My co-worker, Bruce, and I were assigned the task of designing and building a machine to automate the molding process making rubber oil seals. QuickSilver and maybe Ken will recall the name Victor Gasket Co., in Chicago, for whom we worked. Victor had built an oil seal production facility in Churubusco, Indiana, in 1963. By the early '70s, the Chicago seal plant was being gradually phased-out; thus, starting design work in 1970, the machine was destined to be erected in Indiana. We traveled back and forth the 170 miles, living in Chicago, for two years. By early 1972, key Chicago employees were being asked to move to 'Busco. After commuting for two years, living out of a manufacturing plant and motel, having become intimately familiar with every strip-joint and pool hall in Fort Wayne, I said, nah, to hell with it, packed up and moved my wife & I to Las Vegas, where I took over an ARCO service station. Here's the machine in July, '71, it's state of completion more than 50%. The girl was intended to show it's size; she is my wife's sister, then 15.
To the immediate right, was the molding department, housing dozens of molding presses which cured the rubber parts while holding tremendous pressure on them, all done at high temperature, around 400 degrees F. As Bruce and I toiled, when the molders went on "break", seeking to smoke, have a coffee, one young man, Tom, chose often to spend his break conversing with us, asking questions, interested, intelligent, about 20 or so. We liked him; he aspired to hopefully "bid in" on Maintenance, more pay, more responsibility, less drudgery in the oppressive heat of the molding area.
Out in Vegas, by 1977, having finished college and obtained my Engineering Degree from UNLV, divorced, my Mother then living with me, I had accepted a job in Colorado as Plant Engineer, place manufactured gypsum wallboard, "drywall". Early in '78, I disgusted with my job, and the Corporate Management, I called Bruce in Indiana; I had been gone from Victor (actually Dana Corporation) for 6 years. I could "see" his face through the receiver! Their Facilities Engineer had some months earlier suffered a stroke, and keeled over in the plant. Pandemonium amongst Maintenance reigned, Plant Management had made the disastrous decision to "assign" a Maintenance guy to each Production Foreman! Bruce urged me to talk to the Plant Manager, Joe, about taking over as Facilities Engineer. But, he warned, having little doubt I would be offered the position, "Be prepared for the biggest "can of worms" you've ever seen!" I got the job, and another cross-country move, damn!
My first day back in 'Busco, it turned out, was also Tom's first day back (the young man mentioned earlier), he sought me out, now had a black beard, and wore special silk underclothing, the sleeves of which were exposed by his short-sleeved shirt. Bruce had already prepared me for this. Tom had transferred to Maintenance a couple years earlier, had married, had a little girl, and one year before my return, had been critically-burned over most of his body in a boiler-room blast which killed his two coworkers, both of whom as luck (or lack) would have it, shielded his own body from the blast.
Bruce had been in his office, working on a blueprint, when the blast occurred, about 2PM. He said the building shook. My future wife-to-be, Debbie, was napping at home a mile away, before coming in to work second shift; she heard and felt the blast! Turns out, she worked on our molding machine, feeding parts into the molds. The "accident" was less that than a foolish lack of adequate experienced guidance by Management. Carl A., experienced Electrician, and a friend of Bruce's, had recently married. Carl M., older, experienced Maintenance worker, sought to determine why the big "boiler", which was actually not that at all, but rather a huge heater, having a giant 4" pipe coiled in a 4-foot diameter, through which special oil was pumped, a huge gas flame burning through the center of it's length, perhaps 12 or 15 feet. The system was losing oil, but no leaks could be found. It was suspected the coil was cracked, and the oil was being burned and exhausted with the gas combustion products. Carl A. "cracked" open, slightly, a drain valve of about 2-inch diameter, from which oil should have started to flow out. No oil. Evidently, he opened the valve almost fully, Carl. M. slightly off to one side, but having behind him, the open "man-door" which led outside, Tom standing just outside the door. Carl A. hit on the drain pipe with some heavy instrument; it had been clogged from years of sediment within it, and instantly a huge gush of very hot oil spewed forth, almost instantly filling the big room (there were 2 boilers) with white, gaseous oil fumes, which exploded before any of the three men could begin to flee. The concussion knocked Tom off his feet backwards.
Bruce ran down to the boiler room, ordered the whimpering H.R. Manager to call ambulances. Carl A., his friend was taken away in one, Bruce insisting on riding along. 10 miles to Fort Wayne, Carl was awake, aware, and told Bruce he can't make it. Bruce assured him he would. At the hospital E.R., after doctors looked Carl over, Bruce became livid at their apparent lack of starting any treatment. The doctor quietly told him nothing could be done. His friend died by morning, Carl. M within a few days. And Tom's convalescence and endless grafting and pain and physical therapy began. Doctors told him they quite frankly had not expected him to survive; had his system not been in excellent condition, he would have succumbed. He never smoked or drank, a fact he himself attributed in his favor.
