Scavenging History

Despite declining prices in commodities, scrap metal here remains in high demand, providing quick cash for an increasingly desperate population. Derelict properties are mined for copper, aluminum, iron, and steel. The walls of empty buildings are opened up and any metal inside is ripped out. Wiring, pipes, ductwork, lathe, rebar. The spoils are hauled away in shopping carts down to the neighborhood scrapyard, where you get paid by the pound. A decent haul will net you $5 or 10. A couple of steel radiators might get you 15. The money you get is food, a fix, gas money. Whatever you get, it's well worth it, hard-earned.

With a finite number of abandoned properties, it was only a matter of time before the scavengers started looking elsewhere. Fences, gutters, and aluminum siding started disappearing from inhabited homes all over the city. Residents took pains to warn the scavengers that they were being watched, that there was nothing of value inside. What could be taken was, and again, the scavengers moved on to their next big score.




Scrapyards pay out big for heavy bronze, iron, and copper historical plaques bolted to sides of buildings, embedded in sidewalks, cast in concrete blocks. In a city rich with history, the market was soon flooded. Scavengers responded by demanding pay based not on weight, but historic importance. A plaque describing a now-demolished building will net $25; a Civil War battlefield, 30; the site of an early baseball diamond, 40.

All over the city, plaques have been chipped, pulled, pried from their moorings. The residents here have barely noticed. We are adrift in history, and have been long before the plaques started disappearing.