Dr. Nagasaka smiled. "All in good time. We will get to iron and steel. But the fact is that we cannot even begin to plan a technological future without talking about controlled heat."
Seeing the puzzlement on the faces of his audience, the speaker continued: "Just consider: If there is a single factor that enabled the human race to move out of the Stone Age and embark on its journey toward technical mastery, one must say it was the ability to create intense fires. By intense fires I do not mean simple combustion, but rather infernos hot beyond the imagining of early peoples. Ordinary flame, burning in the open air, is good mainly for keeping warm, cooking, and scaring away animals. Granted, learning how to ignite and control such flame was a vitally important step toward advanced civilization. Yet, to garner metals from their hiding places in the rocks of the earth, fiercely hot fires were required, fires contained in blazing furnaces and brought to a feverish pitch by force-feeding them with air."
Members of the group nodded but shrugged and shifted in their seats, indicating a grudging understanding mixed with impatience. Nagasaka, unperturbed, continued.
"Human beings have been hardening clay pottery in heated, enclosed spaces for more than eight thousand years. But the heat suitable for baking clay is nowhere near as intense as that needed to work metals. To melt copper, we require a temperature of 1,083 degrees Centigrade. And that is nothing compared to iron, which has a melting point of 1,535 degrees Centigrade. So, you can see that we have to give a lot of thought to heat—how to create it and how to contain it.
"Our engineers have with them many plans and specifications to follow when we are ready to build our furnaces. But we need to address the question of which locally available materials can be used to make the refractory bricks with which to line these furnaces. In addition to withstanding intense heat without cracking, these materials must also be able to resist such destructive influences as rapid changes in temperature, abrasion by dust-bearing gases, and erosion by molten metals. Of course, the bricks or tiles that we need for building kilns have themselves to be manufactured in kilns. In order to make a kiln, a kiln is required."
Several subcommittee members nodded thoughtfully. It was clear that in practically every one of their endeavors they would be running into this Catch-22 of technological progress.
"But," Ichiro said, "we escape the predicament by starting with the most primitive oven, simply a hole in the ground with walls and roof made of stones and mud—or perhaps of crude bricks made of clay dried in the sun. Then in this primitive oven we make good, solid, fired bricks, using clay mixed with straw. These bricks in turn enable us to make a more advanced oven in which we can make superior bricks, and so forth, onward and upward. All the while we seek to find ever better clay and superior admixtures—alumina, silica, magnesite, dolomite, and the like."
Dr. Nagasaka thought that he was making good progress; but he had underestimated the effect that the mention of bricks would have on the subcommittee chairman.
"Dammit, Ichiro," Alf Richards errupted, waving his coffee cup in the air, "we can't think about fancy bricks for kilns when we haven't even talked about ordinary bricks for construction! That's one of the things I was going to bring up next. We need to build walls for our houses, foundations for our factories, and piers for our bridges. We've talked about lumber and bamboo, but that won't take care of all our needs. If we can find some decent clay—and I've been told there's plenty of good stuff around—we could start making bricks pretty darn quick."
Ichiro smiled and bowed, and thereupon gave a demonstration of how the Japanese, in group enterprise, work assiduously toward consensus. Richards also showed that, when he so chose, he could be an eminently congenial negotiator. After about a half hour's further discussion, a deal was struck. The Joint Planning Subcommittee authorized the establishment of two factories to make bricks.
These were to be located near deposits of clay, and also near a supply of the wood needed for fuel. Several potential sites were suggested, and a small panel of specialists was authorized to select the two that seemed most suitable. At both plants the main product was to be a regular brick for use in construction. But at one of the installations, ten ceramics experts plus fifteen helpers would work exclusively on development of materials suitable for building furnaces. In pursuit of this goal, they would be given special facilities, along with significant operational authority.
