Foundry Life

One piece of equipment we found to be vital in our foundry operations was the sandblaster.

After molten bronze is poured into a ceramic shell to produce a desired casting, the bronze form shrinks slightly as the metal cools, causing the ceramic shell to crack and begin to break away from the metal.

Once the bronze in its ceramic shell cools, the cracked shell is removed by hand by the use of hammer and chisel. Inevitably, some of the shell stubbornly adheres to the metal in difficult-to-reach crevasses in the casting. This shell residue is removed by blasting it with air that contains either sand or glass beads.

The sandblaster is a steel cabinet measuring about 4 by 4 feet by 6 feet tall. It has an internal space that begins about waist high and has a sealable side entry door through which the item to be blasted is placed inside onto a perforated steel plate. Sand that is used in blasting falls through the perforations into a collecting bin where it is recycled.

A pair of thick rubber gloves and forearm extensions are attached to the front of the cabinet and extend into the interior space. Just above the glove access is a glass window that provides external visibility into the cabinet.

Also inside the cabinet are an electric light, a rubber air supply hose that has the “sandblast gun” attached at one end and leads outside the cabinet to the compressed air supply line on the other end.

Externally on the cabinet are an electric blower which blows a dust-clearing stream of air into the cabinet, and a large fabric exhaust bag which collects the dust and small bits of debris for later disposal.

The operator of the sandblaster puts the casting inside and seals the door shut, turns on the light and blower, puts his hands and forearms into the rubber gloves and reaches into the cabinet and adjusts the position of the casting, aims the gun at the area to be blasted, and depresses a pedal at the foot of the cabinet. A compressed air blast of sand then begins to eat away at the ceramic, without damaging the bronze.

The sandblaster is an efficient piece of equipment for rapidly cleaning and unifying the surface of a bronze casting.

One day an employee approached me with a concern about the sandblaster. He was worried that the internal surfaces of the rubber gloves, which of course are never exposed to external light, and which are constantly exposed to perspiration from the operator’s hands, might be a fertile breeding ground for fungus. He thought that his hands might be beginning to itch from exposure.

I replied that although I had never heard of this being a problem it might potentially be one, and I suggested we could deal with it by dusting the inside of the gloves with an ant-fungal powder. That evening I stopped at a drugstore and purchased an anti-fungal foot powder, returned to the foundry, and dusted it into the gloves.

The next day, at the end of his shift, I approached the employee to ask if he felt that we had adequately resolved his problem with the sandblaster.

His disgusted response: “Aw, MAN….Now my HANDS smell just like my FEET!”

As our business grew over time it became obvious we needed more working space. A building about a block away became available for sale.

We bought it, even though it included a feature that was for us a two-edged sword.

Ownership of the property included a contract with a major outdoor sign company under which the sign company had erected a large billboard at the rear of the property, and they made periodic payments to the owner, derived from ads on the billboard.

On the one hand, this feature was good, as it brought in fairly steady revenue stream from the billboard ads.

On the other hand, it was the dominant feature of the rear yard. It was a steel frame structure that displayed ads measuring about 15 feet high by 50 feet wide. It was supported by a double wall cylindrical steel column about 36 inches in diameter, and it stood some 30 feet tall so as to be seen from the highway.

Frankly, it was big and obtrusive and ugly, and it attracted pigeons and the mess they make, and it stood in the way of improvements we thought we might like to make in the yard. But, all things considered, we went for it.

We did not know at the time of purchase of the property that the seller was a former employee of the sign company and that he had been given a “sweetheart” contract.

About a year in, we had moved some of our operation to the rear yard. And we got to looking at the billboard framework and noting that it was ideally positioned to provide lighting to the yard. It could easily be done by clamping lighting fixtures to the support structure of the billboard (with no adverse effect on the billboard) and we could supply the required electrical power through our own outdoor connection.

So …. Having diligently scoured the sign company contract and finding nothing prohibitive of our idea, I made an appointment with management of the sign company to discuss possibilities. We were simply looking for their permission for us to clamp outdoor lights to their structure that we would use to illuminate our rear yard.

I did not envision the meeting to be a big deal, and I arrived directly from the foundry in the sweaty clothes I was wearing, having just assisted with a molten bronze pour. I was greeted by a receptionist and escorted to a conference room.

To my surprise, a team of guys in 3-piece suits filed into the room and took their places at the table. What the ….?

We never got to the purpose of my visit.

