operator wanted to have before ascending the tower.
An accomplished crane operator was all about confidence-but not just blind machismo. They demanded perfection, relying on the erection team to precisely calculate the counterweight and cable strength of the crane. The counterweight, in turn, defined the load limits of the crane. As long as the operator stayed within these predetermined limits, catastrophic failure was unlikely.
As important as the reliability of the crane, though, was absolute faith in the ground rigger. Each load was equalized by the rigger to assure it couldn’t slip once hoisted. A shift in the load, once airborne, would cause a dangerous shock load as the static weight was mathematically magnified. This could buckle the jib and collapse the tower. Surviving a crane collapse was extremely rare, especially a 300-foot tower crane like the one at the gorge. Artie noticed that his stomach constricted and his butt puckered at the mere mention of the counterbalance being compromised.
“Same goes here, Mr. Marshall,” Cavanaugh chimed in, sharing Artie’s concerns about the crucial counterbalance stays. “Shouldn’t we do an inspection?” he asked, so Artie didn’t have to broach the question himself. He knew Artie would do the same for him were the roles reversed. All of a sudden, it didn’t feel like such bad luck he wouldn’t be the operator to lift Big Mo into place.
“Okay, look…maybe I’m just paranoid,” Ryan said mollifying everyone’s increasing anxiety. He understood best of all that a crane operator had to feel absolutely confident prior to ascending the tower. This was not the kind of safety meeting he intended.
“I apologize for getting everyone stirred up,” he said calmly. “From across the canyon, level with the jib, the tower seems out of plumb. It’s probably an optical illusion. You guys tell me there’s been no swayback…I believe you. But just to be safe, let’s delay the first lift until Artie and Martin inspect the counterweight. This won’t take long unless somethin’s out of kilter, in which case we delay until the crane’s ready. Either way, nobody gets hurt.”
“You heard the man…get cracking,” Corky snapped, taking charge again. He was still smarting from having let Ryan down earlier. He hoped like hell there was nothing wrong with the tower or his reputation would be tarnished. No one would work with a foreman whose safety record was considered lax.
The rules of working the high-steel were inviolable: Personal safety came first, followed by a partner’s safety; if these rules were broken, the well-being of the entire team could be threatened. It was the unyielding responsibility of the foreman to watch for anything that could jeopardize the crew.
“Artie, you follow Martin up the tower and work your way back to the blocks. Report back when you can confirm anything,” Corky ordered as the two operators broke from the pack.
Corky clapped his hands to break the growing tension. “Okay, men, look alive…we’ve got a deadline to keep. Let’s get the lift completed on schedule. That means both girder teams get set on either side of the bridge. Shane, you or Jack have any questions?” he asked, anxious to conclude the meeting.
“Naw, we know the drill,” replied Shane Greyfern, one of two Navajos on this team. “You swing us Big Mo, we’ll jack ‘er in place,” he said with a dry smile. “Nothin’ to it. My guys’ll be the first to cross this bridge later today.”
Everyone sprang into action as the meeting broke. Martin and Artie donned climbing harnesses to safely walk the jib back to the counterweight. Once outfitted, they began the hand-over-hand ascent to the top of the tower crane. Ryan and Corky restlessly awaited their inspection. What they found would determine whether or not the team was going vertical today.
Artie was the first one to arrive at the apex of the tower and stopped to put his gear in the operator’s cabin. Martin moved past him and connected a safety leader to a separate rail that ran the length of the jib. Then he walked the catwalk along the top of the swing arm. Artie followed a short distance behind.
“Well, son-of-a-bitch,” exclaimed Martin, who came to an abrupt halt about midway to the counterbalance at the back of the swing arm. “Look at this, will ya?” he said, pointing at a broken cable tie. “ No way Mr. Marshall could’ve seen this from across the canyon. How the hell did he know this clevis pin was twisted?”
“No shit. I know the man’s got powers…but this is unbelievable!” Artie exclaimed, whistling absentmindedly.
“Artie…he just saved your life,” Martin added, as solemn as an undertaker.
