Rick Marsh outside the Union Hall in Lordstown, Ohio.Credit...Maddie McGarvey for The New York Times

With His Job Gone, an Autoworker Wonders, ‘What Am I as a Man?’

Rick Marsh worked in the car plant in Lordstown his entire life. Now that job is gone. What does that mean for his politics?

LORDSTOWN, Ohio — In the weeks since he lost his job at the car plant, Rick Marsh has blasted Pink Floyd while cleaning the house. He has watched the cat watching the birds. He has smoked cigarettes out the sliding glass door. He has watched Motor Trend, a TV network about cars. He bought a grill and built a swing set.

He has done everything he could to avoid thinking about the fact that, after 25 years at the General Motors plant in Lordstown, he was losing the only real job he ever had.

For Mr. Marsh the plant is personal, but in the three months since G.M. stopped making cars there, it has become political. A parade of presidential hopefuls has come through, using the plant to make the point that American capitalism no longer works for ordinary people. President Trump has taken an interest too, berating both G.M. and the union on Twitter, and then suddenly announcing brightly in early May that the plant would be sold to a small company that few people in Lordstown had ever heard of.

The news caused a stir. TV trucks showed up at the union hall. But after a few days it became clear to Mr. Marsh that the buyer — which had no experience in mass vehicle production and quarterly revenues that were less than the price of one high-end sports car — was probably not a solution.

[Savior of G.M. Lordstown plant, hailed by Trump, is a corporate cipher]

“To me, it’s another flagrant sign that these people, they really don’t have a clue,” Mr. Marsh said of the country’s political class. “They are so out of touch with reality and real people. All of them.”

He made no exception for Mr. Trump. Mr. Marsh voted for him, as did a majority of voters in Trumbull County, a small square on the map of northeast Ohio that hadn’t voted for a Republican for president since 1972.

The path to the White House next year runs through places like Lordstown, and Mr. Marsh and many of his neighbors, far from knowing how they will vote, say the G.M. plant shutdown has only left them more at sea politically. They tried voting for Barack Obama, then Mr. Trump. Now they don’t know where to turn.

Jeremy Ladd, a Lordstown plant worker now taking classes to get into nursing school, said that most workers were still coming to terms with what had happened, and that for many, the politics were an open question whose answer would unfold over time.

“People are trying to make sense of this politically,” he said. “It’s like a free radical bouncing around.”

The Daily Poster

Listen to ‘The Daily’: When a G.M. Plant Shut Down in Ohio

General Motors idled a factory in Lordstown, and hundreds of autoworkers lost their jobs. Did their politics change?
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Listen to ‘The Daily’: When a G.M. Plant Shut Down in Ohio

Hosted by Michael Barbaro and Natalie Kitroeff, produced by Michael Simon Johnson, with help from Alexandra Leigh Young, Adizah Eghan and Sindhu Gnanasambandan, and edited by Paige Cowett

General Motors idled a factory in Lordstown, and hundreds of autoworkers lost their jobs. Did their politics change?

michael barbaro

From The New York Times, I’m Michael Barbaro. This is “The Daily.”

Today: In 2016, Lordstown, Ohio, helped deliver the presidency to Donald Trump, betting that he would fulfill his promise to save the auto industry there. The political fallout from the fact that he didn’t. Natalie Kitroeff speaks to our colleague Sabrina Tavernise.

It’s Friday, July 5.

natalie kitroeff

So, Sabrina, tell me why you went to Lordstown, Ohio.

sabrina tavernise

So Lordstown is in the northeast corner of the state. It’s in a county called Trumbull. And it is famous principally for one thing.

archived recording

General Motors has bought up the 1,100-acre farm, right where Ellsworth Bailey Road crosses the Ohio Turnpike.

sabrina tavernise

It has a very, very large car plant that was opened by General Motors in 1966.

archived recording

When we had the groundbreaking ceremony last year, that we expected to go up to around 5,000 employees. And of course, now we’re in a position —

sabrina tavernise

So Lordstown is really defined by this car plant. It’s just a tiny little town. It’s only got about 4,000 people. But since the 1960s, it’s this plant that’s been the economic engine of this county and, really, the whole area.

archived recording

G.M. has been building cars in Lordstown for 50 years. The Mahoning Valley takes great pride in being the home of the Cruze.

sabrina tavernise

For the last several years, the Lordstown plant, it’s made this little sedan called the Chevy Cruze.

archived recording

Introducing the all-new Chevrolet Cruze. Best-in-class fuel efficiency, 10 standard airbags.

sabrina tavernise

The plant employed about 5,000 people, building just this one model, the Cruze.

archived recording

Don’t just drive — Cruze.