The basic brickmaking operation is not overly complex; but it requires muscle power and efficient organization. The clay has to be dug out of the ground, then worked into a wet mash that can be mixed with straw and put into molds. In an alternative method, called the stiff-mud process, the clay is mixed with just enough water to make it plastic, and then it is forced through a rectangular die, coming out in the form of a bar which is cut into brick-size pieces. In either case, a crew then attends to the baking, or firing, in a kiln. The subcommittee, after some rough-and-ready man-hour calculations, decided to assign one hundred workers to each plant.
"One hundred musn't become a magic number," one of the committee members piped up. "Let's not use it hastily to solve every problem that comes along."
Richards responded: "Look, in the absence of a detailed estimate, this is a convenient, functional unit for our preliminary planning. We use a figure that reflects the order of magnitude that seems to make sense. Call it 'the One Hundred Strategy,' if you like. The number of personnel assigned to each activity will, in the course of events, be subject to modification. The important thing is that we get the damned work started."
The group concurred, and then commissioned a third plant— also with a complement of one hundred—to make other fired clay products such as pipes, floor tiles, roof tiles, and cooking utensils. Finally, they authorized a fourth operation, with fifty workers, to produce cement, which is a blend of clay and limestone also fired in a furnace. After cement has been manufactured, it can be mixed with sand, crushed stone, and water to make concrete. Or it can be mixed with lime, sand, and water, to provide brick mortar.
By the time these decisions were finalized, it was almost noon. Alf Richards was delighted with the morning's work. Brick, concrete, and mortar, plus a variety of tile products; just thinking of these materials made the crusty old hardhat feel like celebrating.
Ichiro Nagasaka also was satisfied. He had accomplished his immediate objective. The manufacture of suitable refractory materials was one of those items that needed someone to serve as champion, or else it might have been ignored. Then, at some future point, everyone would have regretted the oversight.
After lunch, Alf reconvened the meeting and asked Dr. Nagasaka whether he did not want to go on to the larger issue of metals, especially the manufacture of steel.
Ichiro said, "Oh no. Let us move on to other things." This gave the impression that he did not want to dominate the proceedings with his personal concerns. The strategically minded members of the subcommittee read it another way, and they were right in their suspicion. Knowing that there was absolutely no chance of metals being overlooked, Nagasaka contemplated an end game in which this subject would become the final agenda item, and thus the ultimate focus of attention.
If not metals, then what next? Richards posed the question, and at first there was silence.
Then Gordon Chan spoke. "How about glass?" he asked. "That is another material which our ancestors wrested from the earth with the aid of fiery furnaces, and I suggest that we will be needing some of it in the very near future."
Surprisingly, this sensible-sounding suggestion met with resistance. The group had seemingly had its fill of agreement and consensus and was ready for a fight. Put thirty strong-willed individuals together in prolonged, intense discussions and the time comes when they need to blow off some steam. Among several members of the subcommittee there was a growing undercurrent of uncertainty. Aren't we being cavalier in simply checking off these technologies one after the other? they wondered. Could we really—all at once— grow food, tend livestock, harv
est fish from the ocean and timber from the forests, make bricks and other clay products and cement, and plan for the use of metals; in other words, make progress in all conceivable directions simultaneously? Didn't something have to be postponed, and wasn't glassmaking a likely place to begin?
Simon Kambule, the leader from the Zulu community who had greeted Gustafsson's expedition—and had subsequently been asked to serve on the subcommittee—contributed to the chorus of misgivings: "We can get along without glass, for the present, I believe. The immediate needs of the people must be met. And, yes, we must also plan for a return to high technology. But glass does not fit into either category. Glass windows, drinking goblets, and the like are superfluous—mere luxuries. And glassmaking is not such a sophisticated technology that it cannot be readily developed further down the road. In the meantime, since we are not able to do everything at once, why waste any of our limited resources?"
This argument was favorably received by several members of the subcommittee, including Millie Fox. "I don't recall my Peace Corps people ever mentioning glass as a basic human requirement," she said.