What the two operators had discovered was that one of the two guy wires-thick steel cables connecting the counterweight to the end of the swing arm-was improperly connected to the crane. The cable was typically held fast with a u-shaped clevis pin secured with a threaded steel bolt. Somehow the bolt had loosened and the cable slid sideways. In this configuration, the clevis pin would fail when loaded, and the crane would collapse. Ryan Marshall’s intuition had saved the operator’s life, and possibly others, depending upon when the failure occurred.
“Corky, this is Martin,” he said, keying his radio.
“Go ahead, Martin,” Corky replied restlessly.
“Tell Mr. Marshall he’s a frickin’ genius…or some ki…kind of miracle worker,” Martin stammered. “The clevis pin on our port side cable was side-loaded. Don’t know how long it’s been that way…or even how it happened. But, sure as shit, it wouldn’t have held Big Mo! ”
“Well, okay…that’s good news, I guess, Marty,” Corky replied, surprised by the information. “Sounds like an easy fix. You’ll need a new clevis and a come-along to take up the tension on the cable, correct?”
“You got it, bossman,” Martin replied. “Send Jimmy up with a new clevis, a couple of one-inch cable clamps, and the thirty-six-inch come-along. We’ll have this sucker fixed in no time. Still can’t figure how Mr. Marshall knew this was screwed up, though,” he added with a touch of admiration.
“Okay. Jimmy’s on his way shortly,” Corky replied. “This is damned unusual, for sure. I’m certain Mr. Marshall will contact Sandia Crane to discuss the issue. For now, you guys fix the cable so we can meet our deadline.”
While Corky had maintained his poise throughout the early morning ordeal, in truth he was humbled beyond measure. How his mentor knew there was something wrong with the crane was a total mystery. The events of the day would add to his already legendary status among the elite crane operators around the world. Ryan’s intuition had clearly saved the life of Artie Rummerfield. Corky considered himself blessed to be in the presence of this high-steel savant.
Ryan had his own concerns, however. When hearing the specifics of the problem, he immediately knew this was no mere accident, but an act of sabotage. There was no possible way for a fully tensioned guy wire to twist along the axis of the clevis pin. These stabilizing cables were tensioned at thousands of pounds per square inch, transferring the load’s weight to the counterweight at the back of the jib. The erection team from Sandia simply couldn’t have made this kind of mistake; if they had, it would have been immediately recognized from the very first attempt to calibrate the crane when it was fully operational.
Ryan didn’t show his concern, but he knew without doubt this was a blatant attempt to undermine his company. An accident of this magnitude would result in interminable delay while lengthy investigations were conducted to determine the cause. More egregious than monetary losses, however, was that whoever sabotaged the crane decided that certain death was an acceptable price for whatever the gain.
Ryan knew only one man ruthless enough to do something this heinous: his cousin, Jarrod Conrad. Ryan hated Jarrod with a passion. Realizing his cousin had so little regard for the lives of his men intensified this disgust. He vowed to get to the bottom of this latest affront and rejoin their long-standing but latent rivalry. He would never forgive the part his cousin played in his divorce from Sarah. This latest outrage reopened that festering wound and the trauma that followed; never had he felt so bad-worse, even, than after the death of their beloved son, Jacob.
Watch your back, cousin…watch your back. The score’s still uneven!
Ryan wondered how to resolve the boundless hatred the cousins had for each other-a loathing so deep that not even the lives of innocent bystanders were off-limits. Jarrod’s hatred seemed truly immeasurable. It often didn’t seem possible they were really cousins, given how dissimilar they were. But the fact remained; they were raised in almost identical environments.
Ryan knew he was a good man, albeit imperfect. The disciplined teaching of the Dominican nuns at Our Lady of Lourdes instilled in him qualities that build character, honor, and integrity. He held the qualities of honesty, loyalty, industry, and patience closest to his heart. But like most students of a parochial education, he also bore the heavy guilt associated with this teaching philosophy. Any failure to maintain impossibly high standards was harshly