sabrina tavernise

And then something happens.

archived recording (donald trump)

Ohio is going to make America great again. [CROWD CHEERING]

sabrina tavernise

The campaign of 2016 starts to heat up, and —

archived recording (donald trump)

Right over there, Eaton Corp. going to Mexico. Right over there, Ford going to Mexico.

sabrina tavernise

— Donald Trump is out there talking about manufacturing jobs and how a lot of people in areas like Ohio have been left behind by an economy made by Democrats.

archived recording (donald trump)

You’re losing your jobs. You’re losing your income. You’re losing your factories. They’re going to China. They’re going to Mexico. Japan is killing us with the cars.

sabrina tavernise

And after Mr. Trump gets elected president, the day after, literally November 9, 2016 —

archived recording

As General Motors is cutting 2,000 hourly workers at two of its plants.

sabrina tavernise

— G.M. starts announcing layoffs.

archived recording

One in Lordstown, Ohio, the other one in Grand River in Lansing, Michigan.

sabrina tavernise

It announces that the third shift will close.

archived recording

There is an inventory growing for the Chevy Cruze. Why? Because Americans are buying fewer sedans.

sabrina tavernise

People aren’t buying smaller-sized cars anymore. They’re buying S.U.V.s and trucks.

archived recording

How much will be left in terms of Cruze production at that plant? We’ll still have two shifts. Last year, they sold about 190,000 cars.

sabrina tavernise

For people in Lordstown, this is making them nervous, but they don’t actually imagine that the plant would close. They’ve had this happen before.

archived recording

And I think that we’re going to be O.K. in the long run. This is just a speed bump, which happens in the business cycles.

sabrina tavernise

But then by April of 2018, there was a second wave of layoffs.

archived recording

Take a look at shares of General Motors. The company announcing within the last 15 minutes that it is cutting several hundred jobs at its Lordstown, Ohio, plant. It is eliminating one of two shifts at that plant.

sabrina tavernise

So these layoffs have started, and even as they’re going on, Trump is talking about the plant.

archived recording (donald trump)

I said those jobs have left Ohio. They’re all coming back. They’re all coming back. [CROWD CHEERING] They’re coming back.

sabrina tavernise

He comes to Lordstown and says —

archived recording (donald trump)

Don’t move.

sabrina tavernise

— hey, you guys out there, don’t sell your houses.

archived recording (donald trump)

Don’t sell your house. Don’t sell your house.

sabrina tavernise

Don’t move, because these manufacturing jobs, they’re coming back.

archived recording (donald trump)

They say the Chevy Cruze is not selling well. I say, well, then get a car that is selling well and put it back in.

sabrina tavernise

He goes through great political lengths to talk about the plant publicly.

archived recording (donald trump)

So they’ll put something else. I have no doubt that in a not too distant future they’ll put something else. They’d better put something else.

sabrina tavernise

So the plant limped along for another period of months. And then shortly after Thanksgiving in 2018 —

archived recording

General Motors said today it is cutting close to 14,000 jobs, including 15 percent of its salaried workforce.

sabrina tavernise

— the company announced that the last jobs would be eliminated.

archived recording

General Motors will stop making six underperforming sedans by the end of next year, idling plants in Ohio, Michigan, Maryland and Ontario, Canada.

sabrina tavernise

That’s all 5,000 jobs at the plant.

archived recording

The president now threatening to slash government subsidies to G.M., tweeting, “Very disappointed with General Motors and their C.E.O. Mary Barra for closing plants. The U.S. saved General Motors, and this is the thanks we get.”

sabrina tavernise

So I saw this news, and I thought, huh, this is a major event politically, because this is a place that’s unusual. Trumbull County, that’s where Lordstown is located, it voted for Donald Trump by a really substantial margin. It was the first time the county had voted for a Republican since 1972. It had been this really true-blue union place, a real Democratic Party stronghold. So what does that mean? What does it mean that a place that went for Trump substantially, where Trump said specifically these manufacturing jobs are coming back, and on the very day after his election, they started going away? There’s got to be some political fallout from this. What is the consequence for Trump in this scenario? And I wanted to understand that. I wanted to go report on that. So that’s why I went to Lordstown, to talk to people like Brian Milo.

sabrina tavernise

M-I-L-O?

brian milo

Yep.

sabrina tavernise

And how old are you again, Brian?

brian milo

36.

sabrina tavernise

He voted for Obama in 2012, and then he voted for Donald Trump in 2016. And then he was laid off.

natalie kitroeff

And who’s Brian Milo?

sabrina tavernise

So Brian is a young guy who’s worked at the plant for the better part of 10 years. He and his wife live in a house in a rural part of northeast Ohio.

