The Hard Way on Purpose: Essays and Dispatches from the Rust Belt

by David Giffels

Award-winning author and journalist David Giffels explores the meaning of identity and place, hamburgers, hard work, and basketball in this collection of wry, irreverent essays reflecting on the many aspects of Midwestern culture and life from an insider’s perspective.In The Hard Way on Purpose, David Giffels takes us on an insider’s journey through the wreckage and resurgence of America’s Rust Belt. A native who never knew the good times, yet never abandoned his hometown of Akron, Giffels plumbs the touchstones and idiosyncrasies of a region where industry has fallen, bowling is a legitimate profession, bizarre weather is the norm, rock ’n’ roll is desperate, thrift store culture thrives, and sports is heartbreak. Intelligent, humorous, and warm, Giffels’s linked essays are about coming of age in the Midwest and about the stubborn, optimistic, and resourceful people who prevail there.

Genres: Nonfiction, Essays, Memoir, American History, American, Biography Memoir, Journalism

274 pages, Kindle Edition

First published March 18, 2014

About the author

"Barnstorming Ohio" author David Giffels has written six books of nonfiction, including the critically acclaimed memoir, "Furnishing Eternity: A Father, a Son, a Coffin, and a Measure of Life," published by Scribner in 2018. The book has been hailed by the New York Times Book Review as “tender, witty and ... painstakingly and subtly wrought,” and by Kirkus Reviews as “a heartfelt memoir about the connection between a father and son.” It was a Book of the Month pick by Amazon and Powell’s and a New York Times Book Review “Editors’ Choice.”

His previous books include "The Hard Way on Purpose: Essays and Dispatches From the Rust Belt" (Scribner 2014), a New York Times Book Review “Editors’ Choice” and nominee for the PEN/Diamonstein-Spielvogel Award for the Art of the Essay, and the national-bestselling memoir "All the Way Home" (William Morrow/HarperCollins 2008), winner of the Ohioana Book Award.

​Giffels is the coauthor, with Jade Dellinger, of the rock biography "Are We Not Men? We Are Devo!" and, with Steve Love, "Wheels of Fortune: The Story of Rubber in Akron."

A former Akron Beacon Journal columnist, his writing has appeared in The New York Times Magazine, the Atlantic.com, Parade, The Wall Street Journal, Esquire.com, Grantland.com, The Iowa Review, and many other publications. He also wrote for the MTV series "Beavis and Butt-Head."

His awards include the Cleveland Arts Prize for literature, the Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Award, and a General Excellence award from National Society of Newspaper Columnists. He was selected as the Cuyahoga County Public Library Writer in Residence for 2018-2019.

Giffels is a professor of English at the University of Akron, where he teaches creative nonfiction in the Northeast Ohio Master of Fine Arts Program.

Reviews

[Dee · Rating 3 out of 5]

An interesting but not very well-written book. I grew up in suburban Detroit and have a pained, defensive love of the city, so books about crumbled Midwestern cities often intrigue me. Still, this book was more of a rambling autobiography of a white, middle class experience of a specific city than a general set of essays about the Rust Belt, and ultimately didn't have a lot of interesting or unique things to say.

"I have spent my whole life watching people leave. This is a defining characteristic of the generation of postindustrial Midwesterners who have stayed in their hometowns. At every stage of opportunity, at every life crossroads, friends and family members and enemies and old lovers and vaguely familiar barflies depart. Piles of demographic and sociological data chronicle this, the term brain drain serving as a sort of catamaran counterpart to Rust Belt." P. 11

"Generations knew this part of the country as the region that built modern America. I'm part of the first generation that never saw any of that. Postindustrial is a much more relevant term to me than any of the many words and phrases--the Industrial Heartland; the Steel Belt; Industrial Valley--that are used to describe this broad swath of the country that produced automobiles and glass and tires and steel and an aesthetic of work and, most important, a new middle class. For my generation, postindustrial is a rangy and encompassing and provocative adjective: a genre of music, a manner of dress, a style of art,a sociological term, a well-worn neologism, the end of the American century, an entire lifestyle. Increasingly, it is a new American culture." P. 23

