Chapter 12: The Highest Fatality Rate Plant In The Nation
For those of you who feel you’re working in a miserable environment, believe me, after reading this your perspective will change.
After graduating from college, I accepted the position of floor foreman in charge of pouring five, thirty ton heats of molten steel a night. I worked a steady midnight shift. This was at Buckeye Steel Castings in Columbus. I was used to this type of environment due to working for Wheeling Pittsburgh Steel. I found the job through an employment agency. After the first night, I went back to the agency, “I can’t work there”. “Well, if you don’t stay three months, you'll pay the eight hundred dollar fee and won't have a job.” I returned and stayed four years. Buckeye had the highest fatality rate of any industrial facility in the United States. Old industrial foundry, built in the eighteen-nineties before regulatory commissions. Extremely dangerous, many men were missing limbs or scarred from the steel. I have a plate in my left leg, a bolt through the hip and a huge burn scar on my hip and arm.
On my second day, I received a death threat from a convicted felon. Homer was Turn Foreman over the entire department. He’s a big man 6’4”, born and raised in Kentucky, always had a tobacco chew in his mouth. A union man named Bill was on downtime waiting for working material. Homer told me to tell Bill to get a shovel and clean sand off the railroad tracks. Trains would back the cars in and sand would derail them. We’d have to use an overhead crane to put them back on the track. I asked Bill, and he told me to shovel the sand myself. I went away and thought, If I let him get away with this, I might as well quit. I went back and explained that his refusal was insubordination and would result in dis-charge. I didn't know who his union representative was, but I’d find out. I’d then bring the steward over, and he could refuse my request in front of his union representative. He understood and stormed to the railroad tracks. In a dark area, Bill came right up in my face, saying if he saw me outside, he’d kill me. Management parked inside the foundry, if parking outside, our cars would be destroyed. J.J. Slappy was a black man and Bill’s shop steward. He saw Bill in my face and asked what happened. I told him, and he explained that I had better be very careful, as the man had just gotten out of prison for manslaughter. Buckeye would hire felons, they were very appreciative and hard workers. From that day forward, I never had a problem with Bill or any other employee. I had passed a test of sorts.
J.J. was a steel pourer, his partner was Big Jim. Jim earned his title, 6’8”, over 300 lbs., with no fat. He was from Louisiana and had a deep baritone voice. Even though I was their boss, we became close friends. The steel was made in an electric arc weld furnace. Mainly scraped car parts would be dumped into the furnace and the cover would swing over with 3 huge electrodes. Upon start up, it sounded like a massive blender and extremely loud. The powerful electricity charges would melt the cars. The whole furnace would then tip and pour the 30 tons of steel into a ladle. A ladle had a hinged 3-inch steel handle that was attached to a stopper. The pourer would push down on the handle, thus raising the stopper, and the steel would come out the bottom nozzle. Normally. Once every ten heats or so, we’d pour the steel into a ladle that was not sufficiently pre-heated. This would form a skull, the steel would harden at the bottom of the stopper, causing it not to open. It was my job, for some reason, to open it. I would hold a hammer with the handle up and the crane operator would bring the ladle over and lower it onto the handle. This would usually force the stopper up and break the seal. However, at times the handle would chip off the bottom of the stopper. Now we have a 30 ton bucket of molten steel that won’t shut off. Sirens would blast, men would scatter. The ladle would be taken to a pit and the steel would drain out. Bulldozers would cut the hardened steel up, and we’d dump it back in the furnace.
I saw Big Jim do something I didn’t think was possible. We had a frozen heat and I came over with a hammer. Jim said he’d like to try first. He pushed down on the handle and held it. I saw the handle starting to bend. OMG. On the second try, he permanently bent a solid 3-inch steel handle and the heat opened.
I had never seen such massive, incredible strength. Just once, I said something that made him mad. He put a finger that looked like a baseball bat in my face, suggesting I back off. I did.