Alf Richards shrugged and conceded: "Maybe you're right. We can do a lot of reconstruction work without a ready supply of glass. And, as Mr. Kambule has stated, we must not go off in too many different directions at once."
There were several more speeches along the same lines, and Kambule's argument seemed about to carry the day, when Dr. Chan rose to respond.
"Please, ladies and gentlemen," he said, quietly but commanding attention, "let us not be shortsighted. Although we may not need glass windows right away, or glass insulators until we get electricity, or fiber-optic cables until we near the final stages of our technical journey, we do not want to lose our touch in dealing with these crucial materials." Then, as his usual pleasant expression turned to a troubled frown, he added, "But there is another factor that is even more important and more immediate. Have you ever seen a science laboratory without glassware? Surely, before we're done with our preliminary planning, we'll be providing for research laboratories. They are key to our recovery and future well-being. And, believe me, they will not be of much use without basic equipment, particularly apparatus made of glass."
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Simon Kambule, with a rueful smile, withdrew his objection. The subcommittee voted to proceed with the manufacture of glass, and to allocate one hundred workers to the undertaking.
Before leaving the topic of glass, the subcommittee considered the availability of the raw materials needed to make it—silica, soda, and lime. Silica was no problem. Surely there was more sand than anyone knew what to do with. Soda, in the form of potash, they had considered the previous day in discussing the need for potassium in fertilizers. If they did not find suitable natural deposits, they could make the stuff the old-fashioned way, by burning vegetable wastes and boiling the ashes in a pot. As for lime, the third basic ingredient—needed to make glass durable—one simply burns, or calcines, limestone.
"It is worth noting," Gordon Chan added, "that lime is a basic industrial chemical with many important applications. For example, it is used in manufacturing paper, as a flux in making steel, and— Mr. Richards, as a builder you probably know this—it is a key material in the manufacture of cement and mortar."
"That is very true," said Eric Steenkamp, the mining engineer from Pretoria, "but as far as I know, limestone doesn't just emerge from the ground in convenient containers, and we seem not to have made any provision for acquiring it."
So, after brief discussion, the One Hundred Strategy was applied once again. One hundred workers were allocated to quarrying this utilitarian rock.
While speaking of quarries, Alf Richards pointed out that a supply of granite would be very useful as a building stone, as well as for paving roads and providing aggregate material for concrete. So yet another one hundred were assigned to this task.
"We're on a roll," Richards roared with delight, "and while we're talking about quarrying, we might as well get into mining." With this he turned to Peter Mavimbela, the head of the miners' union. "What do you think, Peter?" he asked. "To get our industrial revolution underway, what we need is iron and coal, coal and iron, preferably close together and preferably not too far out in the boondocks. No matter what processes we decide to use in making steel— and, Ichiro, with your guidance we'll be talking about that in due course—we know what the basic raw materials must be, and we can't have them too far apart from each other. Transporting these materials is going to be a big problem when we first get started. It's not like the good old days when long freight trains rumbled into Richards Bay bringing tons of coal and ore for shipment overseas."
"You don't need to remind me about what it pleases you to call the good old days," Peter Mavimbela said dourly. He was a tall man, but stooped and gaunt, with dark, dreamy eyes that belied his practical, political approach to life and to the issue under debate. He seemed about to launch into a discourse on mining under the apartheid government, but then thought better of it and spoke to the technical point at hand. "I think I can find you a place—or possibly two places—that will be suitable. But there are a couple of things that we ought to get straight at the outset."
Alf Richards could tell that in Mavimbela he was dealing with a rugged individual, almost belligerent, a very different sort from the diplomatic Simon Kambule. There was a sudden feeling of suspense among the group, as if a serious confrontation might be brewing.
"Okay," Alf said. "What is it that we have to get straight?"
