We met on a lonely hilltop, where he planned to kill himself.
His factory had shutdown and he couldn't find another union—or decent-paying job. He wouldn't take charity when his money ran out. And so, he'd wound up back at the auto-parts plant, earning less than half of what he'd earned before for a job that now paid him by the piece.
We met because I had been tracking for my newspaper, the Detroit Free Press, workers from his factory, which had closed nearly a year before.