Dummy Redux
Back in our Kalakala foundry days , I was often the dummy. No shade. When you pour molten metal, a red hot crucible (kind of like a fondu pot but full of bronze instead of cheese) is held above the mold in a shank, a long bar with essentially a cupholder in the middle and two handles at one end, a single handle at the other. The person with two handles controls the pour by tilting the crucible, the other one is the dummy because all they do is hold up their end. It's an ingenious design because it eliminates the possibility of working against each other. It was nice having Frank here to lead the electrical work because I could revert to being the dummy, leaving him to do the brain work while I puttered around making dinky moves such as cross-bracing the attenuated carport or insulating between the as yet unheated den and barely heated dining room. I even had time to sneak a smoke in the woodshop. Smoking is super dumb but I enjoy it every once in a long while because nicotine re