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It’s a picture often used when a writer or producer wants to make a point about the exploitation of American workers. The picture is of a man equipped with heat shielding coats and gloves. He is bent over the front spout of a blast furnace, seemingly at the center of a fireworks display, as molten metal sparks fly all around him. The implication is that this is a picture of a person forced to work under horrendous conditions.

The person is a cupola operator (a cupola is a a melting device/furnace used in foundries). I’ve been privileged to know many, and those pictures dishonor these workers. The writer sees only the physical aspects of the job. It is abhorrent to him, and he assumes it is abhorrent to others. He does not understand the pride of those doing this work.

Clarence was such a man. He was a cupola operator. He wasn’t forced to take this job – he worked for years building enough seniority to apply for the job and hold it. He shows his pride quietly. You can see it in him as you can in anyone who does a job they are proud of, and knows they’re the best at what they do.

It’s quiet in the melting area at this time of the week, unlike later when the foundry lines will start running. It’s Monday morning, 5:15 a.m., and Clarence is walking in. His shift starts at 5:30 a.m.

He enjoys this time of week, when he brings "the beast" to life, his pet name for the mass of equipment under his charge every day. He’s looking at "the beast" now – a huge cupola, a melting device/furnace used in foundries. It has a diameter of ten feet and is ninety feet high.

He’s alone now. He climbs the stairs to the operator’s deck, casually looking around to see if everything is ready. Everything is in its place, and the deck has been cleaned off, looking better than it will at any time until the following Monday.

He’s carrying his safety equipment. His arms contain heavy aluminum-backed gloves, a long aluminum coat, hard hat, and heavy face shield tinted very dark. He is already wearing his dark green safety glasses. He enters the cupola control room, and deposits his load. An electrician and millwright are there, doing some instrument checks, and a third shift lab technician is filling out the daily charge card, which tells him what mix of metals, coke, limestone, and alloys he will be using that day. Clarence glances at it, and then reads over the repair notes from the weekend. The repairs went well, and finished early, which gives him a few minutes of relaxation before getting into serious preparations.

Much has been done, in preparation for this morning. Friday night, the cupola bottom doors were opened, and everything inside stripped out and cleaned, followed by refractory repair, and any necessary mechanical and electrical repairs.

Sunday night began the start-up ritual. The bed coke, necessary to provide the heat to melt the iron, went in at midnight, and was ignited by the 1200 degree, 27,000 cfm (cubic feet per minute) air blast.

Once the bed coke was burned in, the metal charging started, consisting of alternating layers of metal, coke, limestone, and alloys. It takes thirteen of each to fill the cupola to the charge door, which towers maybe thirty-five feet above the tapper’s deck, where Clarence is now standing.

All this has been completed by the time Clarence came in. He checks the log sheets to make sure nothing’s been missed, and then starts his inspection. Everything must be in place, before he will say “go ahead”. The Oxygen lances for tap-out must be in place, hooked up, and ready to use. Molding sand must be spread deeply over the floor below the cupola, in the event emergency draining is required. He looks over the cooling water system. There can be no leaks. Mixing water and molten iron can cause explosions.

He checks the required tonnage per hour, for the castings being poured, and checks how much iron is currently in the huge holding furnaces, which “the big beast” will keep full of molten iron. All of this tells him when the iron needs to come out of the tap hole. He knows how long it takes a raw charge to melt down, so that the molten iron and slag inside the cupola are at the ideal depth for tapping. By now, he has calculated he will need iron at 6:12 a.m., so at 5:35 a.m., he informs all those necessary it’s time to start the final blast. He opens up the blast gate, and air now enters the cupola at 1200 degrees and at 27,000 cfm. The coke bed turns white hot, and the iron slowly begins to melt.

Clarence’s work now intensifies. He is constantly looking at the blast volume, the back pressure readings, and listening to the sound – the sound of the blast. He can’t tell you what he’s listening for. He can only tell you when it sounds wrong.

About fifteen minutes later, Clarence adds tuyere inspection to his list of checks. "Tuyere" is a French word for the eight large water-cooled tubes that direct the blast air into the cupola. Each tuyere has a heavily-tinted sight gauge, and he now walks around the cupola, repeatedly looking through the gauges. He’s looking for drops of iron falling from above. By viewing the amount and distribution of the drops, he learns how well it’s melting today.

Sometime later, at a time known only to himself, he calls for a millwright and electrician. They must stay with him for any emergency work required during tapout. Clarence now is arming himself with all the safety equipment he brought with him. He looks like an apparition, when it’s all on. He turns off the gas and removes the large iron gas burners from the front spout and iron trough. Bending down, he connects the lance rod to the Oxygen line, and a millwright lights the end of the rod with an acetylene torch. When Oxygen flows through the metal rod, and it is ignited, it burns with an extremely intense heat – hot enough to melt the sand in the tap hole.

He pulls down the face shield, and is covered with a black mask as he begins working to insert the lance rod, bending lower and lower to check the progress it’s making into the tap hole. Finally, a few sparks emerge, and he intensifies his effort. When he fully busts through, there is a roar of air and a burst of iron droplets and sparks shoot all around him. He’s in the center of a fireworks display, but he doesn’t back away - he’s not done. He stays bent over in the middle of the huge iron shower, and keeps working with the lance rod until the tap hole is fully open, and molten iron is rapidly flowing out.

He drops the rod, and grabs a heavy iron bar. He begins "raking" the iron out the front spout, and down the trough to the holding furnace. Right now, the iron is colder that it will be all day, and it is meeting the relatively cool trough. It needs help to begin flowing, but will soon heat up. Finally, Clarence stops. He now is surrounded by 2700 degree iron, flowing down the troughs to the holding furnace, and he is sweating mightily.

He walks into the air-conditioned control room, satisfied. He strips off all the protective gear, but still keeps an eye on the blast volume and the back pressure in the cupola. He walks out, and observes everything around the cupola, before speaking to Paul, who is coming to relieve him, about some minor abnormal things he noticed during start-up. He’s finally relaxed, and walks to the break area, for several cups of his morning coffee. Others are around him, and they talk about their weekend activities, and the latest management idiocies; but today he enjoys sitting quietly by himself, enjoying a feeling of satisfaction – the beast is alive and breathing. It will breathe heavily until next Friday at midnight when it will be cooled, dropped, cleaned out, and readied for Clarence to breathe life into it again on Monday.

The union’s position is that the enormous responsibility of knowing when to tap out, and the huge cost of a mistake, should not be an hourly employee’s job. The responsibility should be borne by management, and so it is – on paper, and by contract. Clarence, however, assumes the responsibility not because he has to, but because he’s not about to allow anyone else to do it for him, and he doesn’t really trust anyone in management to understand the beast.

I once asked a melting supervisor how he knew the exact time to tap out. He gave me a long technical dissertation on the product mix, the quality of the coke being used, how well the hot blast is performing, and other minute details. After he was done explaining, he added, with a smile, "But, there’s a better way. I usually just watch Clarence, and when he puts on his heat coat and gloves, I know it’s time."

I wanted to write this as a tribute to "Clarences everywhere". They come to work every day to do a job for pay, and to do it well. They leave work every day knowing they’ve done it.

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