"He was also a man of cold, frozen places, of the Great Lakes, which in winter offer something more pure than even the deepest meditation: infinite, white, terrible ice. These lakes aren't flat when they freeze. Their edges are frozen images of turmoil, waves and swells and garbage-flecked foam, clenched, caught unawares by the hard freeze." P. 49

"Relaxation in heavily union towns can only be one of two things: a vice or a reward. As such, it needs to be done either in private or in Florida." P. 101

"It was becoming impossible to get lost, which is where the imagination thrives." P. 148

[Sandra · Rating 4 out of 5]

Having been born and raised in the Rust Belt myself, there is an inherent sense of understanding in what David Giffels writes about in this collection of essays. He was born in Akron, Ohio - a city that once thrived as the Rubber Capital of the World. But over time, these businesses were bought out and relocated to more thriving metropolis areas like Nashville and Charlotte, or out of the country altogether. The population of Akron is as low now as it was in the year 1910. Yet, Giffels has a devout respect for his hometown, and a hopeful vision for its resurgence in the decades ahead. This feeling of hope resonates with anyone who was raised in a Rust Belt city like Cleveland or Detroit or Pittsburgh. As Giffels writes: "That's what LeBron James and I and our people share. A lifetime, one might say, of loss, but we here recognize something much different, more nuanced, more full of shadows. A lifetime of hope." I genuinely enjoyed learning a lot more about the city of Akron, having never acknowledged its rich history. I also loved the shared understanding of Lake Effect snowfall and rooting for (mostly) disappointing sports teams. Regarding the weather in Northeast Ohio, he writes: "Daily it (the weather) lays waste to our plans, it depresses us, it makes us laugh and marvel. It has its own language and legend...Weather in places like this is culture." And about the sports teams he writes: "We have become known as a place that always loses. But that's not how I see it. I'm from a place that almost always wins." Giffels' upbeat attitude and his evident hometown pride is what I enjoyed most about this book. I was also intrigued by the essay where he talks about the corporate branding of the Midwest, and how you can find a Cracker Barrel in the Rust Belt that is exactly like any other. I absolutely love what he then writes: "The idea of exploration and discovery was being replaced with comfort and familiarity. It was becoming impossible to get lost, which is where imagination thrives." I find it comforting, and do feel a sense of hope, when realizing that there are individuals out there like Giffels who still value the importance of hard work and appreciate the downtrodden cities from which they were raised.

[Holly · Rating 2 out of 5]

I think Giffels is a fine writer with a distinctive style, but I just wasn't interested in most of these pieces about professional sports, hamburgers, nostalgia, and what makes Akron, Ohio special. I hesitate to call these essays because they are not exploratory, more informational (for lack of the best word) and have the heavy-handedness and brevity of a newspaper columnist (which is how I think many of these originated).

I really liked Giffels's earlier book All the Way Home, that chronicles in wincing detail his purchase of a decrepit house with six fireplaces and the drastic home repair project that followed, but I read that last spring when I was in that surreal, heightened emotional-logistical-organizational state that is the process-of-buying-a-house. (Hey I didn't know Meghan Daum had written a house book - that would've been the inspired time to read it!) Anyway. This collection goes in my new "skimmed" category.

[Gayle Pritchard · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book completely captures the essence of those of us who grew up in the heartland. I discovered Giffels as the Writer in Residence for the Cuyahoga County Public Library system’s Writing Center (how great is it that we have such a resource?), and have found his lectures and feedback to be inspirational. His book if essays does not disappoint as the reader is brought along for the ride. Privy to a world known, but somehow reimagined through Giffel’s eyes. Several scenes stick with me: the smell of books in an old bookstore (library in my case) as you fall in love with them; the aging parent in the car with your learning driver kid; being transported by live music, and relishing in the thrift store find. David’s voice is steady and true and honest. I simply love this book.

[Jak Krumholtz · Rating 4 out of 5]

Nice collection of essays centering around Akron.

"Either Akron was unusually culturally significant—special—or every place had its own version of this and was equally culturally significant, which would mean that my place was not special at all."

This hurt. I'm sure I talk about Ohio an annoying amount in hopes it's special..

"The place I love is a three-legged dog. Everyone who’s ever loved a three-legged dog knows you love that dog more than one with a handsome pedigree. Because it needs you more. And that’s what true love is: the warmth of being needed."

