Excerpt
Monday 10:00 a.m., September 21, 1964, Bill and Frank team up to go down in a two-man cage with a trap door in the floor. But not before safety people have their say. Bill tells us what took place.
They want us to wear air packs. If we have to wear air packs, we wont be able to maneuver in the cage, or in the hole for that matter. I agree to everything those safety guys suggest.
Frank calls me over to the side and asks, what the hell is the matter with you? We cant wear that gear. We wont be able to move.
Look, Frank, if we stayed here to argue every detail, we will be here until Christmas. Once we are ten feet in the hole, who the hell is going to know what we do?
Yeah I guess youre right, Frank says.
I wont tell if you dont, I say to him.
Frank and I arent suicidal. We are skilled enough and knowledgeable enough to know that we are not going to have any real problems down there. We agree to ignorant things just so we can get started. In fact, if we follow some of the procedures they set up, we will be in trouble.
Our plan is to find the messenger cable. It seems simple enough. We feel that if we hook on to it we will be able to pull the whole mess out. We have to be very careful so we secure ourselves to the cage with a rope and harness. When we step out on top of that mess, we have to watch where we put our feet. If the whole thing collapses further, we dont want our feet getting tangled in cable and pulling us in two pieces.
We make numerous trips down and tie on to as many cables as we can. We go back up and pull them out with a crane. It takes us two days and two nights before we finally get a hold on the messenger cable. Sure enough, when we pull on the cable from the top the whole mess comes out.
Would you believe, that the AEC brought out the family members of the guys trapped below. The system hadnt learned yet that you have to control an accident scene. You dont need a lot of bureaucrats and rubbernecks wandering around grandstanding and wringing their hands.
The guys under ground arent in any danger. In fact they are better off than Frank and I. They are fed steak, and we are eating baloney sandwiches. Once when I set my moldy sandwich down and turned around to do something, someone stole my baloney sandwich. Man, I go berserk, that is the limit. I start cussing and threatening that if I find the son-of-a-bitch I will throw him in the hole.
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