brian milo

I got chicklets, baby chicks down there now.

sabrina tavernise

He has a little daughter, Abby, who he picks up on the school bus after school.

abby milo

Twelve, and 12 chickens!

sabrina tavernise

Oh, that’s so many chickens. Thor and the Golden Girls.

natalie kitroeff

And what was his job at the G.M. plant?

sabrina tavernise

So Brian did a lot of different things.

brian milo

Oh gosh, I did so many different things. I did airbags, installed airbags.

sabrina tavernise

Venting in the cars.

brian milo

Installed instrument clusters, radios.

sabrina tavernise

He was kind of a jack-of-all-trades there at the plant.

brian milo

There’s nothing I haven’t done on the inside of that car, especially.

natalie kitroeff

And does he like the job?

sabrina tavernise

He liked it a lot.

brian milo

For what I was making and the benefits afforded to me, it afforded me this lifestyle, so I appreciated it for it.

sabrina tavernise

The thing he liked the most was that he actually earned a wage that really bought him a truly middle-class life.

brian milo

We were working so much overtime because the Cruze was selling so great, you wrote your own ticket on overtime.

sabrina tavernise

They took vacations. They saved. They renovated the house.

brian milo

I mean, if I wasn’t working out there making money, I wouldn’t have this property, this home. There’s no way I could have been able to afford that.

sabrina tavernise

He’s working and thinking that probably this is the rest of his life.

brian milo

I mean, I don’t know how it is not to work. This is strange. Really it is. I’ve always worked.

sabrina tavernise

What does it feel like right now?

brian milo

I don’t know, weird.

Just weird. I feel selfish, I guess, in a way that I’m not really contributing to society right now in the workforce.

sabrina tavernise

So after Brian’s laid off the second shift, the final communication he gets from G.M. is a letter that says —

brian milo

So it says, “You must contact your hourly employee office by 3:00 p.m. on March 12 to accept or decline this job offer. If you do not respond by this deadline, you’ll be considered — ”

sabrina tavernise

If you want, you have a job in Wentzville, Missouri, but it starts in 10 days. And if you don’t say yes immediately and we don’t see you, you don’t have a job at General Motors anymore.

brian milo

This isn’t even signed by anybody. You send a hundred of these out. Ten years for a company, and that’s what you get.

natalie kitroeff

That sounds horrible.

sabrina tavernise

He’s thinking, O.K., I have this house we built, my daughter has this school, my wife works in the health care industry here. I don’t want to move, and I don’t even know if I can. And I certainly can’t in 10 days’ time.

brian milo

Now you got to figure something else out. What’s your next plan? Because now your health care, your vision, your dental, all of it’s gone because I don’t want to pick up and go 700 miles.

It’s not even fair. How is this considered an option?

sabrina tavernise

So he doesn’t go.

natalie kitroeff

What about your original question about the ramifications of all of this politically for President Trump?

sabrina tavernise

So Brian’s reaction was, I thought, pretty interesting.

sabrina tavernise

Do you feel like he’s part of this at all or no?

brian milo

No. It kind of annoys me when people think that he’s part of them closing this. This is a company decision. You got to put blame where it’s due.

sabrina tavernise

He said, it’s about a company and what it’s deciding to do, and I’m really angry at this company.

brian milo

It’s funny, I see all these signs with Trump’s face on there about how bad things are here in Lordstown. Well, where’s your signs with Mary’s face on it? This is her company. Trump don’t sign my paycheck. Trump didn’t send me this letter. There’s nothing on here about Trump Industries or anything. It says G.M., General Motors. That’s where the blame lies.

natalie kitroeff

I know this reaction very well from my own reporting. People feel like when you ask them about the political ramifications of something like their plant closing, their response is often, you’re whittling down my experience of loss to this one thing that’s important to you, but that’s not necessarily what’s important to me.

sabrina tavernise

That’s exactly right. That was exactly what he was saying. He was like, look, this is a huge problem for this community, this is a huge issue for my life, and all you want to do is come here and ask me about Trump?

natalie kitroeff

Right.

sabrina tavernise

And in fact, when I talked to Dave Green — he’s the head of the Auto Workers union in Lordstown — he really spotted this right away. He was like, oh, reporter lady, New York, oh God. You want to ask me about Trump? What, do I still like Trump? Do I not like Trump anymore? What is it about Trump? He was hilarious, but I was like, oh man, he has my number.

natalie kitroeff

Yeah, he saw you coming. But did you get him to answer the question?

dave green

I think a big piece of it is elections have consequences.

