In September 1989, a chirpy Madonna love tune dominated the airwaves, but the song seemed jarringly out of place in Pittsburgh. Many of us awaited a more angst-ridden soundtrack for what had become a turbulent decade. Our beloved city anchored the grotesquely named “rust belt,” a swath of the country defined by epic failure.
Not much of an identity for a place of such pride. “We built the United States, right here in this valley,” said one former steelworker, who emphasized his point by jabbing his stubby finger into the bar at Chiodo’s Tavern in Homestead, two blocks from the cold carcass of the the mill that had employed he and his father for decades.
A question hung in the air: If we’re no longer makers of steel, then who are we?
It was a difficult question to ponder with those terrifyingly empty mills still looming over us. Their demolition and transformation would dramatically change our landscape and our psyche.
On a warm and sunny Tuesday in early autumn, a reporter and photographer for The Pittsburgh Press were offered a pre-demolition tour of two idled mills: the Duquesne Works and McKeesport’s National Tube Works. The story and pictures were published in October 1989 and gave readers a tiny glimpse of the cost and waste inherent in the shutdown of an industry.
The Duquesne mill was an assortment of steel sheds, stoves, ovens and brick buildings that stretched two miles along the Monongahela River. The McKeesport mill continued across the river for another mile.
The size of the sheds is difficult to convey. Most of us today never enter a structure larger than a Walmart. Some sheds within the mills were large enough to swallow a few big box stores and still have room for a movie theater and a few fast food joints.
Ceilings rose nearly 100 feet above the dusty floor. Everything was oversized — the huge hooks still dangling from overhead cranes, the 15-foot high iron ladle laying on its side like a monstrous thimble. The only items human in scale were the boots and gloves scattered on the floor of a locker room.
“At the site, there is an eerie sense of quiet,” wrote Press reporter Christine Vorce. “The air smells of dust, rust and the slightly acrid odor of coke gas wafting out of a pipeline that a USX contractor is removing ….”
Frank Bunda, supervisor of the demolition, was blunt: “It’s like walking into a tomb.”
The mills were full of asbestos, various forms of oils and lubricants and PCBs. Dismantling the the facilities would be one of the largest demolition jobs ever undertaken in the United States.
The Duquesne mill had closed in 1984. McKeesport’s mill closed Oct. 28, 1987. Workers on the final shift tapped a keg and ate a picnic lunch. A few lifted beers and sang “Oma Rechka Pegla …”, a Croatian tune about a mother who irons one day, sings another and dances on Saturday.
It was a prescient tune. We’d all have to broaden our skill set, learn to become something new.
Today, we’re feeling pretty good about ourselves, with our high-tech mojo and new bike lanes and the accolades that come almost weekly: most livable city, must-visit city, most affordable city, best place to retire.
But it’s worth remembering that we’re here, among these rivers and hills, because of what we had once been: A city that gathered a few of earth’s elements and cooked them into a useful thing called steel.
Does the Digs have photos of the Breakfast Cheer Coffee company that was on Penn Ave. and East Carson Street? This company was started by my great-grandfather, Patrick Campell, Campbell & Woods in 1908. Thanks!!
[…] “It's like walking into a tomb” The only items human in scale were the boots and gloves scattered on the floor of a locker room. “At the site, there is an eerie sense of quiet,” wrote Press reporter Christine Vorce. “The air smells of dust, rust and the slightly acrid odor of coke … Read more on Pittsburgh Post-Gazette […]
Good to see, Steve…….and now the millenials love the post industrial past……art pop ups and craft beer parties at Carrie furnace…..who woulda thunk it?
We were all of us born outta those “tombs”.
Very good reminder of what we “Pittsburghers” used to be…..Very nice Steve!!!
Great memories of a difficult time. Thanks Steve for the photos. My father is Frank Bunda who died about a year ago. Would love copies of the photos.
Your photos bring back fond memories of working in the mill–not as a steelworker, but as a history intern back in 1989. During my junior year at CMU, I and two of my colleagues spent the summer researching the history of the mill, exploring it, and documenting it for the Steel Industry Heritage Task Force (now Rivers of Steel) and the Historical Society of Western Pennsylvania (now Heinz History Center). We took photos of our experiences and recorded what we could, but nothing could replace the haunting impression that we were walking into a mill that had just closed. It was as if all the workers had left for the day, expecting to come back, but never did. The size and scale of the machinery and the tools gave us new respect for the work that steelworkers did, and do. It’s a far cry from our laptops and cellphones of today. Back then, people actually made things.
Where are the editors and proof readers? Last sentence in the second paragraph: “…the mill that had employed HE and his father…” Geez.
That’s what you took from this story? A tiny oversight in editing?
My safety shoes and hard hat are or were still in my locker when I left in 1984. Still brings a tear to the eyes of many of us.
I don’t look at it as a tomb. I look at it as a monument to the greed of man and the aftermath of the result. I worked at National Tube in the 70’s and early 80’s I have memories and stories that I tell my children of what it was like to be a mill hunk. I was part of the generation that was forced to move in order to find good work. McKeesport and other cities became a ghost towns when the mills
Shut down. Books have been written about this tragedy, but none have captured full extent of how a way of life was ripped out of the communities. The people there can rebuild and the area will rise up again as a phoenix because the work ethic is still there. You just have to believe.
Gary E Boczar
Very true , have to have there and felt the ‘magic’ of the times that were nothing short of greatness. Grew up in McKeesport when it was still booming.
[…] From the photo archives of the Pittsburgh Post Gazette — “It’s like walking into a tomb” [Pittsburgh Post Gazette] “At the site, there is an eerie sense of quiet. The air smells of dust, rust and the slightly acrid odor of coke gas wafting out of a pipeline that a USX contractor is removing ….” […]
[…] Post-Gazette, says these photos will resonate with people in the city and beyond. When the steel industry collapsed in the 1980s, the city lost 100,000 residents. Now, people with ties to Pittsburgh are scattered […]
McKeesport has lost close to 25,000 people.
Is there anyone out there remembers john mcclements the florist. There are no pictures or anything about that family. Also Joyce mcclements catering . There was also reymers
I will be forever grateful to US steel, and the city of Duquesne and his adult population. Provide my parents an opportunity to make their dreams come true through hard work. All of us got an education that they never had an opportunity for. They were part of the great migration from the Jim Crow south. Pittsburgh made things happen that I otherwise would’ve been impossible. Working Sunup to Sundown six days a week beginning at (3) years of age, thru the sharecropping farming system insured perpetual poverty. The Steel Mill jobs were the gateway to the middle class for the Staton family. The community of Duquesne gave us the foundation that we still benefit from. Best people I have ever known.
As a lifelong resident of Youngstown, this resonates strongly for me. The Mahoning Valley was the first domino to fall, followed closely by the Mon Valley. Remember your history and remember it well, it’s part of who we are.
Thank you for the memories. They remind me a retired Millwright of much better simpler times in the Burg. The years when I started honing my skills were encompassed in doubt of a 30 year career. The mills are started closing one by one. I’d never change one minute of the air I breathed, the grease I wallowed, or the sore muscles I endured.
THANK YOU.
The picture of the metatarsals says it all. Very iconic.