Motorists driving along Interstate Highway 83 usually turned their heads for an instant as they zoomed passed Cloverville, Pennsylvania. Their attention was attracted by the tall, square brick chimney that leaned dangerously from the vertical.

Long ago in 1866, when it first belched dirty smoke over the sleepy Pennsylvania countryside, the rustic natives looked upon it with pride and admiration, for it had put their hamlet on the map with fire and flyash.

The good townspeople were as proud of its 122-foot, truncated shape poking up into the sky as were the ancient Egyptians of their obelisks. But the red brick now was faded and the grime had washed away. And for more years than the oldest inhabitant could remember, the chimney had been leaning ever so gradually from the vertical. Today, it seemed as though it was defying gravity.

“Trouble with Cloverville is that we’re fading into the setting sun,” expounded Mort Beaucamp to the city fathers in his law office one evening recently. “Sure enough, this town was booming in the seventies. But that was almost a hundred years ago. Cyrus Cooper built his plow works, Isadore Gouldschmidt put up his bicycle factory and Jeremiah Leadbetter erected the iron foundry. No money was spared in installing the latest equipment. Not only that, but each building was an architectural gem of the period, that’s how proud they were of building our town into a thing of beauty.”

“No argument,” cut in Jay Eckert the banker, “no argument. Too bad some of their wisdom and sterling qualities didn’t rub off on us.”

“Look at those buildings today,” continued Beaucamp, knocking the ashes from his pipe. “All gathering cobwebs and crumbling into dust. What we need is something to draw the tourists who whiz past us on their way down to Florida or up to Canada. They’ve got the money, and our job is to make them stop here and spend some of it.”

“Mort, you’re right as Emily’s pumpkin pie,” agreed Sid Jacobs, owner of the Penn Interstate Motel. "Now take that old bicycle factory. Her high brick chimney and powerhouse are museum pieces. So are her hand-fired boilers, and the steam engine with its flywheel roped to the factory line shaft. At least that’s what a science-museum guy who stayed at my place last week said. Why don’t we raise money to turn the place into a tourist attraction? We could add a few old steam threshing engines from around here, gather machinery of the period and maybe even fix up that old No.7 iron horse at the roundhouse and use it to choo-choo sightseers around.”

“Only one thing wrong with your idea,” cut in Roy Merritt, president of Acme Machine Works, who was a descendant of an early industrialist. “That chimney is slanting as badly as the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Best thing to do with it is bring her down with a charge of dynamite before it caves in the power-plant building next to it. And isn’t that building important for Sid’s museum idea?”

“Floyd Rassmussen told me he found the chimney leaning forty-five inches from vertical when he surveyed around there last spring,” offered Ralph Sadler, the lumber yard owner.

“That’s correct,” assured Bill Thornley the car dealer. “But I think Sid is on the right track with his museum idea. That power plant is a period piece all right. And square brick industrial chimneys are rare today. Look at what Connecticut is doing to attract tourists: They rebuilt the old whaling town of Mystic Seaport and gathered famous whaling ships. And look what Henry Ford did by recreating the typical 1850 American town of Greenfield Village near Detroit. And don’t forget the tourists that Virginia is drawing to that rebuilt colonial town of Williamsburg. One reason so many places go to seed is no one does anything to create business. Complaining never put money into a town’s cash register, so let’s get off our beam ends and see if Sid’s idea can’t make us some money.”

The above meeting took place several months ago. Next day the Cloverville Bugle came out with the story. Soon it was picked up by the Harrisburg News, the Richmond Times and the Washington Post. By the week’s end, lawyer Beaucamp had received offers of two ancient steam threshing engines, one horse-drawn steam fire engine, one Fiske oscillating steam engine, one B&W hand-fired, inclined-tube boiler, one Ericsson hot-air pumping engine, a few windmills and various assorted industrial relics.

“Biggest thing since Cyrus Cooper built the plow works,” reported Beaucamp at the next meeting. “Now it’s up to us. We’ll form an organization, raise money and put the show on the road. Yes sir, Sid, by the time we get squared away, find a curator for the museum and open it to visitors at a dollar a head, you better double the size of your motel and dining room. And it won’t hurt you other merchants either.”

“Just had a brainstorm,” cut in Doctor George Thornton, principal of the local high school “That museum might be the lever we need to help Professor Watkins’ group purchase the forty-acre Hardy estate and start his Polytechnic Institute of Pennsylvania right here in Cloverville. Now wouldn’t THAT be something?”

“Great,” blurted the practical Sid Jacobs, “but first we better get someone to right that square stack of bricks before it flattens my potential customers and the professor’s embryo engineers as well,” he laughed.

Next morning Alex Martz, the local consulting engineer, was brought into the group and assigned the job of looking up the original drawings and specifications of the brick chimney. He found the stack to be 122-ft high, eleven feet square at the base and tapering to nine feet at the top. The four walls were three feet thick and the chimney was leaning 45 inches from true vertical at the top. Also, the entire structure weighed about 400 tons.

