The whistle used to split the morning open.
Before the sun cleared the low hills of western Chester County, men in soot-darkened jackets would stream toward the mills, boots striking pavement in steady rhythm. The air carried the metallic tang of iron and coal smoke, a smell that settled into skin and clothing and memory. On clear days, you could see the plume from miles away — a gray ribbon announcing that Coatesville was awake.
Today, the smoke stacks stand quieter, but the pulse remains…