I worked in the bricklaying department at the Bethlehem Steel plant in Baltimore, Maryland, in the 1980s. I was slowly working my way around the sprawling plant, assigned to different jobs nightly. The plant took in the raw materials required to make steel (coal and iron ore for the most part) and converted those materials first into iron, then into steel, and ultimately into steel products, including sheet, wire, pipe, and rails. I saw how coal was made into coke, iron was made into steel, and billets were rolled into slabs and coiled sheets. Tonight was my first time working at the blast furnaces where iron ore, coke, and limestone were converted into molten iron.
Our department was divided into bricklayers who installed the refractory brick that formed a protective lining for the furnaces, and the helpers, like me, who transported and stacked the bricks into place for the bricklayers. Usually, one group would work at a time. First, the helpers would move pallets of brick into place, often passing them hand to hand or pushing them down a roller conveyor. Once the job had been “stocked,” it would be time for the helpers to take a break, and the bricklayers would spring into action. This process was repeated through several cycles on each shift.
The crew of helpers had started stocking the job at about 11:30 that night, and by 1:30 in the morning, we had turned the job over to bricklayers. These break periods on the midnight shift were usually spent taking a nap, reading, or making a run to the snack shop by the front gate. Tonight, I was wide awake. I had just eaten a big meal before leaving home and didn’t have a scrap of newspaper or a book to read. So I didn’t mind when an old salt of a foreman, Frank Miljenko, stopped by to chat. Frank was one of those bosses who didn’t have to try to be one of the guys. He was one of the guys. His father had worked at the mill before him as an immigrant from Serbo-Croatia, and Frank started working at the plant during the summer when he was in high school. Now, in his late 50s, he was about my father’s age at the time, and he always had a warm smile and greeting to share.
We chatted for a bit, and I told Frank that this was my first time working at the blast furnaces. Frank sprung into action, showing me around and explaining how the process worked and what each piece of equipment was for. Frank soon invited me to go up to the top of the crackling tower; we headed for an outdoor elevator that traveled 350 feet to the top. Frank pulled a giant ring of keys from the chain on his belt, selected a small silver key, put it into the control panel on the elevator, and punched the “Door Open” button. We stepped into the shiny steel interior, and Frank again put the key into the panel and pressed the “Top” button. The elevator climbed slowly and smoothly towards the heavens. A small window well over our heads offered a port for sunlight during the daytime but, at this hour of night, gave no indication of how far we had or had to go. The elevator came to a smooth stop, and surprisingly, the door opened automatically. No keys or buttons were required.
I looked out the elevator door and saw a dazzling display of city lights before me. In the foreground, I noticed some of the various Sparrows Point plants where I had worked, including the hot strip mill and the shipyard. The Benzene plant stood by the water with blazing white lights sprinkled all over it. The giant cranes on the ore dock also were spectacular. Across the bay, I could see the Fort McHenry Monument and the modern skyscrapers of downtown Baltimore.
I stepped out on a steel grate platform and prepared to head off around the corner. I looked back and saw Frank looking down through the grate to the ground. I never made it a habit of looking straight down when I was up at such heights; it made me dizzy, and I wondered what Frank was looking at. I called his name and got no reply, so I walked back to the elevator door and glanced down to see what was getting all the attention. All was quiet on the ground, so I looked back, and Frank's hand was gripped so tightly on the hand railing that it had turned bright red. His face had a blank look, and his skin was white and clammy. I couldn’t understand why someone with a fear of heights would have taken me up to the top of the crackling tower, so at first, I wondered if something else was going on with him, but it soon became apparent that he was overcome with fear. I tried to pull him gently into the elevator, but he would not let go of the handrail. I tried talking to him, but he did not respond.
We were standing a few feet from the elevator door, and I swung around when I heard it start closing. I was worried that would freak him out even more, and I didn’t know how to open the door again. I jumped and stuck my foot in the door, and the damn thing started to fight with me but eventually returned to a fully open position. Standing with one foot holding the door open, I leaned over to where Frank was frozen onto the handrail and continued to try to talk him into the elevator while gently pulling on his arm. He refused to budge. This went on for about five minutes, and I decided I would try and pry his fingers from the handrail. This seemed like a great idea, but Frank had big, strong hands, and I could not pry his hands open. Then, I tried prying off one finger at a time. That seemed to work. I could use my entire hand to pry open one of his fingers, and when I did so, the finger stayed unclenched to the rail. I pried his fingers and thumb from the rail and, removing my foot from the door, pressed my body up against his and slid him into the elevator. The door closed behind us, and I took Frank’s key, inserted it into the control panel, and pressed the “Ground” button. We arrived at the ground level in a few minutes, and Frank stood in the elevator for another few minutes before he seemed to recover and could walk back to the job with me. “Thanks for your help up there. I don’t know what happened. I never had that problem before with heights but that grating up there is new. It used to have a solid walkway.”
I always wanted to return to the top of the cracking tower for more extensive look, but I never had another chance.