sabrina tavernise

So Dave, he is a Democratic voter and he was a Democratic voter in 2016, and he gets why people voted for Trump. He doesn’t like it, but he gets it.

dave green

If people continue to elect politicians that are not going to do the right thing by people, people are going to continue to suffer.

sabrina tavernise

But he also was, in a lot of ways, really frustrated, because he started in a country, in a state, that had a strong union, and where people who were workers understood that it was through that union and through politics that they get a good deal for themselves and that that’s the way it used to be.

dave green

Walker Reuther, one of the big founders of this organization, right? The ballot box is connected to the bread box. He preached that, and I think people understood that, that the politicians that we elect are going to give people either the opportunity to earn a good living or not. They’re going to put money in the pockets of corporate America or the pockets of working America. So you better elect the right people because it’s going to have a huge consequence on your livelihood.

sabrina tavernise

But Dave says things have really changed. That’s not the case anymore. And it’s really hard to get people to see the connection between politics and their lives, to understand that their votes have consequences, that they can hold politicians accountable, and that if they do, these things they’re so sick of in their lives, they could actually change.

natalie kitroeff

We’ll be right back.

[music]

natalie kitroeff

Sabrina, what explains that rift for people, where they’re not feeling a connection between their plant closing and the politicians they put in power?

sabrina tavernise

So I think in order to understand it, you have to go back as early as the 1970s.

[music]

archived recording

This is the Campbell, Ohio, steel mill of the Youngstown Sheet and Tube Company.

sabrina tavernise

This was a big manufacturing area in the 1970s. There were a huge number of steel plants —

archived recording

Many of the steelworkers at the Campbell Works are third generation employees.

sabrina tavernise

— and a lot of very good paying jobs. But what started to happen for various reasons, including economic change, globalization, was that these plants started to close. And there was a very famous closure in September of 1977 in Lordstown.

archived recording

Ladies and gentlemen, the news we’ve received this morning from Youngstown Sheet and Tube is just the worst possible news.

sabrina tavernise

About 10,000 people lost their jobs.

archived recording

They have a name for the day disaster struck. They call it Black Monday.

sabrina tavernise

Everybody remembers it. Everybody.

archived recording 1

I’ve been working here for so many years. It’s hard to believe that we were put out on the street and don’t know what we’re going to do.

archived recording 2

I put in 34 good years, and I can be proud of my 34 years. But that was the saddest moment I ever had when I came home.

michael barbaro

Where are politicians in all of this?

sabrina tavernise

It was very much in those days the time of the Democratic Party and labor being absolutely hand in hand, glove in glove. So the Democratic politicians would be fighting these closures, and they would really be seen by workers in many ways as the guys who had their back.

archived recording

But Carter eventually named a special task force, which came up with some recommendations to help the steel industry as a whole.

sabrina tavernise

The Democratic Party was the party of workers in the United States, and that’s who those workers were voting for. But in the 1990s, the U.S. government starts to have negotiations over a trade agreement known as Nafta with Mexico and Canada to lower trade barriers so that it’s easier for companies to do business across those lines. It’s started by Republicans, but it’s really finished in a big splashy way by the Democratic Party.

archived recording (bill clinton)

When I affix my signature to the Nafta legislation a few moments from now, I do so with this pledge. To the men and women of our country who were afraid of these changes —

sabrina tavernise

Bill Clinton is the one that signs on the dotted line at the end in the 1990s.

archived recording (bill clinton)

— the gains from this agreement will be your gains, too.

sabrina tavernise

And at first, workers I talked to in Lordstown, they didn’t really understand the implications of that. But as the 1990s wore on, and then into the early 2000s, things actually started to change. Supply chains started springing up in Mexico. There was a lot of outsourcing that started to happen. Automation was happening as well. Technology was changing manufacturing. So many things were going on. And people started to notice that the jobs were disappearing. One worker I talked to, he started in the paint shop in the mid-1990s, and it started with 38 workers. And when he left the paint shop in the early 2000s, there were only four.

natalie kitroeff

Wow.

sabrina tavernise

So he described it as this almost kind of invisible hand kind of erasing things behind him as he went that could be coming for any of us. It’s this sort of foreboding.

natalie kitroeff

How does that affect the community? Are there other changes that start to happen?

sabrina tavernise

So the jobs are real multipliers. And by that I mean, it’s not just the G.M. job, it’s the suppliers, it’s the parts guys, it’s the window-makers, it’s the restaurant nearby that has waitresses and hostesses. So it has a really big effect when these things start happening. And what happens in large parts of northeast Ohio, and in Ohio more generally, there start to be social problems that come along with this economic decline. Men don’t have jobs, or the jobs they have are not paying enough to support a family. And there is this feeling of worthlessness. There’s an increase in drinking and drugs. The rise of single parenthood really soars. So you have really, in a lot of ways, the breakdown of the family that kind of follows, like a wave, this economic change.