"First," Peter replied, "understand that this is not going be an efficient operation. We—like the farmers and timber workers and everybody else—have practically no tools. And when we finally get some, I am certain that they will be of relatively poor, or primitive quality. So we cannot go digging down into the depths of the earth. We'll have to begin by getting what we can from the surface. Where this is not possible, we will cut parallel tunnels into the hills and leave large pillars of material in place as supports for the tunnel roof. That way we won't have to install timbers, which are not available in any case. So, we'll be leaving lots of material in the ground; but that will have to do for a beginning."
"What's your other concern?" Alf Richards asked.
"My men," Mavimbela said, with barely concealed emotion. "In those 'good old days,' as you call them, the miners of South Africa were obliged to travel far from their families and live in prison-like dormitories. Now, I expect that decent housing will be provided for them—and their families—within a reasonable distance from the mines."
"That's no problem, Peter," the chairman said. "Assuming that the decent housing you're referring to is the same sort of deluxe shack that we're all living in these days." Mavimbela's acknowledgment came by way of a grim smile.
Then a follow-up from Richards: "Can you round up seven hundred men, Peter?" To the rest of the group, he said, "That is a large commitment, I know. I'm suggesting the use of ten percent of our non-agricultural workforce. But in mining, we're talking about a lot of hard work, important work, vital for our future." The subcommittee, by its silence, indicated assent.
"I can manage that," Mavimbela said, after a few moments of thought. "Many of my union members were home celebrating Christmas with their families when the disaster struck. If I assure them that the new social order is to be founded on principles of social justice, I know they will give of their best."
The two men, Richards and Mavimbela, shook hands firmly to seal their understanding.
"If you want results," the union leader added, "get us a supply of half-decent tools as soon as you can, so we might start picking away at whatever we can reach. Also, get us wheels, plain wheelbarrows if that is all you have, but then rolling trams of some kind, preferably on rails, even wooden rails—for starters. And, of course, to be at all efficient, we're going to need explosives. Mining is essentially drilling holes in the rock, inserting materials that will blow up, and then letting her rip—
in a controlled way, of course. We really should have steam drills, but knowing that is impossible right now, we'll go back to drilling holes the old-fashioned way, hammering steel bits with sledges. It's tough work, but we can do it. Without explosives, though, it's pick and shovel, and that is even tougher. We can do that, too, but you won't be too happy with the results."
"You know, I hadn't thought about explosives," Richards said, scratching his head.
At this point, Gordon Chan spoke up again. "It is not such a big deal, Alf. We Chinese invented black powder more than a thousand years ago. Just mix saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal—in the right proportions, of course. I'll be happy to tell you what those proportions are, just as my ancestors told your ancestors. Then ignite the powder with a burning fuse, and poof! Better be careful, though. That powder is pretty volatile stuff. It's a lot safer to use TNT, which is a solid organic nitrogen compound, or dynamite, which is nitroglycerine mixed with ammonium nitrate. But the trouble with the safer materials is that you need safety fuses and blasting caps, and that requires another manufacturing operation. We have people with us who have the needed chemical knowledge to mix you up whatever you'd like, and others who can make you the fuses and caps. But I'm not sure that this is the first project on which you want to concentrate."
"Okay," Richards said. "You heard the man, Peter. I think we're going to have to start with picks and shovels and make do with whatever you can get us that way. In the meantime, we'll put some people—let's say thirty or so—to work on explosives. I'm sure, also, that one of these days our police and military guys will be looking for ammunition. No way we can go back to the future without some booms and bangs in our suitcases."
The sun seemed to have raced across the sky, although no more speedily than the subcommittee had been dashing across the technological spectrum. But even with a substantial amount of work accomplished, Alf Richards felt that the urgency of his mission did not allow for an evening of relaxation. So, before adjourning, he asked Ichiro Nagasaka and Eric Steenkamp to meet with him after dinner. The objective would be to select a group of metallurgists and mining engineers, both Inlanders and Outlanders, who would visit the locations that Peter Mavimbela had designated as possible centers for a mining operation.
The Aftermath Page 16
