11Our first plant was a converted tennis court just south of the Loop. So we were ready for a big success or a very expensive game of mixed doubles.
Our assembly lines were long cafeteria tables set with bins of small parts. We had about two dozen workers, including Mom and Zelta, who looked like older and younger versions of Rosie the Riveter in their standard-issue coveralls. You could say they got drafted.
“I like working with my hands” was the way Mom described it to Zelta. “Like knitting.”
But as far as my wife was concerned, it was conscripted slave labor. Their task was to insert a little metal cap in the end of each barrel and tap it in place with a mallet.
Orville and I got new coveralls, as well, but ours were already grimy with ink as we wrestled with the filling machine to
