LaBco is a fabrication shop, specializing in customized components, or items, not normally available for off-the-shelf purchasing from a manufacturer. We are proud to offer our customers a contemporary shop with all the necessary tools and services to satisfy any customer's requirements. Whether it's custom design services requiring use of our CAD system, machining, material handling, fabricating, engineering, prototypes, or finish painting capabilities, LaBco can do the job. Each customer, regardless of size, is respected and treated with their needs in mind.
In 1956, J.E. (Pete) LaBerge established LaBco of Palmyra, Inc. Today, LaBco, a quality, service-oriented metal fabricator is under the direction of Gary LaBerge.
All work is done in a clean, safe, and healthy, 9000-square foot environment. Customers are invited and encouraged to stop in to talk about their needs, or for a personal tour of the facility.
The New York State Department of Labor has recognized and certified
LaBco of Palmyra, Inc., as a safe
workplace in which to work and do business.
LaBco, located on Route 21 just 3 miles north of NYS Thruway Exit 43, is convenient to Wayne, Monroe,
Ontario, and surrounding counties, providing quick and easy accessibility for all customers.
LaBco has the ability to work with steel, aluminum, stainless, plastics, copper, and brass.
|by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow|
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.