THE SHOE FACTORY

At 11:00 AM and 5:00 PM, if you lived in south central MTV, you could hear the whistle of The Floresheim Shoe Factory in my home town. Five days a week, a welcomed sound was the high and long whhooo that marked lunch and quitting time for the factory workers.

It was more than that though. It provided security and stability. Security that workers right in our hometown were making quality shoes and boots that would be sold in some of our family owned shoe stores. Security that women were employed in the work force and were able to make good money. Security for neighborhood kids that punctuated time that was often lost in play.

It also assured us that The Parkway would remain opened just to take care of the shoe factory lunches. The best chocolate shakes anywhere were spun on mixing machines and poured into silver tumblers that not only provided a good bang for the buck but kept them ice cold for refilling the tall glass that it came in.

I've always been fond of whistles. I still love to hear the nighttime call of the train traveling out of town. It soothes me almost like an ocean wave. A roller, soft and full of a mist-like sound. The shoe factory whistle almost made me relax, too. Work being done. Time to untuck the shirts, put on comfortable shoes, and do what I want to do on my time.

Practically everything I read now on a label says "Made in China". That's too bad. I don't like outsourcing at all. I'd rather pay more for the product and a lifetime of peripheral memories. Like the whistle.