[Allen Murphey · Rating 4 out of 5]

Akron, Ohio, is poster child for the demise of Midwest industrial cities at the end of the 20th Century. David Giffels's essays chronicle growing up there as the major industries leave and staying there as more and more people follow suit. Giffels analyzes his city and his chosen life with humor and realism, with love, and with a clear eye. Akron is, indeed, poster child – in it we can see the cities and the people about whom we most care.

Growing up outside Toledo I can identify with all he talks about – the smell of dark alleys, the grit of abandoned parking lots, the adventure of exploring long-vacant buildings, treasures sometimes waiting in dusty corners, the bond between friends. Nothing outwardly glamorous is among the subjects of Giffels’s essays, but in the details we learn much – about Akron, about the author, about the nature of urban life, about ourselves.

A quiet, true, wonderful book to read and to savor.

[Please take a look at my review of Nickolas Butler's Shotgun Lovesongs for some further thoughts.]

[Brad · Rating 4 out of 5]

Reading "The Hard Way on Purpose" is like exploring a place I know, but haven't yet mastered. I grew up in a town 10 miles from Akron, and almost 10 years ago adopted the Rubber City as my home. As Giffels writes, people describe places here by what they used to be. These places I know but don't know come to life in what they were, how they fell into ruin, and what they have since been reborn as the city picks itself up from its bootstraps.

More than anything, "The Hard Way on Purpose" is about what it means to stay in a place others have deemed "a good place to be from." This collection of essays is part memoir and part treatise on the cultural identity of the Rust Belt. For those who grew up in this region where manufacturing once ruled, Giffels writes, we understand the world through constant hope and loss.

In the end, when someone asks why anyone would stay here. The answer is because it's home.

[Sheri Fresonke Harper · Rating 4 out of 5]

David Giffels has a pleasant, well trained voice from his work as a journalist which slips into irony. These essays describe his views of his hometown Akron, Ohio and the transition from a busy industrial center to the slowly decaying Rust Belt town which developed after the major industries moved out of town. Fun parts include delving into the inside offices of the factory to build an art exhibit, the search for a bowling shirt, missing out on Devo and other big music names from Akron history, and the sports scene. The history aspects are quite interesting and appealing.

[Kevin · Rating 3 out of 5]

An interesting read that really helped flesh out my knowledge of the Rust Belt as a location. I have a couple of other books lined up to help research for my book that I think will be a little more helpful but I'm still glad I started with this one. Having all the essays be written by the same person made it feel more memoir-esque but for the purposes of the book, I think it was fine. The author seemed a little narrow-minded and/or stubborn at times but I don't think it had too much of a negative effect on my reading experience.

[Lily]

Loved Giffels anecdotes about my hometown. He seems to capture a time in Akron that was singular in it's decline and shifting personality. He does a great job capturing the emotions so many of us feel. I LOVED the story about the art show with his friend John. I would recommend this to anyone who is from the Midwest or ESPECIALLY northeast Ohio.

[Margie · Rating 5 out of 5]

I loved everything about this book. From the Gold Circle not quite Adidas tennis shoes to driving up Cadillac Hill, this is a story of home for me. Beautifully written.

[CG InDE · Rating 4 out of 5]

I spent most of my life in Akron. I moved away. Unlike most people who do that, I packed up that truck knowing a different one will be returning my life to Akron after a predetermined amount of years. Akron is home and it always will be. Giffels and I come from different generations, but we spent our youths with similar fascinations- ruins, identity, stories. So I get David Giffels and what I love about this book is that it gets me and all the other Akronites who stay behind, not because we have to but because we want to.