“BILGEWATER on mushrooming a few hours of work into a whole career.” Source: POWER

But gathering that data was the easiest part of the consultant’s task. Now he was confronted with the problem of righting the chimney. First he read up on the methods used for the two temples of the god-king Rameses II at Abu Simbel in Egypt, which were raised more than 200 feet above the flood water of the Aswan High Dam. Working with stone sections of the temple weighing up to 33 tons each, German, French, Swedish, Italian and Egyptian engineers used everything from huge cranes to hydraulic jacks.

Yes, the hydraulic jack had the power for righting the chimney. But it needed muscle—not for 33 tons, but for about half of the 400-ton deadweight of the chimney. Martz got busy finding jacks and working out plans for shoring up the foundation under which he could position them.

His efforts were most frustrating. Finally, he located a young contractor who thought he could do the job but who wanted $23,500. Most discouraging was the four months it would take to right the chimney because the jacks he located would not be available for seven weeks. And they had to be shipped from British Columbia in Canada.

“Mighty steep,” grunted Mort Beaucamp, when Martz presented his findings during a luncheon meeting at the Penn Interstate Motel dining room. We already have nine thousand dollars in the kitty, but we can’t afford that kind of luxury.”

“You say four months, Alex?” asked Sid Jacobs. “Our new curator phoned to say he’d like to have some of the exhibits moved in and the place opened to the public in six weeks while the work is going on. But in four months the tourist trade’ll slacken down. Not a very good time to open, even if we could dig up that much money.”

While the discussion continued, the hostess seated two men of impressive appearance at an adjoining table. One was a six-foot-four, powerfully built character sporting a steel brush mustache. He was Marmaduke Surfaceblow, senior member of Surfaceblow & Associate, consulting engineers of New York City, who had sailed the seven seas and operated in every type of power plant afloat or ashore. His companion was his brilliant son, Guy Newcomen Surfaceblow, clean-shaven and immaculately dressed junior member of the firm. The two men were on their way east, driving from Ohio where they had consulted on a new municipal waste-disposal system.

“Chief, let’s get back to that leaning brick chimney at the exit where we turned into Cloverville,” said Guy while scanning the menu. “Looked to me like it might topple any minute.”

“Roger,” rumbled the father as he lighted a long Ringelmann No.5 cigar. “Too bad it isn’t needed anymore. Tapered, square brick factory chimneys are a unique bit of early industrial Americana, and they’re vanishing like the Indians.”

“Good observation,” commented Guy, who was studying for his doctorate in engineering at the Polytechnic Institute of Brooklyn between assignments from his famous father. “And did you notice the surrounding quaint factory buildings? Every one seems to be an authentic masterpiece of early factory architecture.”

“Roger,” rumbled the older member again, his voice crackling like a rock crusher. “Just as a brain joggler while we’re waiting for service, Guy, suppose you had the job of righting that chimney. How would you tackle it?”

“First,” shot back the young engineer-scientist without hesitation, “I’d go back to basics. Remember what Archimedes said over two thousand years ago? �Give me a fulcrum and a lever long enough and I’ll raise the world.’ But I’m afraid the problem of shoring up the foundation under which to position the lever would stump me and take some research and planning.”

“BILGEWATER on mushrooming a few hours’ work into a whole career!” foghorned the father, stoking his cigar and producing a smoke screen. “That’s where you book engineers fall flat on your eggheads. If the solution isn’t spelled out in a textbook, you’re left high and dry.”

Guy seemed jarred by his crusty father’s meat-axe reaction, and the young scholar’s sensitive face showed it. “How would you go about it?” he finally asked the hard-boiled senior.

“I’d also go back to basics,” crackled Marmaduke, “but instead of using a lever to raise the low side, I’d use gravity to lower the high side, because gravity is there and free. And my method would take only about two days.”

Professional engineer Martz at the next table turned abruptly in his chair. “Couldn’t help overhearing your comments, gentlemen,” he began. “I’m Alex Martz, and my associates here are grappling with that very problem. We’re trying to save that factory complex and turn it into an industrial museum. And of course that ornate brick chimney will be the museum’s trademark and the icing on the cake. That is, if we can straighten it before it falls over. Did you say you can do the job within two days? I just got an estimate of four months’ time and $23,500. Why don’t you gentlemen move to our table so we can discuss this in detail.”

Chairs were quickly moved and introductions made as the waiter came for the orders. “We’ll talk business soon as I ballast my holds with corned beef and cabbage and top it off with a bottle of stout,” rumbled the famous consultant as the waiter scribbled away.

“Gentlemen,” enthused Martz, “we are in extremely capable hands. I’ve been reading about Mister Surfaceblow’s unique solutions to energy systems problems since 1948 in the bible of the industry—POWER magazine. If anyone can right that chimney, these gentlemen are the ones.”

