Kim Clay of Dayton boasts photography and filmmaking credits on an Oscar-nominated documentary, “The Last Truck: Closing of a GM Plant,” but he has been forced to pawn his camera.
Kathy Day of Preble County will be rubbernecking to catch a glimpse of George Clooney, but deep down she’ll be worrying about her husband, Sean. Four days ago, she kissed him goodbye when he left for a contracting job in Iraq. “I keep telling him that his life is more important than money, and I mean it,” Day said. “But if I were still working I probably would have told him not to go. He had been laid off for seven months and when he got called back he had to do it, because we need the money to survive.”
Under the circumstances, it’s understandable that these four displaced workers from the GM Moraine Assembly Plant aren’t feeling too starstruck. None has found a job since the plant closed 15 months ago.
“The star I want to meet most,” Clay quipped, “is the guy who hands out the statuette for best documentary short subject.”
Making presence felt
Filmmakers Julia Reichert and Steven Bognar of Yellow Springs said the GM workers’ presence at the Oscars provides a powerful reminder of the plight of American autoworkers. “I wish we could bring a dozen of them,” Bognar said. “Their presence is important to keep the focus on the story.” He added that he would gladly trade the “great honor of the nomination if these GM workers could get their jobs back.”
HBO, the film’s producer, is footing the bill for the trip. Bognar won’t disclose the anonymous “angel at the Academy” who snagged the coveted tickets for tonight’s ceremonies, which come by invitation only.
Geiger and Day started working at the plant together during the same week in 1985. Last week they made GM-related armbands that they’ll be wearing to the Oscars. “We’re hoping the media will ask about them, so we can talk about being displaced workers,” Geiger said.
Clay’s story
Clay has no illusions that winning an Oscar will put bread on the table. This modest man’s fondest hope is that he will represent his city well. “And I hope the film draws attention to the jobless situation in the Dayton area,” he said.
Financially, Clay is close to hitting rock bottom. He's not eligible for unemployment because he took a $70,000 buyout — only $40,000 after taxes, and most of that is now gone. He's on food stamps, and he's struggling to pay rent, the water bill, DP&L. He has accrued a 40-page stack of rejection letters. "I see all these reports of jobs coming to the area in five years, but I need a job now."
Still, he counts himself fortunate. He’s still married, unlike many former co-workers. “My wife Vanessa and my family have been such a strong support. I am blessed.”
And he’s standing — unlike some former plant workers who have taken their own lives. “I’m a Christian and I wouldn’t do that, because that is the worst sin,” Clay said. “But I can understand it. After such a loss other losses sometimes follow. You lose your marriage or your family; you lose your possessions. You lose your sense of who you are.”
During his eight years there, Clay said, “We spent more time at that plant than we spent at home. The people we worked with were like a family.”
Hard times mount
Geiger had experienced profound loss in her life already, losing a beloved husband to cancer after only a brief marriage. She had remarried and was in the midst of a divorce when the plant shut down. “At first, I didn’t realize how monumental the loss was,” Geiger said. “I had lived in so many places, that place was my home. It was my security. Through marriages, moving, and family losses this was the one thing that never changed.”
Initially, Geiger was reluctant when Reichert and Bognar asked to interview her. “The day of the announcement, they were sitting at the corner and no one would talk to them,” she recalled. “We thought they would make us look like stupid hicks.”
Or worse.
“The perception is we’re overpaid and lazy and we don’t do anything,” Clay noted, “but there were so many good hard-working honest people in that plant.”
After watching footage of some early interviews, Geiger changed her mind: “I started telling everybody, ‘You have to talk to them. They want to tell our story.’”
After an initial angry confrontation, “Popeye” Hurst — so nicknamed for his wandering eye — also became a convert. “I opened my heart and my home to them,” he said.
Bognar said that Hurst proved a great asset: “He is very charismatic and he has this great voice. And he’s someone who really looks out for his fellow workers.”
Trying to adapt
The trickiest problem was getting footage inside the closely guarded plant, particularly on that emotional last day. Camcorders were banned, even for employees, but Geiger hit upon the idea of using her cell phone for filming, but the quality was too poor. She inspired Reichert to do some research, however, and she discovered a new product — a flip camera — that looked like a cell phone. Workers smuggled them in, and the resulting footage proved to be of high quality.
“I wasn’t too worried about getting caught,” Geiger said. “What are they going to do to us — close the plant?”
The workers’ footage is so powerful, and so essential, that it’s only fitting that they’re going to the Oscars. From the very first scenes, it’s clear the filmmakers kept faith with the workers. The film opens with the scene of a tattered American flag flying over the snow-covered Moraine Assembly Plant, with subtitles proudly proclaiming that workers produced “450 trucks per shift and 280,000 a year,” winning 11 national awards for quality and efficiency. The heartfelt interviews with the workers defy the stereotype of the pampered worker who cares only about his pocketbook.
Clay opens the film with a tearful admission that “we are a GM family, and we are so proud of our work.”
Day tells the cameras, “I am 47 years old, and this has been my life. I’m a factory worker, and I’m proud of it.”
Bognar said the Moraine plant’s final day — Dec. 23, 2008 — is the emotional centerpiece of the film; everything builds to the moment when the last truck rolls down the assembly line. “I didn’t want to leave that truck; I followed it all the way down the line,” Geiger recalled. “All day people were chanting, ‘It’s coming; it’s coming. It was like being in a maternity ward waiting for a baby to be born, but really it was like being at Hospice waiting for someone to die.”
Covert operation
Early in the film Kathy Day said she couldn’t imagine doing anything else — yet today she is thinking about pursuing a real estate license. Geiger is going to Sinclair Community College to study graphic design. “In the same year I lost my marriage, my job, my home,” she said. “I’ve put all my belongings in storage. I have no ties for the first time in my life. Through my trials and tribulations I’ve had to reach out and grow a whole lot, and work hard on my spirituality.”
These workers give credit to “The Last Truck” for something far more important than going to the Academy Awards.
“Julia and Steve did a great job of un-demonizing the autoworker,” Clay said. “The film shows we are your neighbor, and part of your community.”
The Oscar nomination has raised the documentary’s profile, resulting in numerous screenings across the country.
“The movie is so popular, and the outpouring of love has been so therapeutic,” Geiger said. “In the past we have been treated like spoiled overpaid union workers; we’re used to being told to quit whining. But that’s not the reception to this movie at all. You turn on the lights and there are people wiping their eyes. That has helped us to heal.”
So she doesn’t care if red dress with spaghetti straps from David’s Bridal can’t compete with the Vera Wangs and Stella McCartneys. It doesn’t matter if the four friends are the only unemployed people in an audience packed with multimillionaires.
They just want people to hear about their movie.
“If it’s chosen,” Geiger said, “that tells me we are a country that cares about the people in it and this isn’t how we want to do business.”
Contact this reporter at (937) 225-2209 or mmccarty@DaytonDailyNews.com.
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