[music]

natalie kitroeff

O.K., I’m going to ask you the question that Dave, the union leader, made fun of you for, which is, what are the political implications of all of that? Did the Democrats pay a price?

sabrina tavernise

Oh God, did the Democrats pay a price? So what ends up happening is these workers see that, at first don’t immediately understand it because it’s all kind of out of focus and confusing, but later realize, oh my God, that was our own party that basically gave away the farm. Why did they do that? There was this sense of betrayal among workers that actually, the Democrats — they weren’t that different than the Republicans. So from that point on, that union vote, it becomes a little less reliable for Democrats. And it’s not just Nafta, of course. Culturally, things are starting to shift, and the Democratic Party, it starts to feel alien to many blue-collar workers. And by the time 2008 comes around, it’s getting dicey. They end up going for Obama, but more because he was a change guy than because he was a Democrat. The autoworkers were happy. He bailed out G.M. But by the end of his second term, their lives hadn’t really gotten any better. So by 2016, their heads are basically in this place that’s — we’ll try anything. And for Trumbull County, that was Donald Trump.

brian milo

I’m like, you know what? It’s a wild card. We need something to shake it up. Our country is a business. He’s a businessman. You know what I mean? And I like the fact that he made crazy attempts, like Trump Steaks and Trump college. It’s crazy, right? Looking back on it now, you’re like, that’s nuts. But I applaud him for it, because at least you’re willing to put it out there on the line and try it. And if it works, then you’re the greatest mastermind to live. And if it fails, well, that was crazy anyway. But if you learn —

natalie kitroeff

O.K., so I guess it sort of makes sense that a guy like Brian is not necessarily going to blame Trump for this plant shutting down, because he voted for Trump because he’s a wild card. He’s not super surprised or necessarily disappointed that this didn’t work out, because it was a Hail Mary, and what the hell else was he going to do?

sabrina tavernise

Yeah, that’s exactly right.

sabrina tavernise

Do you see Democrats and Republicans as different?

brian milo

Nope.

sabrina tavernise

In terms of parties, Democratic Party?

brian milo

No. They’re just — it’s just politics. It’s just a political being. There’s no red or blue in it for me.

natalie kitroeff

How are you making sense of all of this, this feeling that people like Brian have that the two parties aren’t all that different?

sabrina tavernise

I think for someone like Brian, the important thing is that these processes, these have been happening for a long time, and they’ve been wearing away at the community where he lives for a long time. So these things, they’re just much deeper than the most recent political slogan or the way that the Republicans or the Democrats are going to message this year. It’s about this sort of fundamental bedrock of our lives — it just has changed. You can’t just graduate from high school and go out and get a job and pay your rent. It’s not enough money. That feels like a real betrayal for people. It’s a set of unmet expectations that I think is causing real political change.

brian milo

Everything we have is disposable. Everything is made cheap and disposable. And I think that trickles down into our daily lives. I mean, you see marriage success rates are down. Things are disposable, even on a human level. I mean, I’m an employee, I’m disposable. The old-timers, my dad’s era, my grandfather’s era, they fixed things. You had toasters that lasted, you had refrigerators that lasted, because people would fix them if something happened. We didn’t just throw them away. You had marriages that went 70 years because people would fix them if they were broken. You had people who have went on strike and have died on picket lines for their companies.

Am I willing to lay my life on the line for the company that is willing to send me a piece of paper and tell me what to do with my life with no concern for my family or situation? I just think it’s all broken.

natalie kitroeff

It’s like you’re asking them, who are you going to vote for at the ballot box in 2020? And they’re asking you, how am I going to make a livelihood in the future when the entire foundation of how I thought this was going to go, I can no longer count on that? The rug has been pulled out from under me. I don’t really want to talk about politics.

sabrina tavernise

Exactly.

sabrina tavernise

What would you hope would be different?

brian milo

If it were me, I would hope that big companies would cease to exist because once you get so big, you forget where you came from. And the little guys who make it possible for you to have your giant company and your million dollar salaries, they’re just a number to you. They’re replaceable. And we were reminded that in the plant all the time. If you didn’t like what was going on, quit. There’s a thousand people that would take this job tomorrow.

natalie kitroeff

On the other hand, I have to ask whether people like Brian, whether the people you spoke to, are hearing the candidates this time around, the 2020 candidates, who are speaking directly to some of the issues that he cares so much about. Are they being heard?