He sees Akron the way I see it, and he explained a lot about the psyche of my hometown that I've never really thought about before. Things leave, people leave, and every time that happens it's not a surprise. What is surprising is that it still hurts. There are those handful of Akron institutions that manage to stand the test of time longer than the others- Bob's Hamburg, the dignity of the old West Hill neighborhood, that clock tower on the ABJ building. But, nothing ever really lasts there, and as much as we laud those landmarks there's always that little black threat in the back of the mind that they may leave too. I remember when it was announced that West Pointe Market was closing it's doors. That felt like a far deeper betrayal than anything LeBron James said on ESPN. They recently chopped the Goodrich smoke stacks in half. The Akron Brewing Company was leveled. There were fewer buildings on Main Street in 2016 than 2015. Oh, and they evened renamed a section of the road to King James Way. As crass as that may be, I think it's an example of one the main aspects of the area that Giffels talks about. As much as it fails, it never stops hoping. Akron is always clutching onto that. It rips up the Innerbelt, redevelops closed hotels into apartments, sets up galleries in factories, and renames roads. It does that because, see, sometimes you do beat the odds and succeed. Sometimes you win. It happened once, it can happen again. Sure, we don't harbor any illusions that failure isn't always going to be a big part of where we come from, but we keep trying anyway and we keep hoping. Maybe someday long after we're in the ground Akronites of the future won't have to embrace failure as a badge of honor. It won't be a part of their identity. At least that's what I hope for, and I think that's the hope of a lot who stay. In my case, I can't wait to return.

Read this if you're from Northeast Ohio and the Rust Belt. Read it if you stayed or if you left. In writing about his life in Akron, Giffels ends up writing for all of us, especially those who never knew this part of the nation when it was a success.

[Paul Cockeram · Rating 5 out of 5]

David Giffels knows how a Midwesterner rises and also how a Midwesterner falls, and he knows they are the same: working hard, playing by the rules, and hoping for the best. As chronicler and native son of Akron, Ohio, Giffels charts the city’s rise to Rubber Capitol of the World, as well as its inevitable contraction into Rust Belt icon. But Giffels is a rare character in this otherwise common story, for he is a writer who looked at the well-worn roads to New York City and Los Angeles and London that nearly all the other Midwestern artists and intellectuals follow sooner or later, and he elected not to follow those roads. I couldn’t wait to escape southwestern Ohio myself, getting as far as the Idaho panhandle before circling back to Pennsylvania—the closest to my roots, it seems, I am willing to get. To have stayed put in Akron, Ohio, gives David Giffels an unimpeachable authority on the subject of the Midwest and the ongoing hollowing of the industrial core that once defined its success, its promise to the rest of the country, its identity.

At least half the pieces in “The Hard Way on Purpose” straightforwardly take up the question of identity, asking what happens to a region’s sense of itself when it loses the institutions that have defined it. (Giffels focuses particularly upon the industrial identity that came to define the Midwest after the waning of the farming era, said farming era having already been portrayed poignantly in Sherwood Anderson’s “Winesburg, Ohio.”) Giffels studies the effects of the Midwest’s post-industrial collapse, examining Akron’s empty rubber factories through a spectrum of perspectives from abstract to deeply personal. I particularly loved his attention to the empty buildings those companies left behind, to the uses and misuses such places get put to. Exploring urban ruins is a noble pastime for any true son or daughter of the Midwest, and Giffels writes knowingly about these darkened shells and their significance to the landscapes we inhabit. At the same time, in other essays, he recognizes the Midwest’s need for light, for recognition from the unlikely stars and heroes that happened to grow up there. He writes simultaneously about my hometown band Guided by Voices and the jolt of connection I felt reading about them, that queer sense of ownership and pride every Midwesterner experiences when reading about strangers who happen to share our region, or occupy the city several miles down the highway from our hometown. “My friend knows their lead singer!” one of us will exclaim, and everyone pays that person a little respect because glory reflected from a distant source still looks like starlight to us. Giffels knows this and knows how to write beautifully and insightfully about it, too.

In fact, if the quality of insight and discovery within this collection of essays serves as a reliable indication, then there is no truth to the old saying that you have to leave home before you can write about it. Giffels stayed, yet he managed to achieve enough of the outsider’s perspective to see Akron’s borders and edges. What distinguishes his book is the sympathy of its gaze. It takes an insider to write that Midwesterners are “defensive. We just are. We’re so conditioned to being overlooked or misinterpreted or invoked as a punch line that whenever someone else tries to paraphrase us in any way, we bristle. Cleveland was called the Mistake on the Lake for so long that the chip on the shoulder became a kind of beloved appendage.” One time, Cleveland’s drastically polluted Cuyahoga River caught fire. The country watched, horrified, as water burned, and a national conversation about industry’s impact on the environment may have momentarily bubbled to the surface. But every Midwesterner gets the joke and the pride involved in Cleveland’s Great Lakes Brewing Company honoring that time by releasing Burning River ale. Outsiders just get the joke.

