I was watching a show about abandoned places on the Syfy channel as the cast entered a steel mill. The way they talked about it, you’d think this was the first colony on Mars.

As a kid, I thought the mill was a cloud maker. I was told stories about the constant fog and how people swept their porches every morning and brought changes of clothes to look presentable in afternoon meetings.

Most can name one relative who made a living there. For me, it was my Pap. A soft-spoken man with a subtle sense of humor, I remember Pap sitting in the passenger seat with his coffee in hand, my father hitting the brakes every time Pap tried to take a sip. He’d start laughing a genuine laugh that made everyone smile.

I wasn’t the athlete, so I didn’t make the same connections with him as my brothers. That didn’t stop him from trying to play catch or showing me how to ride a bike. One of my favorite memories was when he came to watch me play Conrad Birdie in high school. As I started shaking my hips to the song “Honestly Sincere,” I could hear his unmistakable laugh. I proudly told the cast it was my Pap.

He died from lung cancer when I was in college, no doubt from his time in the mill. Gone before I could really get to know him.

After he passed, my grandmother found in his wallet a picture of me wearing my gold Conrad suit. A needed confirmation that I mattered.

I’d love to go back in time and talk to him about life in the mill, Pittsburgh sports or my kids. Or to sit in the backseat as my Dad drives Pap to the hardware store — a glass of coffee in his hand — laughing along the way.

The rusting remains of furnaces might look extra-terrestrial to an out of towner, but to a native they are a link to our past. A reminder of a world gone too soon, but very much a part of who we are.

Steven O’Donnell
Erie, Pa.

First Published: December 17, 2018, 5:00 a.m.