Disclaimer: This one should've actually been the first one. No particular reason except that this story took place quite a few years before the one that I featured before. And I have to admit that I heard this story long before I heard the other one.
He was a welder and had spent a lifetime applying his trade. From working in a welding-blacksmith shop in the city in the thirties to building aircraft for the war effort, to working back in the welding shop until he semi-retired to a position of welding instructor at the local tech institute. Everyone called him 'Sparky.' And yes, many people in the trades don't have much imagination when it comes to labeling certain people, or even pets. For example JC had a cat for a few years. He called it, 'Cat.' Back when he was in the 4-H club he raised several calves, the identification of each was duly noted in his record books: 'Calf.' And Sheriff Walt Longmire's dog is aptly named: 'Dog.' So having a welding instructor named Sparky was actually a step up; after all, he could've been given the handle: 'Welder.'
As already mentioned, Sparky worked in a welding shop, which began as a blacksmith shop. It is quite likely that it began life as such as there aren't many blacksmith/welding shops that morph out of a tea room or florist, and it's even more unlikely that the opposite would happen, in case the question comes up. Sparky entered the trade while still in school. He didn't have the opportunity to actually complete high school until he was well established as a welder and metal fabricator, but sometimes the road that takes you there is filled with educational opportunities.
During the thirties, as the amount of cars on the roads increased, so did breakdowns. A very common problem was a leaking gas tank. A stone thrown up from a tire at the most inopportune moment could find its mark right square in the gas tank and before you knew it, ten gallons of precious fuel ended up on the road.
There were two ways of fixing the problem: Take the gas tank out and replace it with a new one, or take the gas tank out and repair it. Since it was the thirties and everyone was broke, the vast majority chose to repair the tank. That in itself was a hazardous procedure and gasoline is designed to atomize and explode. Draining/siphoning the gas out of the tank leaves a large cavern that is saturated with gasoline fumes and heating that to weld a hole shut--well, the tank was probably halfway to the moon and the shop may or may not be ablaze.
Some guys said that if you filled the tank with water to almost cover the area where you were welding, you could weld it quite safely. But the water tended to quench the metal thus not allowing the sheet metal of the tank and the welding rod to completely melt into that puddle that mixes everything together. Consequently the weld might not seal very well or last very long. The ideal way was to get a bucket of water with a secure lid boiling on the forge (remember that the welding shop began life as a blacksmith shop?), run a hose from the spout into the gas tank so it could be filled with steam, which is completely inert (unless you're distilling moonshine), and wait for the steam to exit the filler neck. Weld away.
Well, there were several renegades, including Sparky's crew, in that welding shop. They thought that steam was just another task that got in the way of what you needed to do. They thought: why not simply take care of the hazard first and foremost? Eliminate the liability once and for all, and then the hazard would be taken care of. The tank was removed the tank from the car, carefully drained, the float removed and the interior of the tank was thoroughly swabbed out. The tank would then be carried out to the alley behind the shop. After lighting a hand-held torch, the welder simply stuck the flame into the filler neck or the opening left from the float mechanism, and let the games begin. Of course, before he did all that, he prepared himself by donning a heavy leather apron, coat, gloves and welding goggles.
You've probably seen in the movies where a car is burning and the gastank explodes with enough force to level a building. Well, that's only in the movies. The reality of a gastank exploding is usually a loud 'Pop' or even a 'Boom.' Sometimes there was enough force to send the welder back against the brick wall and knock the wind out of him. But most of the time, a loud pop, or even an anemic 'Chuff' was all that happened. But then there was the spectacular 'Boom' that not only flattened the welder up against the building but the ruptured, flaming gas tank would skitter down the alley and out into the street, surprising some unsuspecting motorist. There was one occasion where the gastank shot out into the path of a truck that promptly crushed the tank, thus turning a simple repair into a major task. I might add that Sparky told another one about a flaming tank jumping over a fence into the neighbor's place.
The local fire department caught wind of this activity and paid the shop a visit, telling everyone within earshot that such acts were prohibited and could result in heavy penalties. To that the boys just got more creative and made an enclosure out of railroad ties. An exploding tank was no match for those timbers although a couple of guys got a good thump on the noggin.
The fire out and the welder's wind back, he would take the tank, hammer it back into shape (it was often warped outwards into the shape of a jelly bean), weld the hole shut then weld the ruptured seam back together. The repaired tank was reinstalled and the happy owner was on his way, until another leak occurred.
But there were other incidents that happened at that particular shop, one of which was rather exciting. The shop where Sparky worked was a large operation that employed in the neighborhood of eight welders and welder's helpers. The shop supplemented its bottom line by selling welding supplies which included welding rods, goggles, helmets, leather aprons, oxy-acetylene torches, and recharging oxygen and acetylene bottles.
It happens every once in a while that an exchange bottle goes out and the valve is faulty, or the tank is damaged. The shop would always make the necessary repairs and return the bottle--refilled--and ready to go. This one particular oxygen bottle came back with a faulty valve. It was given to a welder's helper who was thought to have some experience in the handling and refilling of the bottles. He stood that five foot bottle on the floor and proceeded to remove the faulty valve.
Today, oxygen is pressurized to 2,200 psi. But back in the thirties it was less than that, only 1,800 psi. Either one is one heck of a blast when the contents are suddenly left to exit on their own. Now, normally, when you would need to replace the faulty valve, the proper procedure is to discharge the bottle before you remove the valve. Apparently the man assigned to replace the valve hadn't been briefed in the proper procedure. He simply took out a wrench and unscrewed the valve.
Well, that valve, with 1,800 psi of pressure behind it blasted skyward, with a deafening roar, through the ceiling and continued through the roof and somewhere into the stratosphere. I wouldn't be surprised if John Glenn saw it orbiting the earth when he went up there in 1962. The blast of escaping oxygen had everyone scrambling to get the hell out of there.
In the melee that followed, the bottle tipped over and began to skid across the floor in an almost serpentine pattern, gathering speed as it went. It finally got straightened out and streaked across the floor like a rocket (or a torpedo) it aimed itself squarely at the brick wall that separated the room where they kept the bottles and the front office. It went through that wall as if it was the paper wall of a Japanese house. Charge of oxygen not expelled yet, it kept on going, breaking a couple of legs off of desks and through the opposite wall and into the street.
The bottle finally ran out of steam and came to rest at the curb across the street. The poor kid who perpetrated the whole event was sent home--probably to change his pants--and then brought back to retrieve the wayward bottle.
Everyone's ears rang for several days after that. A brick mason came in to repair the walls and a carpenter was hired to fix the damaged ceiling, roof truss and the roof. They never did find that valve...