So it is that, rather than indulging in the usual grotesques featured by typical portrayals of the Midwest like Jonathan Franzen’s “The Corrections,” David Giffels gives us a Midwest of hard workers and honest drunks, complicated people who prove to be irreducible to meth addictions or gun-toting fanaticism. If they seek refuge in cans of cheap beer, it is because they find themselves in a land of broken promises, amidst changes they are just beginning to understand. Rather than make a joke at their expense, Giffels plays a game of pool with them, shares a beer, listens to their stories. When one of them puts his friend in a headlock, he knows it is nothing personal. Everyone around here is on edge right now. “The problem,” Giffels understands and explains, “isn’t so much that Ohio is complicated. Every place is complicated if you apply yourself to trying to understand it. The problem is how it’s complicated.”

This book asks the right questions, the sort of questions for which answers come rarely and are difficult to articulate. Particularly, its quest for Midwestern identity offers plenty of possibilities but no firm conclusions. As it should be. Giffels knows the power of an image to represent the parts of an idea that elude declarative language. The images he mines range through romantic hunts for the old bricks he scavenges from Akron’s ruins, to dangerous and inexplicable city hills serving as rites of passage for teenage boys, to the McMansions and developments that have come to define suburban American real estate. Here is the image, and here is what Giffels makes of it. The Midwest is a region more often lectured to than listened to. It is the “Real America” sooner exploited by politicians than served by them. What Giffels and a growing number of Midwestern writers offer is the chance to see how the people of that region describe themselves, with as much thought and poetry and grace as can be found between the covers of any good book. Native Midwesterners will learn something about themselves; outsiders will catch a valuable glimpse from the inside.

I hope it’s not unseemly—I hope I don’t violate some imperative of humility—to say that an insider’s view of the Midwest proves to be important and worthwhile. Giffels delivers that and more.

[Wes · Rating 5 out of 5]

I was entertained from beginning to end. I ordered this book thinking it would be historical essays about those that lived during the industrial age when the upper midwest region of the United States was thriving and how things took a turn for the worse. This book is a compilation of essays from one person who comes from the region giving his account of what Akron/Cleveland and other surrounding towns was like in the 80s to the present. Very much a coming of age account by the author. I think someone from Akron Ohio or anywhere in the Rust Belt region could relate to the essays with a sense of nostalgia. I am not from the region so I read the book more so from that of a spectator looking to learn something about history for a specific region of the United States.

[Ellyn · Rating 4 out of 5]

I really enjoyed this collection of essays about growing up in Akron, Ohio in the 1980s and 1990s. I’ve lived in the Akron area for the last five years and worked here for the last ten years, and it was interesting to learn more about the history and culture of the area that I now call home. I grew up in Toledo, a similar Rust Belt city with a similar past, so a lot of what the author wrote about the Midwestern urban identity is familiar to me, though a lot of what he wrote is specific to his generation of Akronites. The essays are well written and funny, and the author’s love for his hometown, a place that everyone else always seems to be leaving, really shines through. Definitely worth the read.

[Jim · Rating 3 out of 5]

I'm not sure what to make of this book. On one hand, the agony of the post-industrial Midwest is portrayed in vivid words. On the other hand, the narratives tend to wander--maybe this was intentional--but it got a bit annoying after some time. For example, one of the chapters (Anarchy Girls) starts with an overview of tunnels that run under the city of Akron, which was rather interesting. Somehow gradually, frustratingly, the chapters morphs from tunnel exploration into the misadventures of an art exhibit opening.

Also, most chapters end very abruptly; again, maybe this was purposeful, but it made for a frustrating read.

[Karen · Rating 5 out of 5]

These essays about life in Akron and the Rust Belt provided a wonderful trip down memory lane for me. From sports teams, to factories, to music, and of course, the burning river, the author does a great job of evoking a strong sense of place. Nicely written.
"Here, uniquely, we do things the hard way on purpose."
And of the second coldest game in NFL history, "When you live in a place like this, you come to understand that we are never first. In anything. Not even misery. ...Through all this, we have become know as a place that always loses. But that's not how I see it. I'm from a place that always almost wins."