J.J. was a pimp, I didn't know this until after 3 years. His work car was a Regency 98 Oldsmobile, his play car an El-Dorado Cadillac. One Saturday morning after work, he asked if I’d like to have a drink. I followed him to a garage and said that I thought we were having a drink. He said we were and opened a door. I was amazed, this was the most well decorated garage I’d ever seen. Fully carpeted, a well stocked bar, beautiful couches that fold into beds, mirrors on the ceiling and several oak coffee tables. I asked him what this place is for. He said this is where his ladies took their clients. He opened a picture portfolio. Absolutely beautiful women, mostly white. He offered a freebie, I politely refused as I had a girlfriend. He had four garages on the North, South, East, and West side of Columbus. Likewise, he paid off vice, if they were cracking down on the West side, he’d move everything to the East, very efficient businessman. He was also a very strong Christian. I went to his church and was the only white person there. They sang and danced, being truly joyful. I thought that this is how church should be. The choir he sang in had produced several albums, he gave me one. I once asked how he justified being such a strong Christian and a pimp. He said prostitutes are going to be prostitutes. He explained that he protected his girls, kept them clean from drugs, respected them, kept them off the streets and they were all good friends. He was faithfully married and felt this was a part of his Christian ministry. I, to this day, cannot argue with his logic. J.J. was a good, if not great, man. He also saved my life.
One Saturday morning, Cliff and I arrived at a dive bar at 8:00 am. Cliff worked in the office, was an ex-marine and of small stature. We drank a couple shots of whiskey and some beer. At 11:00 he suggested going to Joe's Hole. I told him absolutely not, whites do not go to Joe’s Hole. Period. After more alcohol, he talked me into it. I'm thinking the place would be empty at 12:30 on a Saturday afternoon. We opened the door, walked up to the bar and sat down. This was a mistake, the bar was packed, and we are the only whites there. Cliff’s drunk, but still ordered a beer. Several minutes later, he looked around and loudly said, “Look at all these blackies”. There was a dancer on the bar, he yelled, “Get out of my face.” and passed out. I’m thinking this is not good. A big man walked up and asked for a quarter to ride the bus. I knew better but gave him the quarter. Ten minutes later, he sauntered over, asked me to buy him and his blackie friends a drink. When I refused, he opened up his coat and there was an old straight razor, the kind with a wooden handle the blade slides into. He said when we walk outside, we’re going down. I looked up and saw J.J. walking in. Thank God. He asked what on earth Cliff and I were doing there. I told him about the men at the table and pointed them out. He walked over and put his palms down. The seven of them stood up, put on their coats and left. He would never tell me what had been said. He saved our lives.
Bart was a heat follower, his job was to record the weight of each casting. Casting weight all varied and I needed to know the total weight poured. It took an hour to drain a ladle. When getting close we’d dump the remainder out as it was slag which would ruin an expensive casting. Fifty minutes in, I asked Bart how much was out. He had on tinted glasses, which enabled him to look directly at the steel. He smiled and said, “I don't know.” “What do you mean, you don't know?” I looked at his tally sheet and there are no numbers, just drawings of people he’d seen in the steel. “What on earth are you doing?" “LSD” “In a steel foundry?” I had the crane operator dump the heat and told Bart to go watch the cafeteria’s vending machine. The next morning, my boss asked why I dumped ten tons of good steel. I said the tally sheet had mistakenly fallen into the ladle to save my friend's job.
Homer and I went drinking one morning, I drank half a 5th of Jack Daniel's. Homer drank a 5th. The man was weaned on grain alcohol (moonshine), he talked the same, walked the same, his nose was red. I’m falling down drunk. I had a 1970 Corvette which I floored, lost control and slammed into a retaining wall. The fiberglass shattered on the rear fender, I tore a big hunk off and threw it over the bridge. Insurance paid for the repair, and several months later I traded it in because I wanted a stick shift.
When writing some of these memories, It occurred to me that I really lacked common sense with the absolute stupidity of some of the decisions I’d made. I traded a beautiful red T-Top Corvette for a Vega. Not only that, but I paid $9300 for a vehicle that normally sold for $2900. Who would do such a thing? The car salesman probably told jokes about me for weeks, if not months. “Here’s the car for you, Cosworth Twin Cam, limited production. 4 cylinders, fuel injection with dual overhead cam., horsepower per cubic inch, built by the Cosworth Racing Team. This is a very wise investment, for it will only go up in value.” When he showed me the mechanic's signature who built the engine on the block, I was sold. One small issue, no mechanic in the state knew how to work on it. I’d be driving on the interstate and the thing would suddenly sputter and die. It was in the shop nine times, never repaired.
