They used the latest census data to compare the combined education and income of residents age 25 and older for the 200 largest metropolitan areas. They derived a “brainpower” index that allowed ranking based on deviation from the national average, i.e. the top 100 cities were above the national average. Index scores ranged from plus 3.941 for Boulder, Colorado, to minus 2.558 for Merced, California.

I extracted the data for the six Upstate cities. This is the result:

National                    Grad/Prof    College  Some college  High School No

Rank        Index        Degree       Degree    up to Asso.     Degree       Degree  Pop 25+

28 Albany       0.939    14.83%   18.33%     28.89%        28.33%        9.62%     574,255

49 Rochester  0.632   13.05%   18.61%    29.08%         27.90%       11.37%    686,413

72 Syracuse   0.342    12.13%   16.44%   30.28%         30.45%       10.70%     427,645

77 Buffalo       0.299    12.52%   15.69%   29.65%         30.91%       11.23%    771,830

87 Binghamtn 0.096   11.26%   14.66%    31.59%          32.35%       10.13%    166,467

171 Utica        -0.909   07.56%   11.24%   32.23%          35.07%      13.90%     201,014

The entire list can be found at http://www.portfolio.com/graphics/BrainiestBastions.pdf

Read more at: http://www.portfolio.com/special-reports/2010/12/01/methodology-of-portfolio-2010-survey-of-smartest-places#ixzz176L9h3ka

I found it interesting that five of the six Upstate cities ranked above average. Otherwise the index confirms my own impressions. Syracuse and Buffalo are doing a bit better than average probably due to colleges, hospitals and government services, but not nearly as well as Rochester and Albany. Binghamton is pretty close to the national average and Utica falls near the bottom.

When measuring quality of life, brainpower is not everything, but it does measure relative prosperity very well. Upstate has plentiful natural beauty and outdoor recreation. It has productive farmland. It has a rich and interesting cultural heritage. Nonetheless, I find these numbers tell a compelling story.

Joli in the Morning

It’s morning. Dark. Got to go out.

Toenails click on hardwood as I get him.

I smell his warm breath. I sense he has heard me.

Soft nose poke. Poke. His hand gropes for my head. Ah, he’s awake.

Joli, go lie down. Lie down. I’ll get up in a minute.

I return to my warm spot. I lie down and wait.

I can’t really go back to sleep.

Got to go out. I click over to him again. I stand still and stare. Soft poke. His hand, again.

OK, I’ll get up.

I trot to the top of the stairs and peer out the window to the darkened street. I hear him get out of bed and walk down the hall behind me. He enters the bathroom and turns on the light. I trot in as he sits down. He scratches me behind the ears. I move closer.

Good morning, my dog. Are you the best dog in the world? Come here, my dog.

More head scratches, then a full back scratch as he pees.

I turn around and he scratches right above my tail. Good. Goood. I wiggle my butt back and forth so he gets all the right spots.

Got to go out. I trot back to the top of the stairs. I hear him putting on his clothes.

I go back to check. He’s putting on his shoes. Got to go out.

Soft whine.

OK, I’m coming.

I run to the stairs and down. He follows. He turns on the lights, puts on his coat and stands by the stairs. I run up two steps to the landing and give him my head so he can fasten my leash. I jump down and race him to the door. He opens the door and we are out in the cold.

The morning smells and the fresh air bring me to full alertness. I raise my tail and trot to the sidewalk ahead of him. I smell Shepard tracks in the snow at the sidewalk. Male. Old.

Paw prints in the snow. Is it a cat? A skunk? I sniff carefully. I female dog I don’t recognize. I pee on the track.

I trot leisurely up the street. Is that a stick in the snow over there? I check. Yes. I grab it and tug it out. A stick. My stick. I show it to him.

Got a stick? Give me that stick.

He pretends to chase me. I pretend to run away. Small play growl. We trot up the street as he pretends to grab my stick.

He can’t get it. I run ahead with my stick. At the corner is a fireplug. A lot of dog sign here. I smell five other dog neighbors. Male Golden. Male Pit Bull. Male Boston Terrier. Female Pharaoh Hound. Female Pit Bull. I know them all. I pee by the plug as he catches up.

WAIT.

I stop and sit on the curb. I look down the street. There are never any cars out this early.

OK.

We cross. I stop at a street drain. I smell prey, small. Always here. I never see it.

A nearby large bush is a hiding place. More dog signs. The Shepard again. I drop my stick and pee.

We head back down the street. We approach the house with the cats. I slow.

Any cats today?

I stop and peer into the dark. There are many cat-sized shapes to watch. Any movement?

OK, let’s go.

I’m pretty sure that’s a cat on the porch. I stand completely still and look.

I don’t see any cats. Let’s go.

I think it moved. He tugs gently. I want to look some more. That’s a cat, I’m sure.