It soon became obvious to me that my request for a meeting (I had not specified its purpose) had caused someone in their organization to re-read the contract, and they apparently found that the ex-employee seller of the property had been given a contract that specified payments to the property owner that exceeded the norm.

These dudes were there specifically to brow-beat me into a new contract.

I think at least two of these guys had come in from an out-of-town corporate office. I had to smile to myself at how ridiculously out of place I, an unkempt, probably stinky working man in ratty looking clothes, must look in that room full of suits.

After listening to what they had to say, I retrieved my copy of the original contract from the file folder I had brought with me, and asked the question, “Do we have a contract or not?”

They squirmed uncomfortably in their seats and finally came directly to the point. They considered the old contract to be legally invalid, they intended to sue the former employee who executed it, and I would now be required to sign this new contract.

“And if I don’t?”

“If you don’t, we will remove the billboard!” was the dramatic response.

“OK”

“OK what? You are ready to sign?”  The new contract and a pen were again slid across the table in my direction.

“No, OK remove the billboard.”

The reaction in the conference room was nothing if not explosive. One of the suits all but screamed at his colleagues, “We are in business to ERECT billboards, NOT tear them down!”

Bottom line: About two months later a crew arrived (without notice) with their heavy equipment and dismantled and removed the billboard.

Good riddance.

Illegitimi non carborundum.

One day, Mexican sculptor José Balderama arrived at the foundry to have us repair one of his bronzes. It was going to take the full day to complete the repair, so he asked us to provide him with some clay “to play with” while he waited.

Of course we complied. Later in the day I passed by the bench where he was sculpting and noticed he was creating  a ¾ life size bust. Still later I was startled to realize it was a bust of me!

When he had finished, José made me an offer. If the foundry would produce two bronze castings of the bust at no charge, he would give one to us, and he would take the other to show as an example of his work.

Now, bronze busts are cast of the rich and famous – not obscure foundry workers. Did I really need a bronze vanity bust of myself?

Yup!

Ron Young was the undisputed patina guru of our generation. At one point he came up with a sample kit of chemicals and instructions that he offered for sale. Of course we ordered one straight away.

When it arrived I took it immediately to our lead patina artist and encouraged her to experiment with it on some of the miscast bronzes we had laying around.

I remember at some time sitting around with family members, and speculating if a movie were ever made of our family, which actors or actresses would best portray each of us. The debate for portraying my brother Tom was between Paul Newman and Robert Redford. For my wife, Theora, it was Jane Fonda or Meryl Streep. When my turn came I suggested Steve McQueen or Charles Bronson or Brad Pitt., but I was nearly laughed out of the room. Their unanimous choice was character actor Wilford Brimley. Now I have always admired ‘ol Wilford, I just didn’t particularly identify with his venerable, “Quaker Oats Man,” appearance. No matter. Done deal.

At some point I wandered into the patina room to see how the patina staff had done with the new Ron Young chemicals. And there it was! My vanity bust. Well, I hadn’t gotten it right, but my family hadn’t either. No Steve McQueen. No Charles Bronson. No Brad Pitt. But no Wilford Brimley, either.

There, in living color, with blue-veined, bright red inebriated nose, there was the unmistakable image of W.C. Fields!

Primer for this blog

• Copper is a natural element.
• An alloy is a mixture of two or more metallic elements.
• Bronze is an alloy whose primary element is copper.
• There are over 400 different alloys that qualify as bronze.

Now, our story:

In 1996 Desert Crucible cast a monumental sculpture titled “Exchange at the Presidio”, which the Mormon Battalion Monument Committee donated to the City of Tucson. It is a depiction of an unusual event that occurred in 1846 during the Mexican-American war. The US Mormon Battalion was on an arduous trek from Council Bluffs, Iowa, on its way to San Diego (at that time a part of Mexico), to reinforce US troops.

The walled pueblo of Tucson was under the protection of a Mexican garrison. The Mormon battalion was in rough shape from the journey, and badly in need of supplies.

Rather than what could have been expected to take place (a clash between the two military groups whose countries were at war), a remarkable temporary rapprochement ensued. The Battalion entered Tucson, and a critically essential bartering took place where European cloth from the officers uniforms were exchanged for vital supplies. There were no hostilities, and the Battalion continued on to San Diego.

The sculpture, standing nineteen feet tall and weighing about two tons, depicts an officer and an enlisted man from the Battalion exchanging goods with a Tucson merchant.