sabrina tavernise

So the short answer is, at this point, not yet. But it is a really interesting political time, because for the first time in a really long time, a lot of the candidates on the left are questioning some of these basic things. I mean, the functioning of American capitalism, that is kind of a topic of conversation.

archived recording (bernie sanders)

You can have all of the growth that you want, and it doesn’t mean anything if all of the new income and wealth is going to the top 1 percent.

archived recording (elizabeth warren)

Who is this economy really working for? It’s doing great for giant drug companies. It’s just not doing great for people who are trying to get a prescription filled.

archived recording (pete buttigieg)

When capitalism comes into tension with democracy, which is more important to you? I believe democracy is more important.

archived recording (cory booker)

So I feel very strongly about the need to check the corporate consolidation and let the free market work.

natalie kitroeff

It is interesting, right? Brian is in this group of voters the Democrats know they need to win the election. He is really coveted. These people want to win him over.

sabrina tavernise

That’s right. But he’s also really skeptical, and he’s really sick of the political class in the United States. And he’s been burned by both sides at this point. He doesn’t trust any political leader to help him, and the consequence is a political system that’s still disconnected and pretty unaccountable to people like Brian.

I think Brian’s going to vote. He’s patriotic, and he feels a sense of civic duty. But whether he puts any faith in the person he chooses, that’s another question. They’re going to have to work really hard to convince him that he should.

[music]

natalie kitroeff

Sabrina, thank you so much.

sabrina tavernise

You’re welcome, Natalie.

michael barbaro

The fate of the Lordstown G.M. plant and its workers is the subject of Sunday night’s episode of “The Weekly,” a new TV show from The New York Times on FX and Hulu.

We’ll be right back.

Here’s what else you need to know today.

archived recording

It’s an earthquake, and the chandelier is moving. This is the longest one ever.

michael barbaro

On Thursday, a major earthquake struck Southern California, starting in a relatively secluded area of the Mojave Desert and shaking structures up to 150 miles away. The quake registered 6.4 on the Richter scale and set off 87 aftershocks, making it the most powerful tremor to hit the region in two decades. As of Thursday night, no deaths were reported, but there was damage to homes, roads and water mains across the region. And —

archived recording (donald trump)

243 years ago, our founding fathers pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor to declare independence and defend our God-given rights.

michael barbaro

President Trump presided over a sprawling and controversial celebration of American independence, delivering a speech in front of the Lincoln Memorial surrounded by armored vehicles, including tanks, and with military jets flying overhead.

[sound of jet]

michael barbaro

The presidential rally drew thousands of supporters, as well as hundreds of protesters.

“The Daily” is made by Theo Balcomb, Andy Mills, Lisa Tobin, Rachel Quester, Lynsea Garrison, Annie Brown, Clare Toeniskoetter, Paige Cowett, Michael Simon Johnson, Brad Fisher, Larissa Anderson, Wendy Dorr, Chris Wood, Jessica Cheung, Alexandra Leigh Young, Jonathan Wolfe, Lisa Chow, Eric Krupke, Mark Georges, Luke Vander Ploeg, Adizah Eghan, Kelly Prime, Julia Longoria, Sindhu Gnanasambandan and Jazmín Aguilera. Our theme music is by Jim Brunberg and Ben Landsverk of Wonderly. Special thanks to Sam Dolnick, Mikayla Bouchard, Stella Tan and Julia Simon.

That’s it for “The Daily.” I’m Michael Barbaro. See you on Monday.

Shawn Wodogaza, a Lordstown plant worker who voted for Mr. Trump reluctantly, said he felt politically lost now.

“I don’t know where to go,” he said. “It seems like no matter what he does or tries to do, it doesn’t work out,” he said of the president. “Well, now what? What the heck do we do? Do we go back to beating our heads against the wall? Or do we try something different?”

Mr. Marsh, too, is still making up his mind.

For three generations of Marsh men, the G.M. plant was a golden ticket to a middle-class life in a part of the country where those were not easy to come by. Then, when Rick Marsh got the biggest test of his life — the birth of his beloved daughter, Abigail, and her diagnosis of cerebral palsy at the age of one — his job became a central part of how he saw himself. He was her provider, her protector. That was his worth in the world.

So when the last car rolled off the Lordstown assembly line around 2:45 p.m. on Wednesday, March 6, it was like a heart stopping. He had lost the thing that made him who he was.

He knows he is looking for one thing from the country’s political system: a president who will save the plant that has meant everything to his family.

“I really don’t care if it’s a Democrat, Republican, male, female, black, white, I don’t care,” he said.