[April Helms · Rating 4 out of 5]

Anyone with Akron roots should enjoy this collection of essays about growing up and living in Akron. Giffels captures the zeitgeist of this area, its highs, its many lows and everything in between. Akron, known in its heyday as the rubber capital of the world, has fallen on harder times and has struggled since with recapturing an identity outside of the image of perpetual loss. He covers the art scene, abandoned businesses, local figures and elections. This would be a good book to include in a local time capsule.

[P Carmody · Rating 5 out of 5]

5 stars because the author and I both played at the Daily Double in Akron in our bands in our youth. We don’t know each other but a great memory. And 5 stars because it is a great read. Reminds me of growing up in Cleveland - only this book is more about Akron. Blizzard of ‘78 essay sounds like he was in my backyard tunneling away with the neighbor kids....

[Drew Reilly · Rating 4 out of 5]

I enjoyed this collection. There is an odd satisfaction in knowing what the writer is talking about, whether it is the taste of the burger from the Ido (but why didn't he mentioned Swensons), or the thrill of gunning it up and down Cadillac Hill.

Definitely looking forward to reading Giffels' history of Akron

[Tyler · Rating 4 out of 5]

I felt like I was living a part of my childhood. This book is a great example of someone who stays in their hometown a place where everyone leaves for their whole life. Great book and I would definitely recommend it even if you are not from the “rust belt. “

[Hallie Bowie · Rating 4 out of 5]

Great perspective on the northeast Ohio mindset.

[Paul Cencula · Rating 5 out of 5]

Great collection of stories for anyone who grew up in the Akron area, or really anywhere in the Rust Belt. The locations, characters and regional quirks rang true for me. Highly recommended!

[Mell]

I've put this back on the shelf. I'm only at 30% read and two very sports-heavy, dude-tastic chapters have dimmed my interest a bit.

[Jay Hinman · Rating 4 out of 5]

Perhaps because I’ve spent all of my adult life in a city, San Francisco, that people are forever coming to, I’ve had a perverse fascination with those places in America that people leave, and even with godforsaken places that only scattered handfuls of people try to make a go of in the first place (Dayton Duncan’s “Miles From Nowhere” being a great example). David Giffels illuminates his lifelong city of Akron, Ohio – a place I’ve personally never set foot in – in a superb set of essay-length reflections and explanations that gets to the root of both his city’s and his own psyche. The city’s, and that of the Rust Belt in general, is one of bootstrapped hard work, loss, and a collective sense of “almost”. We almost got the Browns to Super Bowl. We almost had the best punk/new wave scene in the country in the late 70s (Akron – home of Devo, Tin Huey, the Rubber City Rebels and many others). We almost kept LeBron James from leaving his hometown of Akron and the state of Ohio – and so on.

Through nearly two dozen pieces, Giffels uses various expository devices to try and definitively crack the Akron nut, always with humor and plenty of humility. Childhood memories, ambivalent meditations on “ruin porn”, historical treatises on the company buildings that made Akron “the rubber city”, and a highly skeptical look at Akron’s claim to have invented the hamburger are among the pleasures to be had. Giffels puts his personal stamp on virtually every piece; for instance, the hamburger piece also includes him eating nothing but hamburgers for a week straight. Giffels also threads in much discussion of Akron’s underground music scene in the 80s, which he himself participated in via an unnamed punk band (perhaps someone you or I have even heard of, though I’m too lazy to Google it right now), with an especially funny piece about his friend’s art gallery complex being invaded by “anarchy girls” and industrial-music freaks from Philadelphia for one night only.

His own psyche and relation to the city that nurtured it is displayed in his endless fascination with Akron’s industrial past and his near-messianic desire to preserve and build upon that past – not in the historical documentation sense, though “The Hard Way On Purpose” does include a bit of that. His preservation instincts are actually quite literal – repurposing found bricks from demolished factories to build a pathway, for instance, or in buying the most ruined ornate old Tudor house in the neighborhood, for a song, just to fix it up to its former six-fireplace + servant’s quarters glory. Perhaps it’s a way of attempting to reverse the “decline” narrative that plagues this part of the country - quite deservedly, of course – one brick and one house at a time. Beyond this, of course, is the fact that Giffels is one of the few “born and raised and never left” Akron residents who knows only the Rust Belt era of the town. He stayed where most others didn’t, and it’s quite touching as he lists off the friends made and friends quickly lost in one poignant passage. It connects to the deeper whole of “loss” and of “almost” that pervades this terrific and well-written book about place, and our place within that place.