Come on, Joli. There are no cats today.

He starts down the sidewalk, reaches the end of my leash and pulls me firmly. That’s a cat, I know it. I don’t want to give it up, but he’s pulling me. That cat is watching. I’ve got to get it.

LET’S GO, JOLI.

He gives a sharp pull on my leash and my head comes around. I follow. I catch up.

There is more dog sign at the small garden wall. The same neighborhood dogs. I pee again.

We’re almost back. I grab a new, smaller stick. I turn to the street right across from home.

WAIT.

I sit and look up the street. Still no cars.

OK.

I gallop into the street with my stick. He chases after. Play growl, shake, louder play growl. He chases, hand out to grab my stick

GIVE ME THAT STICK.

I gallop. I shake the stick and gallop. He can’t catch me. We run into my yard.

I smell my own scent everywhere. I need to check for new smells. By the bird feeder I smell a strong scent of squirrels. Many squirrels. I look toward the trees, but nothing moves in the dark. I smell a neighbor cat, wait, two cats. More cat sign at the edge of the back deck.

We move back down the yard into the darkness. Snow crunches under paw.

Hop in, Joli. Go to the bathroom. Hop in.

I carefully walk into the garden. I sniff until I find a clean spot. I squat and poop.

Good dog. Take your time.

I’m finished and circle away. We run slowly back to the house and onto the porch. I turn and survey my street. Nothing is moving. I hear a car. I don’t see anything. He stands quietly next to me. We listen. Nothing. The breeze. Nothing. A small sound. Nothing. A cold brush of clean air. Listening.

OK, sweetie.

I turn and push my head against his leg. He unfastens my leash and opens the door. Warm air and my home smells pour out on us. We go in and he closes the door. Home.

Thanksgiving 2010

Dawn

The coldest morning so far this season

Across the valley directly east the Dome is silhouetted by a band of bright orange sky

Joli, my morning companion these many years trots jauntily up our block at my side

As the sky turns pink, the crisp air fills with thousands of crows

A light is on in our neighbor's kitchen

She's up early working on another festive family meal

I recall the many years my mother would rise at dawn to put the turkey in the oven

Her preferred way to express her love for her family

Last night near midnight I was wakened by the sound of heavy equipment

City workers removing the piles of leaves the neighbors have been stockpiling

I know as I drift back to sleep the season is turning inexorably to winter

Now the snow can come

I miss those long ago childhood Thanksgivings

My brothers and I no longer gather, now that our parents have passed on

I'm sure they will be reminded too, as they sit down today

We give thanks for what we have and what we have become

Electing Guardians

When I'm getting ready to vote, especially when there are numerous local, state and national candidates up for election, I turn to the League of Women Voters for help. Our local papers publish the “Voter's Guide” and post an easy to use electronic version on their web sites. I find it very helpful. For each candidate the Guide includes a picture, lists party affiliations, age, address, email, web site, birthplace, family, education with degrees earned, professional, political, military experience and community involvement. There is also a list of group endorsements. Each candidate is asked to provide short answers to three questions pertinent to their potential position.

This information helps me understand which candidates best share my interests, experiences and political views, but I fear it is too unwieldy for the average voter. For example in my Congressional District (NY 25^th) Dan Maffei [Democrat/Working Families, incumbent] is running against Ann Mary Buerkle [Republican/Conservative]. One's a lawyer with a degree from Syracuse Law, the other has a Master's Degree from Harvard's Kennedy School of Government. One's young, married with no children; the other is older, divorced with six children and 11 grandchildren. They are both Catholics. One was a Congressional staffer and on the Board of the Spanish Action League; the other is a Right to Life organizer and volunteers at a domestic violence shelter. While this information helps paint a fairly detailed picture of each candidate, it takes a lot of time to review, especially for all the candidates. In many cases it's pretty hard to compare candidates, kind of an apples and oranges problem. What is needed is a quick and reliable way to judge the basic competence of candidates.

Personally, I always prefer smarter candidates over those more intellectually challenged. Therefore, I suggest the League start to list every candidate's IQ in the Guide. I'd love to hear a candidate casually point out they are smarter than their opponent. “Vote Smart” could become a watchword. The League could offer free and reliable IQ testing. If a candidate refused to list their IQ, it would be taken as a sign that they are not particularly proud of it. I grant that not every Mensa member would necessarily be a good legislator, but at least I'd feel they have the potential to absorb information and make rational decisions.

Statements by certain candidates this year also have made me wonder if we ought to require all candidates pass the same US Citizenship test as is administered to immigrants. The questions are not all that hard and it would be a comfort to know that every legislator knew the basics of civics.

