The Richmond palladium and sun-telegram. [volume] (Richmond, Ind.) 1907-1939, 1919-11-25
Sticking Round Where the Bessemer Blows

clear by efficient hurrying narrow
gauges; all the mill in shipshape-
pits clean, Stag pans dumped, refrac-
tories bins filled, the stock dock chok
ed with pig and scrap and limestone
and manganese and coke and sand and
clay; and-men, plenty of men, a sur
plus of men to do the work.
"Thank the Gods"
Oh, the Bessemer isn't such a bad
place to work In then-not bad at all!
We gather together in little groups in
and talk small talk, and tell tall tales
and sing and swear and Josh and Joke,
and cuss out everybody and every
thing, and thank the gods that are
ours that we are men Of the Bessemer
and not Of the blast furnaces. A
dandy place to work-the Bessemer?
Rather!
Steel where the Bessemer blows
when things 60 wrong-when iron
comes low in silicon. and the vessels
froth and foam and slop over, and the
spittings rain down in torrents: when
the heats go cold and freeze in the
ladle or run wild and smear the molds,
eat off he nozzle stopper rods, splash
the platforms and burn men; when
the cranes strike and cannot be cudg-
eled or cajoled into working again;
when the narrow gauge engines balk.
quit their chugging and die, and mold
buggies choke the tracks: when Clan
cy or Smith, maybe, or Olinsky comes
out to work with half a snootful and
an unsteady hand, and tilts a ladle,
and there is spill. nasty spill
a raging food Of white steel on the
mill floor, pourig over the tracks and
standings. running beneath the mold
buggies. sloshing in the Stag holes,
! trucking into every crack and chink
and Granny, fusing everything it
! touches and welding itself to every
thing it envelopes.
Oh, a rotten place to work then is
the Bessemer! We run at the trouble
| blast Of the whistle, and before a heat
that blsters our bodies and withers
our souls. in an atmosphere saffron
with sulphur fumes, acrid and nauseat-
ing, we sledge and bar and cut and
dig and pry and pull and strain and
grunt. A greasy. grimy, sweaty. stink
ing crew, we kick and growl and yell
! and curse, and mule and rawhidc at
! our task, damning the man who dis
covered steel. damning the man who
invented work, Doubt damning the
man-Clancy or Smith or Olinsky-
who tipped that ladle Of metal
! When the Bosses Come
! Como the bosses-the big boss and
! the little boss, the little-big boss and
the little-little boss looking wise,
watching US dig, fretting and Tuning,
urging US to hurry. till we invite them
! in rude language to go take run and
! jump into a certain flood of fire re-
/ puted to be hotter than the one we are
! pudding in. We cuss them out, we
talk bad to them. They grin back at
us, afraid to rile us, fearful lest we
drop our tools and leave the mill; and
j throwing away their half smoked
cigars they come to help US, the white
shirt muling with the blue, the soft
i hand sledgins with the calloused,
! rough neck and shaved neck, big guy
and little dub, long head and bone
head, cleaning it up. So we work to-
gether, all, and mop up the mess, and
the Bessemer blows again. A dandy
place to work? Who says so? Tell
| him he lilies.
And some old Jerry or Jim or Mike
or Joe, grown old and gray and tot
terry in mill service-isn't he ALWAYS
there on hand. be 1t foul mill weather
or fair, snuggled up in coy nook be-