“Thanks,” rumbled the big man, blowing smoke rings toward the ceiling. “But as Guy here said, this job depends on getting back to basics. And our first basic requirement is a fee of two thousand dollars. You pay for labor and all expenses, okay?”

“Okay,” cut in Beaucamp so quickly that he surprised himself.

“Full speed ahead,” crackled the salty marine engineer. “We’ll start today soon as we check into this motel and get squared away. That should be about two p.m. if you can round up help, tools and materials we need by then.”

“Just dandy,” agreed Beaucamp. “You just name the kind of help and equipment you need. Most of our local business people are members of our enterprise.”

Marmaduke reached for the menu, scratched a list on the back and handed it to the lawyer.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” commented Beaucamp, passing the list to the professional engineer. “Alex, why don’t you get busy rounding up the men and materials these gentlemen need.”

“Guy, you’re the mathematician in this firm,” challenged Marmaduke, reaching for their luncheon check. “Exactly how much does that chimney have to be lowered at the base to bring it back to true vertical?”

“Simple problem in proportion,” sang out Guy, happy to take an active part in the unusual operation. Taking out his pocket slide rule, he calculated aloud. “Let’s see, now . . . 122 feet high, 11-foot base and 45 inches from true vertical. Just a fraction over four inches,” he concluded.

“Good, we’ll remove four and-a-half inches from the high side near the foundation, and taper it back to zero on the low side,” informed Marmaduke as the two consultants left the dining room.

After checking into their room and unpacking, Guy asked, “Chief, I’m stumped—exactly how will you remove only four-and-a-half inches of masonry without crumbling the chimney?”

The senior member sat down at the desk, pulled out a piece of motel stationery and a ball-point pen, and started sketching. “To bring the chimney back to true vertical, we’ll remove a wedge-shaped slice, cutting through three sides like this,” he explained.

“I know, 1 know,” persisted the young scholar, “but HOW?”

“Simple,” shot back the ingenious father. “First we’ll punch a hole twelve inches square through the middle of the high side, then wedge it tight with wooden blocks to support that section. Then we’ll punch another square hole on either side of the blocks and build a brick pier up to within four-and-a-half inches of the undermined bricks. Then punch two more holes on either side and wedge them with wooden blocks and so on around all three sides.”

At two p.m. sharp, the two consultants drove up to the leaning brick chimney. Two mechanics, one bricklayer and his helper were unloading pickup trucks.

“Everything’s here but the iron wedges,” informed a mechanic. “Archie’s milling strap-iron wedges at the machine shop—he’ll be along pronto.” Just then, the editor of the Cloverville Bugle drove up with an impressive camera dangling from his neck.

“Okay, men, here’s our plan,” Marmaduke started explaining as he produced the sketch. Outlining with chalk the exact area on three sides of the chimney, he directed, “Get busy with your air hammers and start here. Soon as you punch a twelve-inch square hole, wedge it tightly with wooden blocks to support that portion of the chimney.”

“Yeah, but what am I supposed to do if these guys build with wood?” asked the disappointed bricklayer, eyeing the editor preparing his camera for a shot of the first operation.

“Plenty,” assured Marmaduke, pointing to the sketch. “Soon as a hole is wedged with wood, they’ll punch another hole next to it. You get busy and build a brick pier in the hole, leaving a space of four-and-a-half inches between the top of the pier and the undermined brickwork, for the chimney to rest on when she settles herself. Remember, one hole filled with wood, one with brick pier, all the way around three sides, okay?”

“Can do,” enthused Salvatore the bricklayer, giving orders to his helper to start mixing mortar.

By five o’clock, several holes had been punched in the high side of the chimney and filled with wood. “Let’s knock off and be back here at eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” instructed Marmaduke.

Returning to the motel, he explained to Guy, “The next two sides won’t go so quickly, because Sal will have to carefully taper the gaps down to zero as he approaches the low side.”

That evening, the editor joined the consultants during dinner and jotted down details of the operation while they dined. Next morning at eight, the job was resumed. By four in the afternoon; three sides of the chimney were resting on wooden blocks and ready for the most critical operation.

“Now stand by and listen carefully, mates,” cautioned the salty marine engineer as he produced a shower of flyash from his cigar. “First, let’s make this place shipshape by cleaning up all the rubble. We might have to move fast with those torches and we don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Soon as the area was cleaned up, Marmaduke continued, “Take your torches and start on opposite sides. Play your flame on the wooden blocks until they start burning. Keep walking back and forth and make sure all the blocks burn evenly so the chimney lowers slowly and evenly.”

“Now, Salvatore,” rumbled Marmaduke, “take your hammer and a handful of iron wedges. As a crack appears near the base, drive in wedges to prevent cracks from forming above it.”

By that time, a crowd had gathered all along the roped-off section of the street. Many of the sidewalk superintendents had cameras to record the righting of their famous landmark—or, as some feared, its collapse.

