I've been tearing things down for 26 years.

That's what I do, all I do, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

My demolition outfits is just outside of Hammond, Indiana.

It's a one-man operation on paper.

I quote, hire the guys, an invoice.

I sourced my men through a guy named Aldo,

who runs a crew call out of a parking lot south of Bournemann Expressway.

They're hard workers, cash in hand folk, who show up at six in the morning and don't ask questions.

Since their non-union, there's no insurance or safety certifications, which is fine with me

since certifications cost money, and the kind of men Aldo supplies don't have social security

numbers anyway.

With Aldo's men, I underbid legitimate contractors by 40%.

That's the margin.

And business is good.

The Murphy's meatpacking plant set on a four-acre lot on the south side of Gurry,

about a mile east of the rail yards with a freight train stack up overnight.

It stood two stories tall, made of brick and concrete, flat-roofed, built in the late 40s when Gary was still Gary.

Steel mills running, population growing, the whole machine humming.

The plant processed cattle for 30-something years, closed in 2003 when the parent company folded, and had been sitting empty ever since.

20 years of nothing.

The city wanted the site cleared.

Redevelopment was the word they used.

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