Finally, it occurred to me that any candidate for office ought to take a sort of civil service exam that would be scored by a non-partisan government agency like the Office of Personnel Management (OPM). OPM tests tens of thousands of civil servants every year. Everybody who takes a test for a particular position gets a score, then government employees are hired from the top score down. I'm sure a fair “legislative service exam” could be devised. Scores would be reported by the League and the voters could decide on who gets hired. No one would be disqualified by getting a low score on such a test. I'm guessing most voters would vote for the candidate with the higher score.

As I was mulling this over, I was reminded of Socrates' reflections on the education of legislators (he called them guardians) in The Republic. Plato believed that good government can only be achieved when legislators shared certain basic personality traits and knowledge. Without such a common background, they could not be expected to govern well and society would descend into a chaotic state where everyone fought simply to advance their own narrow self interest. Sound familiar?

I don't think members of Congress will ever be mistaken for philosopher-kings, but I maintain a faint hope that many actually are trying to do the public good. On Tuesday, please go out and vote. Until the League adopts my suggestions, do your best to pick the smarter candidate.

Fancy paper doilies

On a back street in Oneida, NY sits the shuttered Smith-Lee factory. The company was founded in 1898 by Charles A. Lee in nearby Canastota. Its original product was paper milk bottle caps. In 1899, Monroe C. Smith and Hurlburt W. Smith joined as partners and the name changed to Smith-Lee. Home delivery of milk in reusable glass bottles was growing fast in those days. Business boomed. Growth was so rapid that in 1900, the factory was relocated to Oneida, where a larger work force could be maintained.

The company prospered. In 1932 it stayed competitive by merging with a competitor, the Kleen Seal Corporation of Liverpool, NY, but retained the Smith-Lee name. After the end of World War II, with the introduction of the paper milk carton, the milkman and thus the milk bottle began to disappear. Smith-Lee knew it needed to diversify to survive. Its first new successful product was the disposable paper plate. Then in 1971 it acquired the Milwaukee Lace Paper Co., a leading manufacturer of paper lace doilies.

Over the next few years it became one of the preeminent providers of high end paper napkins, lace doilies, place mats and paper tablecloths for restaurants and country clubs across the nation. Finally in the spring of 2009 after 111 years of continuous operation it was acquired by a larger competitor, Hoffmaster Group of Oshkosh, Wis., and immediately closed. All 70 employees lost their jobs. Products bearing the Smith-Lee name are now manufactured by Hoffmaster. http://www.hoffmaster.com/AboutHoffmaster/History.aspx

I had quite a few Smith-Lee employees as clients during the 20 years I represented injured workers. Many of them had upper extremity injuries sustained in the process of making lace doilies, simply called “lace” by employees. Paper doilies are made using a punch press with a sharp die to cut stacks of paper into the desired patterns. Multiple large sheets of paper are positioned on the press, then BANG, they are cut into intricate designs. The machine operators then separate the resulting doilies by pulling the stack of paper to the edge of the machine surface and breaking them apart by pushing down all around the edges. The stack of separated doilies is then shaken to remove the small chad, then packed for shipping. Boxes of 1,000 doilies wholesale for between $50 to $150 depending on design. One operator can produce many thousands of fancy doilies per shift.

This process requires frequent and fairly violent use of the shoulders. After a few years of doing this job, operators tend to develop a problem called thoracic outlet syndrome. Thoracic outlet syndrome is a relatively rare condition caused by compression of a narrow space near the arm pit. Blood vessels and nerves coming from the spine pass through this small space below the collarbone and above the ribs. Frequent compression of this space from overuse of the shoulders pushing downward results in numbness and tingling of the hands, neck and arm pain, poor circulation in the arms and arm weakness.

The first client with thoracic outlet I had from Smith-Lee was a young woman in her 30s. She found a surgeon who promised her he could widen her thoracic outlet by removing part of her top rib. It didn't work. After several painful years during which she tried to recover, she retrained as a phlebotomist. Her arm and neck pain never went away. While I was still representing her, a second young woman from Smith-Lee came in with the same problem. She was also on “lace.” She didn't have the surgery and eventually got better with physical therapy. She also didn't go back to work at Smith-Lee. Next a middle aged man came in. He had worked at Smith-Lee for years making paper plates. When he hurt his back doing that, they put him in “lace” as his light duty job. He also developed thoracic outlet. He never worked again.

The pattern seemed compelling to me. I contacted the union steward at the plant and told him I felt that the “lace” job needed to be redesigned to be safer. He agreed but never got back to me. I called the adjuster at Smith-Lee's insurance company and told her the story. She agreed it seemed compelling. She got the company to agree to an inspection by an occupational safety expert. When the inspection showed “lace” to be causing the injuries, the insurance company required the factory to make changes as a condition of policy renewal. The factory changed insurance companies instead.

Now the factory is closed. Fancy paper doilies are made elsewhere, probably using the same process, causing the same inevitable, but avoidable injuries. It's something I think about every time I see one of those damn doilies. I can't help it. I know some of the victims.