The torches were lit, and soon the wooden fill started burning, the two mechanics walking back and forth to keep them burning evenly. Then came a slight groan from the chimney—but it was only a whisper. Then another, and another. Salvatore got busy driving in iron wedges as slight horizontal openings appeared.

“See that?” someone down the block cried out. “She’s moving, I saw her move.” Heads shot skyward and cameras clicked. The slow burning continued and the chimney moved toward the vertical, but ever so slowly. After about an hour, the last flame had died out and the structure was resting solidly on the new brick piers.

“She’s home,” foghorned Marmaduke. “We’ll finish the job by filling in the holes with new brick, but that can wait till tomorrow.”

Mort Beaucamp, Alex Martz and Sid Jacobs left the spectators as the policeman gathered in his rope, and the crowd came closer to rubberneck. “Can’t believe my eyes,” erupted the lawyer. “First time that chimney doesn’t remind me of our village drunk.”

“I’m sending the story with pictures to all the wire services, including Reuters in London,” smiled Chuck Shafer, the editor. “And we’re headlining the second part of the story tomorrow on our front page.”

“Here’s your fee,” said Beaucamp, handing over a certified check. “The publicity we’ll get after your ingenious solution gets into print will be worth many times this amount to us. Mister Surfaceblow, you not only righted our chimney, but you’re putting our new museum into headlines—just what we need for a successful start of our new museum.”

The post Marmaduke straightens a chimney appeared first on POWER Magazine.

Steve Elonka began chronicling the exploits of Marmaduke Surfaceblow — a six-foot-four marine engineer with a steel brush mustache and a foghorn voice — in POWER in 1948, when he raised the wooden mast of the SS Asia Sun with the help of two cobras and a case of Sandpaper Gin. Marmy’s simple solutions to seemingly intractable plant problems remain timeless. This Classic Marmaduke story, published 50 years ago, takes place during the Cold War at an Air Force Base in northern Greenland, where under-ice tunnels were constructed to move nuclear rockets around the facility unobserved. The miniature nuclear reactor was operated for almost three years before it was shut down and returned to the U.S., ending the Army’s nuclear program. Greenland officially became a separate county within the Kingdom of Denmark in 1953, and home rule was introduced in 1979.

Marmaduke arrives at Greenland’s Camp Century, the city under ice. Source: POWER

Few people know that Greenland resembles an ice-filled bowl, rimmed by coastal ranges. The greatest known ice thickness is over two miles (11,190 feet), and its tremendous weight has depressed the ground surface to 1,200 feet below sea level. This gigantic ice cap covers 700,000 square miles and, if melted, would raise the level of the oceans by 20 ft.

On Greenland, and only 886 miles from the North Pole, is Camp Century, the city under ice. This camp, occupied by 100 to 200 men, was constructed 40 ft below the ice cap surface and has 21 tunnels, including a Main Street that is 1,100 ft long.

Camp Century was built by the Corps of Engineers and is operated by the U.S. Army Arctic Research Support Group. The camp is located 138 miles inland, which is slightly farther from Thule Airbase on Baffin Bay. Obviously, logistic support in such an environment is difficult, especially during the winter months. That’s why the Army decided a nuclear power plant would serve Camp Century’s needs especially well. For example, based on experience in the Antarctic, 60% of the cargo lift is fuel. So the fuel oil the Army buys for 12¢ a gallon ends up costing up to $6 a gallon by the time it’s in the storage tanks at our frozen bases. That’s pretty steep.

The answer was the PM-2A pre-packaged nuclear power plant to provide the needed electricity and steam from nuclear fuel instead of oil. The reactor would need less than 50 lb of uranium-235 every year, compared to over one-half million gallons of diesel fuel. The plant was constructed on skids, then loaded aboard the USNS Marine Fiddler for Thule, Greenland. There she was unloaded for the truck trip to the ice cap, where began the sled trip to Camp Century. Criticality was reached only 78 days after arrival at the site. This included tying the various skids together, checking out the systems, and getting the reactor core loaded. And there had been no field welding.

One unusual feature is the method of providing water for the camp. Steam from the nuclear plant supplies a steam jet, which descends slowly into the ice and melts a bell-shaped chamber. An attached pump sends up water as required. Over 10,000 gallons daily have been supplied thus.

Fond Recollections

"Our portable medium-powered nuclear plant up in the Arctic is being reshielded right now, Marmaduke old buddy," said Colonel Hanel to his cantankerous old shipmate, "after only three months of operation. I must say she has no resemblance to the power plant we had on the SS Nightingale in World War II, remember?"

"I’ll drink to that also," rumbled Marmaduke, refilling his glass from the bottle of Sandpaper Gin and expertly ballasting his double bottoms.

