There is nothing glamorous about the RS Owens factory in Jefferson Park,a gritty lower-middle-class neighbourhood in north-west Chicago. The building itself seems to have changed little since it was built in 1960,as does much of the surrounding area,where small single-family homes punctuate strips of low-rise light industrial buildings. Inside,there is almost no automation. Workers use ageing equipment to melt and shape metals in much the same way as has been done since the factory first opened.
Yet RS Owens plays a central role in one of the glitziest nights in the American calendar: the Oscars. Those 13.5in gold statues that every film star dreams of brandishing while delivering a homily to less-successful fellow nominees,colleagues,parents or God have been made here for 30 years.
The statue defines the Academy Awards. It is the trophy,not the stars,that dominates the advertisements for the event.
The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences claims the figure on the award is a knight holding a crusaders sword,standing on a reel of film with five spokes,signifying the Academys five original branches actors,directors,producers,technicians and writers. In fact,he is a faceless art-deco figure of the machine age capturing a time when the movies were magical and industrial production promised American workers a bright future of well-paid jobs in efficient factories.
RS Owens ran one such factory. In the decades following the Second World War,blue-collar jobs were profitable and secure,helping millions of Americans lead a middle-class lifestyle despite little formal education or training. A half-century later,optimism has been replaced by malaise. Across the rust belt,whole towns have been devastated by the loss of factories because of cost pressures and the changing nature of demand.
RS Owens encapsulates the story of what has happened to much of American industry. In its heyday in the 1970s,the company employed 400 full-time workers and worked three shifts around the clock. Today,it employs just 100,having cut 30 jobs over the past three years. It cannot offer full-time hours to all its workers. Overtime is rare.
Battered by weak demand and undercut by low-cost foreign competition,RS Owens is fighting for its life.
The Oscar begins in the hands of MartinVega,a cheery-faced 43-year-old who sports a blue baseball cap and a grimy T-shirt. Vega,who has worked at RS Owens for seven years,stirs a pot of molten metal. It is Britannium,the pewter-based alloy at the core of the Oscar statue. With a sense of ceremony,Vega scoops impurities off the top using a metal cup on the end of a long handle and then ladles the bubbling alloy into a mould. Hand-casting like this is a manually intensive process that results in a high-quality,expensive product. This is like an art form, says Vega,who can make about 20 of the statues a day,producing a years worth of Oscar innards in little over two days. To make an Oscar is a real honour.
Vega bangs the mould a couple of times before removing the statue. It emerges with frayed edges that will need to be ground off,also by hand,before the Britannium core is finished with layers of copper,nickel,silver and,finally,24-carat gold.
When Vega removes the statue,it is recognisable as an Oscar but clearly different. In a way,it encapsulates the contrast between the workers in the dingy Chicago factory who bring it into being and the glamorous stars at the Kodak Theatre in Hollywood,where it will take centre-stage. At this point,the statue is made of base metal,rough and unfinished. By Oscar night,it will be glistening and perfectly formed,but superficial: the gold layer is a fraction of a millimetre thick.
In true Hollywood style,Oscar has even had some nips and tucks. We gave it a facelift six years ago, says Scott Siegel,RS Owens owner. They felt the features were less distinct and asked us to make some changes,but to make them almost unnoticeable. The statue also got taller,although the reel of film it stands on was made shorter,to keep the overall height of the trophy the same.
The 64-year-old Siegel is an unlikely looking owner of a small manufacturing company. Short and slight,with silver hair,a diamond earring and a lip goatee,he speaks quietly and calmly. On our second interview,I observe how Zen-like his office is and ask if he is a Buddhist. He responds: Ive done some chanting.
Siegel inherited the company from his father,who started the manufacturer in 1938 and built it into a business that,although it suffered in economic down cycles,was essentially robust and growing. But RS Owens is now a shadow of its former self.
Siegel senior used to worry about domestic competition. Globalisation has hit the trophy industry,and Siegel juniors concerns are more about cheap Chinese competition. One by one,US companies have either folded because they cannot compete,or have started themselves to source from China,where factories die-cast designs made in the US or copy American trophies.