[Sarah · Rating 5 out of 5]

"David -- Got this for you after hearing about it on NPR. Looked at first page or two – then couldn't put it down. Think you will enjoy – especially if you go back to Akron."

The above is inscribed on the first page of my copy of The Hard Way on Purpose. It is dated April 5, 2014. The block letters are perfectly formed. I actually checked the back of the page to see if the penstrokes had indented the paper (they had), leery that it was published that way, as some weird Rust Belt joke. I wonder about David, and how the book ended up in the inventory of an Ohio-based Internet used-book seller less than a year after he received it. I wonder if he even read it. What I can be certain of is that David did not need this book as much as I did.

The book happened to come into my life at a time when I was penned up in the clutches of another devious winter, feeling hurt, depressed, and a little scared of the future. Although I have transplanted myself from Ohio, I remain a child of the Rust Belt (a distinction I own proudly); I love my home state and all its flaws. David Giffels enfolded me in his Akron world, entertained me, made me laugh 'til I cried (my God, that hamburger chapter), reminded me of my own childhood, and above all, assured me that my footing in the universe is solid. I am from Ohio, and despite the sucker-punches of growth and death and eventual decay of every new thing and every new day – life will go on. I will adapt.

Look, nihilism is your birthright when you are born into a crumbling place that remembers how great it used to be. I learned young to mentally chart the passage of time by watching the ornate moldings fall off of particular downtown buildings, seeing chimneys collapse and window panes crack on once-proud homes. But from all this comes the knowledge of resilience, and from resilience comes hope. (Although it is worth mentioning that when I say "hope," I don't see butterflies or rainbows or doves or whatever -- "hope" to a rust-belter is a grimy, creatively profane cynic who tells you the world sucks, but you can still go out there and kick ass.)

As he recounts yet another loss by a local sports team, this time the Cleveland Browns, Giffels writes, “Through all this, we have become known as a place that always loses.

But that's not how I see it.

I'm from a place that always almost wins.”

I may be reading too much into this. But if I ever meet Mr. Giffels, I'd like to thank him for that reminder.

[Jason · Rating 3 out of 5]

An extended elegy on the death of the rubber industry in Akron, Ohio, these essays, although interconnected, likely work better as individual pieces than as a whole work. They're well written and often very funny, but, because they're so thematically similar, they can quickly become repetitive. Still, with discussions of a local paperback bookseller as well as profiles of Akron natives Lebron James, Chrissie Hynde, Devo, etc., many of the essays are insightful and touching. Often the pop culture analysis mines similar territory as Chuck Klosterman, another onetime Akron Beacon Journal writer, but Giffels work has a lot more earnestness and is more autobiographical. My favorite essay involves Cleveland based rock star Michael Stanley, legendary in Northeastern Ohio but virtually unknown outside of the region, with comparisons to the careers of similar regional rock stars. It's the most Klosterman-like of the essays, but it's a lot less snarky. Giffels can do irony well, but he rarely does snark.

My wife is from Akron, and I was born in Akron's smaller neighbor city Canton. For me, the book and its ideas were relatable. My family members were factory works who've dealt with outsourcing and downsizing continually since the 1980s, so the sadness that permeates these essays is familiar. I'm not sure how a work like this plays to readers outside of the rust belt though. So much of what Giffels does in this work is explain a rust belt identity defined by hardship and perseverance. I'm not sure how this would resonate for readers who grew up in comfortable upper class coastal neighborhoods. What do they know about this kind suffering? Or of doing things "the hard way on purpose" as a show of strength?

Overall, I enjoyed the book, but again I'm not sure that grouping these very similar essays together is the most effective way of presenting them. I'd recommend reading it a little at time to avoid their similarity. Actually, I'd recommend picking up Giffels's excellent previous book All the Way Home, a better book that deals with similar themes in the service of a memoir of home restoration. Nonetheless, The Hard Way on Purpose is an interesting book with plenty to enjoy.

[Karen · Rating 4 out of 5]

In The Hard Way on Purpose: Essays and Dispatches from the Rust Belt by David Giffels, the author explores the history of his own hometown, Akron, Ohio through both memoir and observation, making personal commentaries about those who decide to stay in their struggling towns and cities. His essays are both humorous and insightful, and as a reader I found myself nodding "yes" on numerous occasions in response to his insights about the landscape and people of the Rust Belt.