The scene of this friendly dialogue which occurred in 1959 was the Bent Propeller Bar in the Hell’s Kitchen section of New York City. The Colonel and the tall marine engineer with the steel brush mustache had run into each other by accident. After both men drank a toast to the Nightingale’s main engine, then in turn to her boilers and to most of her equipment, down to her lowly bilge pumps, they started all over again, toasting their old ship’s crew — one by one. Suddenly Marmaduke asked in his gravelly voice, "What’s this NPFO you keep jawboning about, Colonel? Some new kind of ship I haven’t heard of?"

"You’d never guess, Marmy," answered the Colonel. "I’m with the Army’s Nuclear Power Field Office in Fort Belvoir, Virginia. And come to think of it, if you have never been shipmates with one of these prepackaged power plants, I just might work a deal to let you fly up there with me tomorrow. What say? Besides, our old shipmate SFC Tom Cruse is up there now."

"Fire away," crackled the marine engineer, in his foghorn voice. ‘‘I’m for eyeballing that deep-freeze plant, so heave me a line and take me in tow. Where did you say that reactor is?"

"This one’s at Camp Century," informed the Colonel. "She has a 2,000 kW steam turbine electric generating unit for heat, light and exhaust steam for melting ice for the camp’s water supply. And you’ll see a lot of other ingenious devices up there that might be new to you. Of course three diesel engines back up the reactor when it’s shut down. I don’t have to tell you that every source of heat and light must be assured to support human life under the ice cap."

World’s Largest Island

Next morning the two men were aboard an Air Force C-134, headed for frozen Thule in Greenland. After a short stopover at Goose Bay in Labrador, the C-134 set down on the long, ice-covered runway at Thule, where 7,000 Americans operate the largest U.S. installation in the Arctic.

Marmaduke and the Colonel were no sooner off the plane, after landing in a blizzard, than they were met by an Army sergeant. The sergeant told them that a heavy swing, which is a snow train made up of a Cat pulling two or three 20-ton sleds, was ready to shove off from Camp Tuto as soon as they arrived there. Eight or nine of these trains make up a heavy swing. After all, there is safety in numbers. It was midwinter, and the thermometer had sunk to minus 48F. Not only that, but a 30-knot wind was mercilessly blasting without letup.

At first Marmy and the Colonel had some trouble getting used to the midnight darkness at midday. But by the time they arrived at Camp Tuto, they had acquired their night vision. Two days later, after crawling along at three miles an hour in dark subzero cold and howling Arctic winds, the heavy swing pulled into the welcome protection of the maintenance tunnel at Camp Century.

After they had paid their respects to the camp commander and thawed out a bit, Marmaduke spent the afternoon eyeballing the camp. He was especially interested in the unique power plant. Besides the reshielding work going on, he saw that No. 3 diesel was also down for major overhaul. She had a broken crankshaft, and a new one had been ordered from the States. But No. 1 and 2 engines were on the line and producing 600 kW of power, on which the camp seemed to live comfortably enough. The normal load was about 900 kW.

By evening, Marmaduke had met most of the camp personnel. He couldn’t remember more congenial shipmates anywhere. They were alert, had good senses of humor, and were eager to answer his questions and make him feel at home. Several of them had even heard of his reputation as an ingenious troubleshooter both on land and sea.

That evening Marmaduke sat down to a steak dinner, which, to everyone’s surprise, he washed down with Sandpaper Gin. "Keeps my heating system from congealing and it also loosens up the barnacles," he explained.

After dinner he visited the Non Com Club, which invitation he had accepted that afternoon from the noncommissioned officer, MSG Buteau, in charge of the nuclear plant. Marmaduke was right at home, for there was a Navy chief aboard and several Army men who had been in the Navy as well as the merchant marine.

Electricity Is Life

As with seafaring men the world over, conversation soon got around to the ships on which they’d sailed, the ports they’d visited, and their exciting experiences around the globe. The hours passed so pleasantly, it was half past midnight before Marmaduke realized it and bade his host good night. As he started back to his bunk in the commissioned officers’ quarters, the lights dimmed, then flickered and went out. For an instant it was deathly quiet in the club.

In seconds, flashlights winked on, for the men stationed in the sub-surface camp, like marine engineers on watch aboard ship, always had flashlights on their persons. Someone immediately shoved a flashlight into Marmaduke’s hand.

"There’s trouble at the diesel plant," exclaimed one of the men, rushing for the door. As Marmy hurriedly followed his new shipmates along Main Street and entered the diesel plant, he saw Lee McNeil, the watch operator, busily adjusting the one remaining diesel engine.

"What’s wrong, Mac?" rumbled Marmaduke, who had shortly before said good night to McNeil in the Non Com Club when he left to take over the 12-to-8 watch.

"Number one was running rough, then started knocking," explained McNeil, noticeably preoccupied. "That’s why I had to open several camp feeders and take the engine off the line a few minutes ago. But No. 2 can carry 300 kW and she seems to be holding her own."

