Factory takes his hearing, factory gives him life

"Early in the morning factory whistle blows,
Man rises from bed and puts on his clothes,
Man takes his lunch, walks out in the morning light,
It's the working, the working, just the working life."
My dad hated rock and roll, and everything it stood for.

And he hated Bruce Springsteen.

Which is too bad, because Bruce taught me something about my dad's life.

Although "The Promise," a staggering, brilliant compendium of all things "Darkness on the Edge of Town" (much of it previously unreleased), comes out today, I’m moved by something in the set that isn’t new.

For some reason, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my dad’s life and subsequently, I’m having a new appreciation for “Factory” (a song I’ve been listening to for 32 years). Deceptively simple, it is Springsteen’s elegiac and dignified hymn to honor the working life of his own father.

Its lyrics resonate for millions of Americans who grew up in the waning industrial age of America. My dad, my friend's dads. And if you are around my age, maybe your dad too.

My dad worked at Avco, a factory that made airplane engines, and also at Rishel's furniture factory. He did this for about 10 years or so; long enough, I guess, to realize there must be more.

And also long enough to lose most of his hearing in one ear.

And even though he eventually got a job as a traveling auditor and later owned his own insurance agency, I knew he still felt a certain pride and self respect about working with his hands.

About actually creating something.

We lived near Rishel’s and could hear the whistles that announced that the work day had begun, when it was lunch time and when it was time to go home. Every day.

"Through the mansions of fear, through the mansions of pain,
I see my daddy walking through them factory gates in the rain"
I’m not sure what drove him to other jobs, other than the usual better career and more money stuff. I can’t speak of his dreams or what he wanted out of life. I know a lot left him when my mom died; he lived for 24 more years but his spirit was never quite the same. He didn't talk much about his own factory days, and after my mom died it seemed for a long time there wasn’t much to say.

Now that I look back there never seemed to be enough words.

When I first heard “Factory” I liked it, but it was never elevated to much more than filler for me. Not anymore. I can’t listen to the combination of the lyrics, almost-mournful vocals and Danny Federici’s elegant organ without thinking of the sacrifices my dad made for us.

He certainly wouldn’t have thought there was anything special it.

It was just what he did. Every day.