Siegel claims most of the Chinese trophies are poor quality,a charge companies that source from China deny. This may seem like an obscure intra-industry squabble,but it became the stuff of celebrity news last year,when Robert DeNiro was awarded the Cecil B DeMille lifetime achievement award at the Golden Globes.
DeNiro conspicuously turned up at a backstage press conference without the award,explaining to the assembled reporters that the trophy was already broken. Ever the pro,DeNiro laughed it off. The top fell off, he said. They warned me. Theyll have to solder it back on. Nevertheless,the incident was embarrassing for the Globes – and provided Siegel with high-profile evidence of his claim about the quality of Chinese-made statues.
Siegel has tried to fight back. This year,he insisted the companys catalogue carry Made in the USA next to all its metal statues.
Price,however,is a powerful motivator. As well as the Golden Globes,RS Owens has lost a string of contracts to Chinese competitors in recent years,including the the MTV Awards and the Peoples Choice awards.
Even RS Owens is not immune to Chinas siren song. The company sources raw materials from China and imports some non-metal trophies from Asia,accounting for about one-fifth of its sales.
The Oscars may not be the companys biggest money-spinner,but they bring prestige and other business. The company also makes the Super Bowl players trophies; the Emmys; the American Idol final award and the Baftas that are given out in the US,but it is the Oscars that are the companys lifeline.
So far,the Academy has never hesitated in renewing its annual contract with the company. If they go to China well throw in the towel, Siegel says.
The Chinese are not Siegels only headache. RS Owens was recently involved in a bruising contract dispute with the Teamsters union,which represents workers on the factory floor. The union balked at managements demand to freeze wages and cut one-and-a-half weeks of holiday time. It threatened to shut down the factory,and sent out a press release saying the Oscars ceremony might be disrupted as a result.
The claim was widely reported in the media,even though the Academy said it had enough statues for this years awards. (It orders them a year in advance after thieves made off with the Oscars in 2000.) The dispute was resolved just before Christmas,but it has left a sour taste in the mouths of both management and workers at RS Owens. The tussle highlighted the arguments raging in the US about how to create decent jobs for workers in an America that is still suffering from the great recession,and where Occupy Wall Street has brought to public attention the countrys growing inequality.
For the union,Siegels conditions encapsulate how the middle class is being squeezed by employers who are forcing productivity gains by making employees work longer and harder without raising wages. For Siegel,the negative publicity created by the union,which he says has never helped him defend the company from Chinese competition,endangered RS Owens contract with the Academy and therefore imperilled the very jobs the union claims to defend.
It is revealing that the labour force on the factory floor is almost entirely made up of immigrants from Mexico,many of them unable to speak more than a few words of English. A few decades ago,Siegel recalls,they were all Polish,Czech,Italian or German. Immigrants from Latin America are more willing to take low-paying,semi-skilled jobs than their counterparts from Europe.
Off the factory floor and speaking in Spanish – a language that separates RS Owens workers from its management – Vega is more open. He recounts how he came to the US 32 years ago from rural Michoacán,in western Mexico. Back home,he was a farmer,growing corn,beans,tomatoes and chilli peppers. In America,he worked as a kitchen hand in an Italian restaurant before switching to factory work. Although he is thankful for the job at RS Owens,he says it doesnt pay well,and,because of the fall in demand,the company can sometimes only give him 30 hours of work a week. He and his wife,who works in a food plant,collectively bring home about $40,000 a year. He has four children and tries to send money back to his family in Mexico at least $100 every other month.
A generation ago,an immigrant such as Vega might have worked his way into the middle class,with all the comforts and benefits that conferred. But the man who gives birth to the Oscar statue views the prospect of joining the middle class as a distant dream.
Were living from paycheck to paycheck, he says. Were surviving,no more than that. Ive considered going back,but my kids are American. So Im stuck here.
© 2012 The Financial Times Limited