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In Trumbull County, Ohio, manufacturing jobs declined by 13 percent in 2017.Credit...Maddie McGarvey for The New York Times
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The job losses at the G.M. plant amounted to more than one-third of all manufacturing jobs in the county.Credit...Maddie McGarvey for The New York Times

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Mr. Marsh thought he would retire from the Lordstown plant, just like his father. Richard Marsh Sr. started in 1967, the year after the plant opened. He came straight out of the Army, inspecting headlights for $1.92 an hour. When he got his first paycheck, $100, “I thought I was rich,” the elder Marsh said.

The job lifted the Marsh family from apartment to trailer to house on a pretty street lined with cornfields and long, smooth driveways. Rick grew up there, in a back bedroom with heavy-metal posters on the walls. His grades weren’t good, but he wasn’t worried. When a history teacher told him he’d be stuck flipping burgers for the rest of his life, Rick told him he knew where he’d be working. When his father — at the time an elected union official — got him a job at the plant, it came with two pieces of advice.

“Get to work on time, and don’t embarrass me,” the younger Marsh recalled his father saying.

That was 1993, and the plant was its own little city. It employed around 9,000 people. Its giant parking lot was packed. Workers grilled sausages in the break room. He grew up with his colleagues, going to bars, attending weddings, coaching their children in softball, taking up collections when someone’s parent died.

The truth was, he never really liked the work. He found it boring and physically demanding. He worked in the paint shop, wearing two sets of gloves, big plastic boots and a full body apron, while he wielded a sanding tool that smoothed the primer on the surface of the cars. Every night he came home drenched and exhausted.

But he was grateful for it. With his G.M. paychecks, he built a big house in the woods just half a mile from his parents. He paid for his wedding in full and bought his new wife, Lindsay Marsh, a blue Chevy TrailBlazer. And when Abby came along — his beautiful girl, his floppy baby — his financial security powered the family through the six years of therapy it took to teach her how to walk.

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Mr. Marsh with his wife, Lindsay, and their daughter, Abigail. The Marshes have spent years fighting to get Abigail services in Ohio. Moving would be wrenching.Credit...Maddie McGarvey for The New York Times

In those early years, Mr. Marsh didn’t care about politics. He voted for Democrats without really thinking about it. It was what his family had always done, more out of union loyalty than ideology.

But he started to pay attention in the late 1990s, after the United States struck a trade deal with Mexico. When he asked his father about Nafta, the elder Marsh fumed that it would destroy manufacturing.

He remembers his father calling him shortly after he picked up his new 1999 two-door Chevy Tahoe, shouting at him to return it.

“I said, ‘What do you mean, take it back?’” Rick Marsh said. “He said, ‘It’s made in Mexico.’”

The younger Marsh could not believe a G.M. truck would be made in Mexico, and he told his father so.

“He said ‘I’m telling you, I’m in the union right now. Just take it back.’”

He eventually traded it in, miserably, for a Chevy Impala.

“That was the first I’d ever heard of our cars being made somewhere else and sold here,” he said.

At some point, change sped up, like an invisible hand moving behind him, erasing things. Automation accelerated. In Mr. Marsh’s area of the paint shop, nicknamed Cripple Creek, someone had written on the wall how many workers there were each year. In 1970 it was 38. By the time he left in the early 2000s, it was four.

He was sent to Oklahoma to learn how a plant’s paint shop was set up. A few years later, the whole plant was shut down. He ticked off others that closed: Detroit, Delaware, Janesville, Shreveport.

“It’s literally in your face — the decline of manufacturing,” he said. “You can work where I work and watch it.”

Nafta had given him a new political awareness: Republicans may have started it, but it was Democrats who sealed the deal.

“That’s when I realized these parties were not so different,” he said. “They are all there to make money on our backs.”

Still, he kept voting for Democrats, including twice for Barack Obama. He gives him credit for the bailout of G.M. The company would have died without that help. But it made him angry that a financial crisis that started with banks ended with autoworkers giving up raises and the right to strike, which seemed to him the only real leverage they still had. (They got it back later.)

Mr. Marsh had never had a definitive moment with politics, a sudden clarity in which he clicked with a candidate. That changed in 2016. He remembers sitting at home watching a debate between Mr. Trump and Hillary Clinton. He was expecting suit-and-tie civility. Instead, he got a circus. Mr. Trump was like a boxer who kept landing punches. It was electrifying.

“I said, ‘Wow, I’ve never seen anything like this,’” he said.

He knew what it looked like. Mr. Trump was kind of crazy. But he liked the fact that he didn’t back down. Then Mr. Trump brought up Nafta, and it was like he was speaking directly to Mr. Marsh. Nothing else mattered — not Russia, not porn stars, not divorces.