The main focus of Giffels' collection is, of course, Akron, Ohio, and this can be seen as he explores the specific history of his hometown, notably discussing what happens to a city when its main industries leave, often leaving a city without an identity. In the case of Akron, these industries were Goodrich and Firestone, thus making Akron's nickname, "The Rubber City" a bit problematic. He further explores his hometown's identity by focusing on famous people including Lebron James, the music group Devo, and Chrissie Hynde.

Still, Giffels' collection doesn't just focus on other people; many of his stories are his own, cataloging his own stories and experiences. One piece titled "Popular Stories for Boys" chronicles his love of reading and his relationship with a book store owner. Another piece, "Lake Effect" describes the crazy (and sometimes harsh) weather conditions of northern Ohio.


My favorite essay, however, is titled "Do Not Cry For Me, Arizona" where he discusses the perception that some believe the term "Rust Belt" is overused, dated, and even a bit tired. To this, Giffels responds, "We need to be the Rust Belt. We've paid so dearly for that designation that we deserve to have it as our own and to allow it to represent the fullness of its story. It's our blues."

I loved The Hard Way on Purpose: Essays and Dispatches from the Rust Belt, namely because I am from the Rust Belt (although, a much more rural part), and as a reader I could see the stubborn pride that shines through Giffels' stories and recollections.

[Simone · Rating 4 out of 5]

If it's not clear from reading my reviews, I am fascinated by place and home, and how we understand these things. As someone who grew up in Southern Illinois (not officially Rust Belt, but with it's own post-industrial issues) left as soon as she was able, and grudgingly returned, I got immediately what Giffels means when he calls it "the hard way on purpose."

These essays are mostly about Giffels growing up in Akron, and certain themes (and lines) circulate through the whole thing. This isn't a bad thing, it feels like a meditation on what it feels like to stay in a place everyone else desperately wants to leave. As Giffels describes, when people announce they are moving to Akron, people ask "why?" and when people announce they are leaving, no one is surprised.

For my money, the best story is the very first one, where he traces the history of Lebron James alongside Giffels own history (they went to the same high school, though at different times.) There's also this line:

"A lifetime, one might say, of loss, but we here recognize something much different, more nuanced, more full of shadows. A lifetime of hope. And anyone who's done both - hoped and lost - knows that in many ways, hoping is worse....As I grew into early adulthood and observed a larger pattern of hope and loss and hope and loss and hope and loss, and the concurrent resilience thereof, I came to a begrudging conclusion: neither of these things - hope and loss - can exist without the other, and yet at every turn it is necessary to believe that at some point one will ultimately conquer. And that will be our legacy."

If you can get your hands on a copy and you've spent any time living in a carved out shell of a town, it will ring true.

[Drew · Rating 2 out of 5]

I wanted to like this book more than I actually did. The territory covered was familiar in all sorts of ways, as the author is right around my age and we both spent a decent amount of time in many of the locations referenced in the book. Actually, some parts of this book would make for the script of a fun movie, particularly the parts where he's hanging with his best buds and mixing with the lowlife ne'er-do-well street people of Akron. My main problem with the book is that he seems to try to find profound meaning in the time and place of his upbringing, often where there was little/none to be found. Some chapters, like the one dealing with the 2004 election coverage, just end, with no summation, no strong conclusions drawn (just a wishy-washy "it's complicated..."), no point. He says he spent his time in punk bands in his formative years, but we get no tales of said musical adventure. He keeps harping on being from somewhere that everyone moved away from and yet he stayed. The point that the author and this reader differ is, he doesn't seem pissed off in any way. How can you play punk and not be royally pissed? He's like the Barenaked Ladies of local writers, without the whimsy. He rarely rocks hard. Sometimes he throws in flowery descriptive prose, I guess in case some of his U of Akron students read the book. Some of it is just dull, like a chapter about the weather. There's a motherfucking chapter about repurposing found old bricks, for God's sake. To be honest, I skimmed the last chapter and a half. I think the guy will display a better writing style with age, but I'm a little disappointed. There's a lot of pointless wandering amongst the ruins but not a whole lot of meaningful action.