As Marmaduke watched, the utility crew pitched in like a well-drilled team. They trimmed every watt that wasn’t absolutely essential from the camp’s load.

Instantly, the camp commander was on the intercom. He gave orders to close several living quarters and told the men to double up. Heat was now priceless, and there was none to waste. Some of the men were asked to sleep in the mess hall. Beams of light flashed in the dark as the men busied themselves doubling up and again settling down for the night. The diesel technicians immediately turned on No. 1 engine.

About 2:30 a.m., the improbable happened. No. 2 diesel coughed a few times, then died. Now Camp Century was in blackness, save for a few strategic areas where emergency lights were powered with nickel cadmium batteries. But more serious, the camp was now completely without heat.

Again, the camp commander’s solemn voice came over the intercom. Speaking calmly, he informed his crew of this latest catastrophe. The men knew that, without electricity for heat, there would be no area within the camp warmer than 30 F below zero in only about 20 minutes. So unless the engineers could learn quickly why No. 2 diesel had stopped and then could get her started and back on the line, the camp was doomed. And so perhaps were all of them.

Working by flashlights, the engineers first got their heads together. They were sure of only one thing: that No. 2 engine had worn rings and for that reason was next on the list for overhaul; in fact, a full set of replacement parts was near the engine, ready to install. But why did she stop? A quick check of the crankcase oil confirmed their suspicion: the lube oil had become diluted with diesel fuel oil leaking past the rings, and so the crankcase oil’s lubricity was drastically reduced. That caused seizure of No. 2 crankshaft journal, as it had been recently overhauled and had the least clearance in its bearing.

Marmaduke watched the engineers open the crankcase drains to remove the contaminated oil. One gang got busy opening her main bearings to file the welded metal from the scored crankshaft journal, replace the top, and roll out the bottom bearing insert. Another group started replacing her pistons with spare ones that were already ringed and ready to install.

A third crew hurried out to find a drum of lubricating oil. But to their utter dismay, they learned that the only crankcase oil available was in drums stored out in the tunnel. And out there the temperature was 30F below zero.

A drum was quickly rolled into the diesel room. But they could tell that the oil inside had congealed into a solid mass. Marmaduke, like the camp crew, took this latest kick in the teeth with silence. They were all in the same boat, and they’d sink or swim together. And there was no one answer to their complex problems. They’d have to take one hurdle at a time.

Now the tall muscular visitor pitched in and helped the boys hoist the heavy oil drum up on the metal rack. The drum’s filling plug was unscrewed, but no oil would flow out. McNeil poked his finger against the solid mass inside. "Like taffy," he said simply. By then, the situation looked hopeless.

Temperatures Go Negative

The temperature in the diesel plant was now down to 22F below zero. The men had noticed that the battery powered lights had begun to dim. While no one mentioned it, they all realized that their working time was nearing the end unless something drastic was done. But what? A black gloom overtook several of the men.

The diesel technicians were about to give up on the congealed oil. Then Marmaduke suddenly roared. "Bilgewater on stubborn oil. I’ll make it move. Get me a blanket we can cut into strips and saturate with that warm crankcase oil you just drained. Then we’ll light it under this drum and you’ll see some action."

"Hold everything," excitedly erupted one of the crew, coming to life at Marmaduke’s suggestion. "How about those smudge-type burners stored in the motor maintenance shop?"

"That’s right," shouted another.

"We use them in early winter to mark the landing zone for the helicopter when there’s still some daylight." Now there was new hope, and the effect on everyone was electric.

Two pots were quickly brought into the diesel room and placed under the oil drum. Four men stood by with fire extinguishers. A fire under ice is dreaded as much as at sea. Within ten minutes the oil began to ooze from the bung. By then the temperature had also climbed in the diesel room, and the newly ringed pistons and crankshaft bearing liners were back in place.

It took another three-quarters of an hour to heat the oil sufficiently, fill the crankcase to the proper level, close up the engine, and have it ready for cranking. During this time, several smudge pots kept the engine room warm.

The battery used for cranking the little pony diesel, which in turn cranked the big engines, was not only cold, but also old — a very bad combination. Leston McNeil wondered out loud how many times the battery might turn over the cold pony engine before it gave up the ghost.

Liquid Gold Rush

By then, two full hours had passed since the total loss of power at Camp Century. And the camp commander himself had all but given up hope of saving the camp. Now his chief concern was saving his men. While the engineers were busy trying to breathe life into their ailing machinery, the commander had already given word to prepare for evacuation to the surface.

His plan was to move the men, with whatever personal gear they needed and could carry, to the small Jamesway type huts up on the surface. Those small huts had been set up for the men who had built Camp Century. Each contained a built-in camp stove which burned diesel fuel oil. At least the men would have some hope for survival. But the sub-surface camp, for the time being, would become a frozen tomb.