Debbie and I were one another’s best friend. I was in love with her, but she refused to be intimate as it would ruin our relationship. Nevertheless, I spent all my spare time with her, thinking I’d eventually win her over. She could be affectionate with strangers, but not with someone she loved. She had been rapped by her father for several years as a young teen. She was sexually traumatized and we eventually fell apart. Six months after buying the Vega, we went on vacation to Fort Lauderdale. The second day, she met a male Canadian in the hotel parking lot, went to a bar with him and never returned. I cut the vacation short and was driving in sweltering heat on the Florida turnpike when my magnificent investment died once again. I finally got it started and decided I’d had enough. With no announcement, I drove directly into a Chevrolet dealer's service area and said they could have the stupid thing for some boxes. Again, I had to have been playing with 49 cards. I was definitely not the sharpest tool in the shed. I packed everything up and thumbed to the airport. When opening the apartment door, I smelled a stench. The aquarium had cracked, water was all over the floor and my expensive fish were dead. Nice vacation. The dealership auctioned the car off and came back at me for the balance, over $4000, which I absolutely refused to pay. When I married my future wife, Mary Jo, she asked what this bill was for. I told her, “This will ruin our credit.” My newlywed took all her savings and paid off the car, she was an amazing woman.
My third year of employment is when the fifth miracle occurred. Management had temporarily put me on day shift to oversee the mold master, the machine that made the smaller castings. We manufactured couplers, frames, axle housings, and bolsters for the railroad industry, our biggest customer. Our largest casting was a fifty-ton pipe cap, which drove pipe into the sea for the oil industry. We used facing sand to make the casting. If putting your hand into the sand, you’d see a perfect impression. This sand would be put into molds, which is where the molten steel is poured. Sand was made in equipment called maulers, one-fifth mile down from the mold master. The sand was poured onto a continuous running belt, one yard wide, three stories up. When reaching the mold master, the sand would hit a plow directing to a chute and drop three stories below to the equipment.
This day is when my tragedy occurred. The plow jammed in the up position and the sand would not go into the chute, putting the mold master into downtime. I called maintenance and they were all busy. I decided to try to fix it. I climbed up three stories, walked along the catwalk, and came to the plow. Simple fix, an air valve had jammed, I put a screwdriver into the valve, releasing the air. I called the sand department to start up the equipment and walked the one-fifth mile down to see if the sand was being made. This is when I made the most horrible mistake of my life.
The overhead cranes ran on two railroad tracks. One track is on the south side, the other on the north. There is a huge pulley and hook, which lifts the ladle. There are bumpers on the cranes about three yards long to protect against damage if the cranes collided. Spur of the moment, I sat on the railroad track to get a better view of the maulers. I looked in the crane cab, 30 yards over, to see if the operator was there. Empty. He’d been bending down. I had on safety glasses and no peripheral vision. The next thing that happened was the crane bumper hit and started to crush. The operator had been looking at the floor and saw my leg out of the corner of his eye and immediately plugged it. A thirty-ton, fifty-thousand horsepower crane doesn't immediately stop, there’s a drift. If the operator had waited a split second longer, I would have been cut in two. The bumper was on me and off and snapped my left leg femur in two. I went into shock and passed out. The operator seeing me in a place where I had no business being and in split seconds saving my life is a very great miracle.
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I was in the hospital for three months, off work for a year. I have a plate in my left leg, a bolt in my hip. I had two operations, the first was to install a brace through the bone in my shin. I woke up in my room with the brace attached to the weight, flat on my back. I was to lie like this for two weeks, the purpose being for the femur to realign, so the plate could be attached. The nurse gave me a laxative and a sleeping pill. I suddenly woke up and really had to go. My roommate was lying on his back watching, he’d just had spinal surgery and couldn't raise up. He suggested calling a nurse. Nope, I can handle this. I put the bedpan between my legs, grabbed the handle above me, and raised up. This is horrible pain as the femur is still broken. I had one hand on the bed and the other on the handle, no way to put the bedpan under. I lowered and thought, I was drenched in sweat. I pulled back up and placed the bedpan under with my left foot and started to relieve myself. I was on the bedpan four times, probably hitting it once. My roommate was vomiting and using air spray. The nurse came in and was not pleased. I had a mess on my forehead, in my hair, and naturally all over the bed. My roommate is lying in vomit. Forty minutes later, we’re finally clean. Next time, I called the nurse. A doctor came in and said he had to catheterize me, he was fast. There’s no way one would agree to this. A bag inflates in the bladder, which holds it in place. When removed, they simply turn an air valve which deflates the bag, and it painlessly slips out. A couple of months later, I heard a man screaming and asked a nurse what had happened. He was catheterized, didn’t want it in, and didn’t know about the valve. He pulled his urinary tract inside out and there was blood on the ceiling. Hospitals are not fun, sleep is constantly interrupted as they have to check vitals and when they come in and explain this procedure might hurt a little, I’d feel like crying.
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