Day 153 - Dec. 30
Listening to: Shake Your Booty
Thought for today: After spending the day with my head buried in old documents, I’ve decided handwriting is a lost art form.

Today I went to the Tennessee State Archives to read a diary written by Lou Cretia Owen, a woman that worked at the Old Hickory Powder Plant in 1918. The Powder Plant was built by DuPont in Old Hickory, Tennessee as a joint effort with the U.S. Government to supply gunpowder to the war front during WWI.

The diary is absolutely fascinating and captures the essence of life on the home front during WWI. If you have any interest in Old Hickory, WWI, or the evolution of women in the workplace, I encourage you go read it. The picture I’m featuring along with the TSA is what we would call the Powder Plant human relations department today. This photo is about 1/5th of the actual photo. The photo lives in Cubicle Caverns (my office) and is a conversation piece. The faces are nameless. I will now imagine Lou as one of the women featured.

There is no way I can possibly capture the spirit of the diary in a summary, but there are a couple of things that stood out to me. First, there is an intense display of patriotism and pride unlike anything I have ever witnessed. Lou is also very proud to be a woman working to help her country and gain independence for herself. Second, throughout the diary we see the tremendous amount of paranoia that gripped these people. Anyone behaving out of the ordinary was suspected to be a German spy. Third, it is evident the Spanish flu wreaked havoc on the Powder Plant workers. People flooded the area so quickly for employment that it was impossible to ID everyone who died. Many that succumbed to the flu ended up in unmarked graves. Last, these people worked their asses off and their motivation was patriotism. It is incomprehensible to me the number of people it took to operate the plant, feed the workers, care for the workers, and build the village/plant. The spirit with which it was all accomplished doesn't seem to exist in this country anymore, to me anyway. It is truly sad.

The diary is on microfilm #1963 if you care to go take a peek.