“Nobody had our backs in office, not Democrats or Republicans,” he said. “I’m tired of being sugarcoated and being robbed in the process.”

He voted for Mr. Trump, and so did his father, along with just under half the workers represented by the union.

He was in the plant on election night. He remembers being in the break room with the TV off, and a woman came in crying. Trump had pulled ahead. The reaction would intensify over the following months. He found it baffling. The only explanation he could think of was generational: millennials freaking out after not getting their way.

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Losing his job after 25 years on the General Motors payroll, Mr. Marsh prepared to apply for unemployment.Credit...Maddie McGarvey for The New York Times
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Abigail Marsh gets a lift from her father in their Ohio home.Credit...Maddie McGarvey for The New York Times

The end began the day after Mr. Trump’s election. On Nov. 9, 2016, G.M. announced it was cutting its third shift — an evening crew of about 1,200 people, about one-quarter of the plant’s total work force.

Then some months later, a daytime shift was let go, including Mr. Marsh’s nephew, who got the layoff notice on the same day that he received a certificate congratulating him on 10 years at the plant. The final cut came last year, a few days after Thanksgiving.

Now Mr. Marsh faces a choice. He can stay in Lordstown for as long as there is a chance the plant might restart production; its fate will be decided in negotiations between the company and the union this summer. If it does close for good, he can hope his seniority will be enough to land a job at another G.M. plant.

Or he could transfer to another G.M. plant sooner, but he hates that idea. His biggest worry is for his daughter, Abby, now 14. He and his wife have spent years fighting to get her services in Ohio, aides in school and coverage under Medicaid. Moving would be wrenching.

Hundreds of workers have already transferred. His nephew packed up his family and moved to Flint. The alternative, working on natural gas wells in Pennsylvania, paid him $13 an hour, about half what he was making at G.M.

G.M. is a lifeline for Mr. Marsh, too. It will pay him a pension, a rare thing in today’s economy. He may have given up raises, but he gets a share of the company’s profits — last year, about $10,000. Under the union contract, he gets payments to supplement his unemployment check, and his family still has health insurance — unlike his brother-in-law, who worked at a company that made the seats for the cars.

Going against G.M., he said, “is like rooting for the pilot of my own plane to go down.”

At the same time, he feels angry that a company can just do this — blow out of town after highway exit ramps were built for it and the government bailed it out, and meanwhile announce that the new Chevy Blazer will be made in Mexico.

What has happened with the plant has made him see things differently. He never used to care that G.M.’s chief executive, Mary Barra, made millions of dollars every year. Now he thinks about it. Companies have more and more power. It makes him feel small. Like the time they were told they’d be laid off, and everybody just went right back to work.

“It felt like we were begging,” he said. “It’s humiliating, as a man, as a person, as a worker.”

He understands this to be a political problem. But what is the solution?

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Credit...Maddie McGarvey for The New York Times

He doesn’t blame Mr. Trump for the problems at the plant. They are older and bigger than him. Yes, he made promises during the campaign, telling people not to sell their houses because factory jobs were coming back. But politicians make promises. That’s what they do.

The real question is whether anything is changing, and so far the answer is no. And he finds that Mr. Trump is “getting harder and harder to defend.”

“He repealed Nafta and tried to replace it,” he said. “Am I happy with the result? No. Mexico is still killing us.”

Then there was an unfortunate tweet storm from the president about the plant this spring, criticizing Mr. Marsh’s union leaders.

“The leader of the free world has no idea how unions work,” he said. “He might understand business, but he doesn’t understand our business.”

When Mr. Trump tweeted about the prospective sale of the plant earlier this month, Mr. Marsh was at home preparing for his wife’s birthday.

Cheering the deal might check a political box for the president, but getting hired by the buyer would probably mean making $11 an hour, he said, a wage he last made in his early 20s.

“It would be back to square one after 25 years in the plant,” he said.

The presidential election is still many months away, and he hasn’t started paying attention to any of the candidates. But he plans to watch the debates carefully to see whether any political leader in America understands his family’s story.

The answer has never felt more important.

“People are going to get hungry, and when I mean hungry, I don’t mean just for food,” he said. “I think, once you get pushed to a point that you have nothing left,” he said, and paused. “Without the ability to feed my family and pay for my children and feed my children, what am I as a man?”

Alyse Shorland contributed reporting.

Sabrina Tavernise is a national correspondent covering demographics and is the lead writer for The Times on the Census. She started at The Times in 2000, spending her first 10 years as a foreign correspondent. More about Sabrina Tavernise

A version of this article appears in print on  , Section A, Page 1 of the New York edition with the headline: Where Jobs Vanished, ‘Nobody Had Our Backs’. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper | Subscribe

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