Greetings From America's Secret Capitals

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"We're an economic indicator," says CEO Claire Skinner. "RV sales go up before the economy improves and come down before it falls off. Sales are up."

So what does it all mean? It means fresh paint on houses and new cars in driveways across Elkhart County. It means $15 an hour plus benefits, on average, for assembly-line work that ranges from welding chassis to hanging kitchen curtains. It means six and seven members of the same family with RV jobs. It means that if you see an Amishman in a buggy horsing along State Route 13 in Middlebury, he may be going to his job at an RV factory. How can you not love a country in which the Plain People are fitting $100,000 motorized dens with BarcaLoungers, satellite dishes and microwaves?

Nobody's got a better deal than Ken Slaven. Every day, eight of the Class A motor homes--the big ones--roll off a Coachmen assembly line manned by 185 workers who grunt, lift and sweat. And then Slaven, 50, sticks the keys in the ignition and takes each one for a road test.

"Lights, wipers, pressure gauges, shakes, rattles. I check everything," he says as we head out on his 20-mile course in a $72,000 Catalina with a queen-size bed and a factory-fresh scent. Slaven came in three years ago, after 20 years as national sales manager for Sears. He gave up $16,000 a year but spends more time with his wife. "I'd have to say it's just about the best job in the place."

We bus past a sign that says MIDDLEBURY, INDIANA, HOME OF THE 1995 JUNIOR MISS. We turn left on Route 120, headed for the open road under a canopy of oaks. The whole slab is ours, Seattle to Savannah. All its parks, all its hills and valleys, all its roadside hash houses. Who says we ever have to turn back?

"Hey Ken, does this seat swivel?" I ask.

"Yeah. Just pull that lever," he says.

I try it. It doesn't work. Slaven grabs his clipboard and makes a notation.

Even I could get a job here.

WE'LL ALWAYS NEED HYDRANTS

Make yourself necessary to somebody. RALPH WALDO EMERSON

The Albertville-Boaz (Ala.) Reporter story appeared on April 10, 1990. A day that will not soon be forgotten in these parts. The story began like this:

"The public is invited to ceremonies in downtown Albertville Wednesday, April 11, at 1:30 to dedicate one of the world's most unique statues."

Governor Guy Hunt was there. Miss Alabama too. They assembled, with other dignitaries, in the center of the downtown area. When the signal was given, a cover was pulled back. And there it was.

A monument to the one-millionth fire hydrant produced by the Mueller Co., which makes nearly half the national supply.

"I want to show you the photo album," says Peggy Fleckenstein, Mueller's personnel manager. "This here is the luncheon we had." On the buffet is an ice sculpture of a hydrant. "And look at this. We had the employees assemble in a fire-hydrant formation out front of the building. Can you see it?"

Small-town America never changes. The towns might look a little different, downtown character snuffed out by those hideous superstores on the edge of town everywhere. But the people are the same.