Fact was, the Union "ran" that plant, beneath the "umbrella" cloak of "Management". I won't get into a match here with pro- and non- Union discourse. What I will say, is that several months after I started as Facilities Engineer, the Contract expired, the vote was to strike. The signs carried on the picket line out front stated "Joe's Gotta Go!".
More detail about the "worm can" is brewing, if anyone asks to hear. I've already bent ears too far back, maybe. imp
To the immediate right, was the molding department, housing dozens of molding presses which cured the rubber parts while holding tremendous pressure on them, all done at high temperature, around 400 degrees F. As Bruce and I toiled, when the molders went on "break", seeking to smoke, have a coffee, one young man, Tom, chose often to spend his break conversing with us, asking questions, interested, intelligent, about 20 or so. We liked him; he aspired to hopefully "bid in" on Maintenance, more pay, more responsibility, less drudgery in the oppressive heat of the molding area.
Out in Vegas, by 1977, having finished college and obtained my Engineering Degree from UNLV, divorced, my Mother then living with me, I had accepted a job in Colorado as Plant Engineer, place manufactured gypsum wallboard, "drywall". Early in '78, I disgusted with my job, and the Corporate Management, I called Bruce in Indiana; I had been gone from Victor (actually Dana Corporation) for 6 years. I could "see" his face through the receiver! Their Facilities Engineer had some months earlier suffered a stroke, and keeled over in the plant. Pandemonium amongst Maintenance reigned, Plant Management had made the disastrous decision to "assign" a Maintenance guy to each Production Foreman! Bruce urged me to talk to the Plant Manager, Joe, about taking over as Facilities Engineer. But, he warned, having little doubt I would be offered the position, "Be prepared for the biggest "can of worms" you've ever seen!" I got the job, and another cross-country move, damn!
My first day back in 'Busco, it turned out, was also Tom's first day back (the young man mentioned earlier), he sought me out, now had a black beard, and wore special silk underclothing, the sleeves of which were exposed by his short-sleeved shirt. Bruce had already prepared me for this. Tom had transferred to Maintenance a couple years earlier, had married, had a little girl, and one year before my return, had been critically-burned over most of his body in a boiler-room blast which killed his two coworkers, both of whom as luck (or lack) would have it, shielded his own body from the blast.
Bruce had been in his office, working on a blueprint, when the blast occurred, about 2PM. He said the building shook. My future wife-to-be, Debbie, was napping at home a mile away, before coming in to work second shift; she heard and felt the blast! Turns out, she worked on our molding machine, feeding parts into the molds. The "accident" was less that than a foolish lack of adequate experienced guidance by Management. Carl A., experienced Electrician, and a friend of Bruce's, had recently married. Carl M., older, experienced Maintenance worker, sought to determine why the big "boiler", which was actually not that at all, but rather a huge heater, having a giant 4" pipe coiled in a 4-foot diameter, through which special oil was pumped, a huge gas flame burning through the center of it's length, perhaps 12 or 15 feet. The system was losing oil, but no leaks could be found. It was suspected the coil was cracked, and the oil was being burned and exhausted with the gas combustion products. Carl A. "cracked" open, slightly, a drain valve of about 2-inch diameter, from which oil should have started to flow out. No oil. Evidently, he opened the valve almost fully, Carl. M. slightly off to one side, but having behind him, the open "man-door" which led outside, Tom standing just outside the door. Carl A. hit on the drain pipe with some heavy instrument; it had been clogged from years of sediment within it, and instantly a huge gush of very hot oil spewed forth, almost instantly filling the big room (there were 2 boilers) with white, gaseous oil fumes, which exploded before any of the three men could begin to flee. The concussion knocked Tom off his feet backwards.
Bruce ran down to the boiler room, ordered the whimpering H.R. Manager to call ambulances. Carl A., his friend was taken away in one, Bruce insisting on riding along. 10 miles to Fort Wayne, Carl was awake, aware, and told Bruce he can't make it. Bruce assured him he would. At the hospital E.R., after doctors looked Carl over, Bruce became livid at their apparent lack of starting any treatment. The doctor quietly told him nothing could be done. His friend died by morning, Carl. M within a few days. And Tom's convalescence and endless grafting and pain and physical therapy began. Doctors told him they quite frankly had not expected him to survive; had his system not been in excellent condition, he would have succumbed. He never smoked or drank, a fact he himself attributed in his favor.
Fact was, the Union "ran" that plant, beneath the "umbrella" cloak of "Management". I won't get into a match here with pro- and non- Union discourse. What I will say, is that several months after I started as Facilities Engineer, the Contract expired, the vote was to strike. The signs carried on the picket line out front stated "Joe's Gotta Go!".
More detail about the "worm can" is brewing, if anyone asks to hear. I've already bent ears too far back, maybe. imp