Making Chocolate

I met a man this week who worked for years at the Nestlés chocolate factory in Fulton, NY. He started as a laborer in the “Liquor and Flavor” department right out of high school. Over the years he worked his way up to inspector in the same department. He was happy there and was good at his job. Then in 2003, Nestlés closed the plant.

In the world of chocolate, “liquor” is 100% cacao. It's the starting point for all chocolate products. To make liquor, the seed pod of the cocoa tree is harvested from plantations in the tropics. Each pod contains from 20 to 50 seeds. It takes about 400 seeds to make a pound of finished chocolate. After harvest, the fresh seeds are fermented for three to nine days to develop flavor, then the beans are dried for about a week. Dried beans are shipped to a factory where they are roasted for 30 minutes to two hours at high temperature, then the outer shells are cracked and removed. The kernel of pure chocolate that remains is called a “nib.” Some high end manufacturers further roast the nib to achieve a darker color and flavor. The nibs are then milled and pressed to liquify the cocoa butter and produce chocolate liquor (also called unsweetened). The remaining solid, “cocoa cake” is ground to make cocoa powders. Chocolate liquor is blended with sugar, butter, milk and other ingredients to produce the various types of chocolate: semi-sweet, bittersweet, milk chocolate, etc. Here is a good definition of each type: http://www.ghirardelli.com/chocopedia/varieties.aspx

At Nestlés in Fulton, chocolate liquor and many other ingredients arrived at the factory by rail and truck. The first part of the manufacturing process was “Liquor and Flavor” where the fellow I met worked. Here the raw materials were blended to make a paste. Chocolate refiners, a set of big rollers, crushed the paste into tiny flakes that determine the smoothness of the final product. The result is poured into giant vats (called a conch) to be heated and “conched.” Each batch of chocolate is constantly stirred for hours or even days. Conching reduces moisture, drives off any lingering acidic flavors, and coats each miniscule solid particle of chocolate with a layer of cocoa butter. Finally, the finished chocolate undergoes tempering, a heating and cooling process, that stabilizes the product. http://www.ghirardelli.com/chocopedia/making_manufacturing.aspx

As an inspector in liquor and flavor my informant used to test batches being conched for proper viscosity. He would scoop a sample out with a spatula and spread it on a glass plate. The number of thick lines that formed on the plate was used to determine moisture content. He would also test individual chocolate batches in a lab to be sure the percentages of the mixtures were right. He told me that the amount of flavoring was generally determined by weighing. For example, if vanilla needed to be added, large buckets of extract would be precisely weighted before being dumped into the mixture.

The Fulton plant is shuttered and empty now. Nestlés decided it was obsolete after over 100 years of production. The Swiss food giant opened its very first American factory here in 1899. When it closed, the last 467 employees had no other local place to work. All but one of the other factories in town, including a giant, nearly new, Miller Brewing plant, had already closed. http://www.nytimes.com/2003/05/02/nyregion/when-the-chocolate-melted-nestle-factory-closing-leaves-town-reeling.html?pagewanted=all My informant had to drive 35 miles to Syracuse every day to work making concrete blocks. He was back to working as an “unskilled” laborer at age 45.

Standing in front of the bank of abandoned loading docks last weekend vividly reminded me of another hot summer day back in the mid-1990s when Merry and I and friends toured the plant on what turned out to be the last open house factory tour. Even outside the giant plant the air was saturated with chocolate. Inside the oldest section of the plant every piece of woodwork had absorbed so much cocoa butter from the air that the wood was dark and oily. Signs warned the steps to the second level might be slippery.

Upstairs we marveled at the completely automated chocolate morsel machine. At one end a plate with a hundred or more tiny nozzles dipped to almost touch a wide moving conveyer. When the plate rose it left behind a hundred perfectly formed warm chocolate chips. The plate rose and fell about once every ten seconds. Thousands of small bits marched down the line passing through one giant refrigerator after another, each a few degrees cooler. The entire apparatus was at least a block long. At the far end the conveyer passed under a sharp edge freeing the morsels. Inertia carried them into a huge funnel. An endless river of cold chocolate chips poured through the floor around the clock to be bagged downstairs. Millions of chocolate chip cookies would be made with those morsels.

The entire place was spotless. The employees we encountered obviously took great pride in their work. This was the home of Toll House® chocolate chips. This was the birth place of the Crunch® candy bar way back in 1938. Now it's empty, another victim of mega-corporate efficiency. Before they decided to close it, here's what Nestlés had to say about the proud history of their Fulton operation.

http://www.sotherden.net/nestles/Nestles.htm

The little town of Fulton looks pretty ragged these days. Its largely working class population commutes or left town forever. This is the story of faceless capitalism all over America. I'm powerless to do anything about it. It makes me sad.