The first detail of men returned crestfallen. They reported that the Jamesway huts were buried under a mountain of drift snow. So a second detail of men with one piece of large snow-removing equipment was quickly dispatched to open up the huts.

It was at this point that the plant operators were ready to start No. 2 diesel. But the engine must start on the first try. There was no second chance. After attempting to take the chill off the unit with a smudge pot, it was carefully primed with ether as a starting fuel. All eyes were on McNeil, who offered up a silent prayer and then punched the starting button.

Suddenly, the loud metallic roar of the tiny unmuffled pony engine rumbled through the quiet frozen tomb like the eruption of Mount Vesuvius during the last days of Pompeii. But that ear-splitting noise was the sweetest music ever heard by most of the men in the diesel room.

In only a few minutes, No. 2 diesel was thundering out her welcome explosions of life and warmth. And after only a few minutes of warm-up, McNeil closed the breaker. The utility crew quickly threw the various switches that energized the tunnel’s lights and heaters, and vital sustaining life was again flowing back into Camp Century. Marmaduke and the men in the diesel room heard wild shouts of joy from tunnel after tunnel as their lights went on. And by noon next day, No. 1 diesel also was cranking away.

The nuclear reactor used at Camp Century was the first of eight portable nuclear reactors made by the Army to produce power in remote regions. This modular plant was assembled at Camp Century in 27 days and began making electricity just nine hours after 43 pounds of enriched uranium-235 were loaded in the reactor. The plant was rated at 2 MW and was configured to also produce steam to operate the water well. The plant operated reliably for 33 months until it was shut down and removed in 1963. Source: U.S. Army

Comparing Notes

Two days later, Marmaduke and Colonel Hanel were back at the Bent Propeller Bar in Manhattan for a drink before parting company.

"Sure glad the reshielding work was completed in time to get the nuclear plant going again," began the Colonel, lifting his glass. "Those boys won’t get the crankshaft for No. 3 diesel for some time. But with the reactor going now, that type of emergency won’t happen again soon."

‘‘I’m with you," rumbled Marmaduke as he ballasted his bottoms.

"You’ve been in some hellish emergencies all over the world, Marmy," began the Colonel again. "Do any of them shape up with what we went through at Camp Century last week?"

Marmaduke lit a long black cigar and blew a few smoke rings towards the ceiling. He then worked up a vacuum and took on more fuel.

"Not since the time the old SS Trade Horn suddenly broke her rudder during a storm and was within minutes of piling up on the treacherous coral beach in Makassar Straits off Borneo," rumbled Marmaduke in his foghorn voice.

"What’s so unusual about that?" asked the Colonel, looking uncertainly at his friend. "All you had to do was reverse the engine, wasn’t it?"

"That’s all," agreed Marmy, blowing a few more smoke rings. "But one of Bring-’em-Back-Alive Frank Buck’s black panthers was frightened by the storm and had broken out of his bamboo cage on No. 2 hatch and ran below. And there he was, parked in front of the main engine throttle."

The post Marmy’s Deep-Freeze Blackout appeared first on POWER Magazine.

Steve Elonka began chronicling the exploits of Marmaduke Surfaceblow—a six-foot-four marine engineer with a steel brush mustache and a foghorn voice—in POWER in 1948, when Marmaduke raised the wooden mast of the SS Asia Sun with the help of two cobras and a case of Sandpaper Gin. Marmy’s simple solutions to seemingly intractable plant problems remain timeless. This Classic Marmaduke story, originally published more than 50 years ago, illustrates that although solutions may be easy to identify, the challenge is often in the implementation. Sometimes a little horse sense is all that is necessary.

“All hell broke loose in the quiet little town of St. Mary’s, Georgia, one July morning in 1916.

“As I was saying, all hell broke loose that morning in St. Mary’s, but let me tell you guys what I was doing in that dinky port in the first place. Three of us engineers from the SS Caribbean went ashore in Savannah one evening after pulling in from Havana. We burned up the town that night and next morning I awoke in the local hotel at St Mary’s. Don’t ask me how I got there. All I know is that I was stone broke.

“Everyone was staring up openmouthed. Only the horse was calm.”

“Walking down to the water-front, I came to the Pratt Refrigeration Co. A native told me that Joshua Pratt was the big shot in town. Fishermen brought their shrimp to his place for icing and shipping. That guy owned half the town and drove two of the finest horses in those parts.

“Pratt was in his office and asked me what in hell I wanted. When I told him I was a marine engineer, he laughed, then motioned for me to follow him into the plant. There I saw three 3D-ton horizontal CO₂ compressors running at full speed.

“ ‘You call yourself an engineer,’ he cackled. ‘Well, you got a job and we’ll see how good you really are.’ Then he explained that usually one or two compressors would carry the load, but that lately all three had to run. Trouble was the condenser was coated with paraffin. Seemed that old Joshua had tried to pinch pennies by using a paraffin-base oil in the compressors instead of the usual arctic oil.