The sculpture was cast in many separate pieces, most of them weighing less than 100 pounds, and welded together.

Finally, the point of our story.

When casting and assembling (welding) the individual pieces of a monument, it is essential that each piece, as well as the welding rod used in their assembly, be of the exact same metal alloy. Different alloys weather differently, and over time, if different alloys are used, the welding seams and the different pieces will begin to look like a metallic patchwork quilt rather than a single, monolithic structure.

Our alloy of choice, chosen for a variety of technical considerations, was Silicon Bronze, or 95-4-1. It is a composition of 95% copper, 4% silica, and 1% other trace elements.

During the production of this sculpture, the Committee received a very generous in-kind donation from the copper producer ASARCO. It was delivered to the door at the foundry. It was a copper cathode (one of those thick copper plates you sometimes see stacked end to end being transported on a railroad flatbed), about 36 x 36 x 1/2” in dimension, and about 275 pounds in weight.

We were thus presented with a dilemma. We had no way to alloy such a large chunk of pure copper into silicon bronze. Our only option was to take the donated anode to a metal scrap dealer, sell it, and use the proceeds to purchase from our regular supplier the silicon bronze ingot we needed.

This we did.

A couple of weeks later, here come ‘da fuzz – two dudes in suits with official credentials ready to arrest whoever stole the anode and sold it to the scrap dealer. The check from the dealer had been made out to Desert Crucible. Wait a minute. Nobody stole anything. That anode was a donation. Papers? No, no papers. It just showed up at the door. Yeah, right. It took a while, but we finally got it all straightened out. One more episode in our finding our way through the inevitable bureaucracy of the day.

A few years before Desert Crucible began operations, Congress enacted the Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) Act. This law obligates employers to identify and rectify safety and health problems that might exist in their workspaces.

In the early years of this act the foundry industry was specifically under scrutiny. Although we found the requirements of OSHA to be somewhat onerous for a small business, particularly the record keeping, we supported its overall objective of safety in the workplace, and made every effort to keep current on, and to comply with, the regulations.

As a part of the regulations, OSHA inspectors were allowed to visit a work site, without prior notice, to examine, at a minimum, the required record keeping of the business. Failure to allow this examination could result in OSHA inspectors returning, with legal authorization, for a full-blown inspection of the business operations.

Needless to say, we kept up with the records requirements, and allowed inspection whenever they showed up — usually about once a year. We were always complemented for our cooperation and good record keeping.

You can only imagine our surprise the day they showed up, unannounced, with a full-blown inspection team, and the legal authorization for them to conduct an unencumbered inspection, to look specifically into fourteen alleged safety violations filed against us by an anonymous (by statute) person, and for whatever other violations they might find.

Not a banner day.

Before we allowed the inspectors into the shop we assembled our employees, and I instructed them something like this: “Today OSHA employees are here to inspect our operations. We remind you that they are here only to look for anything that might violate a safety regulation and present a threat to your health or safety, which we will then be required to correct. We ask you to cooperate fully with the inspectors and to honestly answer any questions they may pose to you. We also request that you not volunteer any information that is not requested. If you have something you want to bring up, please do so at our next staff meeting. Go about your work today as assigned, stop when requested to answer any questions, and resume working once you have answered. Be respectful at all times. Neither Tom, nor Theora, nor I will be permitted to accompany the inspectors.”

At the end of the day the inspectors thanked us for our cooperation, advised us that their report would be completed in about a week, and that we would receive a copy of the report along with instructions on what we were to do next.

The following week the report arrived in the mail, absolving us of each and every one of the fourteen complaints leveled against us by the anonymous complainer. The complaints were bogus!

However, during the inspection two minor violations were found. One was a damaged ground plug on an electric forklift, and the other dealt with inadequate railing in an overhead storage area.

At a subsequent hearing we were assessed a fine for the two violations.

My respect for OSHA was diminished by this experience. I argued at the hearing in which the fine was assessed:

1. It would have been fairer and more efficient for us to have been advised of the fourteen alleged violations ahead of time, and then been given time to either fix them or dispute them.
2. Keeping the complainee’s name anonymous opens the door for untrue and unfair crank complaints to be made, as we just experienced.
3. We would not have been subjected to the fine had the bogus anonymous complaint not been filed. We should have been allowed to fix the problems without fine.

Complaint denied.

I haven’t kept up since we closed the foundry, but I have heard the regulations have been changed to address these issues. I guess we weren’t the only ones to complain.

Illigitimi non carborundum.