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I grew up in in Bingham Canyon, one of the manliest of man places around. It really was. Nearly all of the men worked hard at dangerous jobs in the Kennecott copper mine. Nearly all of the men who worked in the mine smoked cigarettes, shot pool and drank beer after work—and some before, or so it seemed. Nearly all of the men had scars and stories as proof of wartime heroics, high school athleticism and near-death experiences in the mine itself. Nearly all of their wives had no outside jobs but rather worked at home tending to their homes and raising their kids. Nearly all of those wives wanted to be free of that work and to find jobs in the workplace.