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Liberty Was Framed, it said in bold red letters, above Free Geronimo Pratt. Halfway to the statue, Moffitt stopped, and watched the climbers unfurl a banner. Moffitt was the first full-time caretaker in a dozen years. The island, and the statue, had fallen into disrepair the National Park Service recognized that its maintenance programs were wholly deficient. Moffitt, who was forty-one, with thick dark brown hair and a Houston accent, had gotten the job-considered a hardship assignment on account of the isolation-because of his good track record with maintenance. He thought the climbers were desecrating the statue, and probably damaging it. Moffitt was already as mad as the visitors, but not for the same reason.

“Faggots!” Their visits were being interrupted, and they objected, because they knew the situation was unlikely to end in their favor. It was about 150 yards from Moffitt’s house to the statue, and on the walk there, he could hear visitors yelling from the base of the pedestal up at the climbers. Moffitt looked up, focused his hazel eyes, and confirmed the claim. Moffitt was on his knees, pruning roses, a couple of hours later, when Mike Tennent, his chief ranger, ran up and told him that two guys were climbing the outside of the statue. It was a clear day, about 50 degrees, with a steady light wind out of the southwest. As usual for a day off, he planned to do a little bit of gardening before going to Manhattan with his wife and three kids, to go shopping in the city or bike riding in Central Park. As the superintendent of the Statue of Liberty National Monument, he also had a spectacular backyard. A trained floriculturist who’d worked on Lady Bird Johnson’s beautification efforts in Washington, DC, he had a spectacular vegetable garden.

He had a cup of coffee, then went out to the garden on the south side of his brick house, on Liberty Island, and started pulling weeds. David Moffitt awoke around eight o’clock and put on civilian clothes. On Saturday, May 10, 1980, her caretaker slept in. This exploration of corrosion, and the incredible lengths we go to fight it, is “engrossing…brilliant…Waldman’s gift for narrative nonfiction shines in every chapter….Watching things rust: who would have thought it could be so exciting” ( Natural History). Rust affects everything from the design of our currency to the composition of our tap water, and it will determine the legacy we leave on this planet. The result is a man-versus-nature tale that’s as fascinating as it is grand, illuminating a hidden phenomenon that shapes the modern world. Along the way, Waldman recounts stories of flying pigs, Trekkies, rust boogers, and unlikely superheroes. In Texas, he finds a corrosion engineer named Rusty, and in Colorado, he learns of the animosity between the galvanizing industry and the paint army. He follows a high-tech robot through an arctic winter, hunting for rust in the Alaska pipeline. He sneaks into an abandoned steelworks and nearly gets kicked out of Can School. In Rust, Waldman travels from Key West to Prudhoe Bay, meeting people concerned with corrosion. “Jonathan Waldman’s first book is as obsessive as it is informative…he takes us deep into places and situations that are too often ignored or unknown” ( The Washington Post).

#Best rust books full#

It is rust-and this book, full of wit and insight, disasters and triumphs-is its story. This entropic menace destroys cars, fells bridges, sinks ships, sparks house fires, and nearly brought down the Statue of Liberty’s torch. It is the hidden enemy, the one that challenges the very basis of civilization. Rust has been called “the great destroyer,” the “pervasive menace,” and “the evil.” “This look at corrosion-its causes, its consequences, and especially the people devoted to combating it-is wide-ranging and consistently engrossing” ( The New York Times). Finalist for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize ** A Wall Street Journal Best Book of the Year