Bradford Smith

“Sewah Studios is a 100-year-old business operating in Marietta, Ohio, and we are the premier manufacturer of cast aluminum historical markers throughout the United States. It began with a man named E.M. Dawes in 1927, and today, we have 44 states on contract and we're in the middle of expanding our facility by 50% just to keep up with the demand. We had a fire back in the late 40s or early 50s before we moved on to this property and some records were destroyed, but we’ve produced anywhere between 60,000 and 70,000 markers across the United States.

Historical markers came from the advent of the interstate system. Eisenhower put highways across the country to make traveling faster, but all the little communities that depended on cars driving through started to die. Historical markers were a way to create a conduit that could get people off the highways and back into those smaller communities that needed tourism to thrive.

When we’re making a sign, the first thing we do is identify where they are and what other markers might be in the area. We really want to give them their own identity, so we steer away from something that has already been done and into different shapes, patterns, or color choices.

Really, it's just like an interview—we want to create a sign that is true to who they are. When you've got a new customer or a new potential client, you want to get an understanding of what's their purpose? What's their drive? What are they looking to get out of it? Then we just walk them through our process, our product, and then how it works.

Durability has always been a selling point from the beginning. In about 1929, the Ohio Revolutionary Trail Commission wanted plaques to mark the Old Revolutionary Trail throughout the state. Because cast aluminum was so new, the Commission was skeptical about its durability.

So when the day arrived for the delegates to view the samples, Hawes handed each one a sledgehammer to test the quality. The markers were bent, dented, and scarred, but none broke and every letter was still legible. The Commission was won over. The project involved 110 large markers and 400 smaller ones, and these markers were the first of the thousands of roadside historical markers that are now seen throughout the United States.

When Hurricane Katrina happened 20 years ago, it wiped out a little community we had made about 15 signs for. We reached out and they said they found every single one of the signs intact—except one—and that they were still looking for it because the bank was on top of it. They were able to get it out, but that one had to be replaced.

Mr. Hawes sold the business to my grandfather. At that point, Hawes was more of a craftsman and less of a businessman and had to take another job because he couldn't make ends meet. He met my grandfather, hired him, and he basically ran the shop. Hawes grew ill, and his son, who was going to be the successor, was killed in a tragic boating accident, so Hawes made the offer to my grandfather. I'm the third-generation owner and I’ve been here 20 years: my father came in 1991 and I came in 2003.

I was actually born in New Jersey, but my parents both grew up here in Marietta. They were high school sweethearts, and I was the last of four children. My parents moved to Arkansas, then split up, and that's where I stayed. But I came here every summer growing up. I've spent my whole life hanging out in this plant, running around, hiding tools, etc. So, it's been in my blood, but I never thought when I was a kid, ‘Hey, I'm going to move to Ohio and run Grandpa’s plant.’

I spent 15 years working on rock and roll shows doing lighting and sound rigging. I was traveling a lot, and that was great in my 20s because I got to see the country and do something I loved doing. The problem was that it was so monopolizing of my time and I didn't see an end to the game. I didn't see a way out.

So I got a degree and started doing IT and database integration for a company out of Little Rock, Arkansas. But I didn’t like that either. My first assignment was working for Citibank doing the Y2K testing of the database: I was watching the ones and zeros to see if everything would crash. Well, my dad, along with everybody else, was worried about Y2K and that things were going to collapse. We started talking, and that got a dialogue going about the business. I was just freshly divorced and he was looking to get out of the business.

He said, ‘I've got five years left and you look like you need a change of scenery. Why don’t you come up here and take a look?’

I’ve stayed partly because Marietta is probably one of the coolest places to live. It's almost like Mayberry, so to speak. We are very isolated from a big urban city, so it's pretty cheap to live here and we have good schools. It doesn't have that super ‘steel mill’ feel, but it does have that rugged worker mentality. The college influx and the hospital have been such a big attraction for people from the outside. When you think about it, we're just a little ol’ Appalachian town that has good, prideful people that live here.

And we have tremendous pride in our work. I remember walking around in Nashville when I saw a sign we had made, a few years old. I was inspecting the weathering when a couple walked up and said, ‘Oh, that's a really cool sign.’

I said that I made it, and they didn’t believe me. It sparked some really healthy conversation and reinforced to me how important this little company is and all of these people in Appalachia are. We’re touching so many people out in the world and these markers are telling their stories. When my employees are having a rough week or a rough time with something, I tell them to take pride in what they’re doing because there's a lot of people out there who are really astounded at what they do. You're not just in here shoveling: you're telling America’s story, one shovel at a time.”

– Bradford Smith, Owner of Sewah Studios

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