Without a Vote

Mon, 29 Jun 2026 06:00:00 -0500

There was a man named Gordon Kessler who lived two doors down from my parents on our street in Muncie. He worked at a machine shop on the east side of town, the kind of place that didn’t make any one thing but could make almost any part if you gave the owner a blueprint and enough lead time. Gordon worked there for twenty-five years. He was good at it, careful in the way that people who work with machinery learn to be careful, and when the shop reduced its workforce in the spring of 1988, he went from a man with a paycheck to a man with time on his hands at fifty-seven.

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Without a Vote