“Pratt told me to hang up my coat and start rigging up a makeshift condenser from old piping so I could start cleaning the fouled up condenser soon as it was ready. His idea was to run the piping out into the bay and back. But I knew that was easier said than done.

“ ‘I’ll get that gunk out of those tubes without shutting down, tearing down, building a new condenser or opening one piece of equipment,’ I promised.

“ ‘How?’ asked Joshua, suddenly swallowing his Adam’s apple and staring blankly at me.

“ ‘By shutting off the cooling water to the condenser and getting the condenser so damn hot that all that paraffin will melt out,’ was my answer.

“ ‘Over my dead body,’ wheezed Pratt. ‘You ain’t gonna burn up my expensive plant just to try a hair-brained theory. Operating refrigeration equipment calls for horse sense,’ he added. And that was that.

“So I spent the day going through the motions of sizing up the place for the jury-rig condenser and scouting around for tools and equipment. ‘You can kill a hog without breaking his legs and letting him bleed to death,’ I always said, and I was going to do that condenser the easy way. In the meantime, I got acquainted with the operator: Frank Peeler.

“That afternoon I told Frank my plans for melting out that paraffin. But I let him know that it was a two-man job and also that it would have to be done after midnight.

“Frank was skeptical, but after we polished off a bottle of Sandpaper Gin at the local bar that evening, he was with me.

“At midnight Frank and I entered Pratt’s stable. We unhitched one of his horses and led him down the street to St Mary’s Presbyterian Church. Winding steps that weren’t too steep lead up to a belfry with a railing around it.

“We blindfolded the nag and started him up those steps. At first he balked, but after Frank pulled on his halter from his bow—while I did some pretty good convincing from his stern—he finally got the idea and arrived in good shape. But it wasn’t easy.

“Next morning all hell popped loose.

“The day broke beautiful and clear. Then the first early riser, one Jed Koster, passed the church on the way to his shrimp boat as he had done for years. But this morning he heard the unmistakable neighing of a horse—not from the usual direction of Joshua Pratt’s stable, but from directly above the church.

“Jed looked up, blinked his eyes, then turned white as a ghost. He quickly glanced up again, as if dreading to look. Yep, there was the horse all right, looking majestic as the brilliant morning sun lighted up its red hide and mane. The horse was gazing peacefully out over the town from his noble perch, no doubt waiting for Pratt’s stable boy to bring him his oats.

“Jed opened his mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out. Then, mopping the cold sweat from his brow with a red bandana, he walked slowly toward Pratt’s house. He turned every few steps to look up at the belfry. By golly, it was a real live horse—and it was in the church belfry.

“Before long Jed returned with the tall, lanky Pratt in tow. By then things were really buzzing. A handful of people had gathered already and there was much yelling and hollering. Everyone was staring up openmouthed. Only the horse was calm. From his unique perch he even seemed enjoy all this hubbub.

“After Pratt blew a few fuses, flipped his lid, stripped a gear or two, and blew a high-pressure gasket for good measure, he realized there was nothing to do but get that critter down. But he soon learned that getting a horse down from a steeple took more engineering than running an ice plant.

“By then every man, woman, child, and dog in St Mary’s had gathered around the church. This was the biggest local news since pirates unloaded their unholy cargo on the beach in 1812. Only Frank Peeler and I weren’t there. We were melting out that paraffin.

“Now that the big attraction was at the church, I could do my stuff without being disturbed by Pratt. With all three compressors running, I closed the cooling-water to the condenser. The head pressure began to climb. The normal head pressures in summer were around 900 psi. After running all morning with no cooling-water, the head pressure reached 1,245 psi.

“That’s when Frank left the plant.

“He had a lot of faith in me, but without being braced by Sandpaper Gin, this was a little too much. If the plant was going to blow up, he was satisfied to hear it from a safe distance.

“I opened the oil separator as the temperature climbed and started blowing out melted paraffin. At the same time, I kept adding new arctic oil to the compressor. That was the secret to making this a safe operation—adding good oil as burning oil was removed.

“After about six hours, no more paraffin returned to the large-suction oil-separator. Besides, the head pressure had just about reached the popping-off pressure for the compressors’ safeties. So I cracked the condenser cooling-water slightly.

“After running all three compressors for another four hours under normal conditions, the cold storage-box temperatures dropped enough to cut out one compressor. And by next morning, one machine carried the load.

“What was going on at the church all this time? Well, it was almost midnight before the excitement died down, for it took that long to get that horse back to earth. And it wasn’t until the next morning that Pratt showed up at the plant. He seemed a little haggard and shaky, even after a night’s rest.

“ ‘All your temperatures are up and there’s only one compressor running,’ I informed him. ‘And all the paraffin is out of the condensers.’

“ ‘How did you do that?’ he asked, blinking his eyes and bobbing his Adam’s apple again.

“ ‘By taking your advice and using horse sense,’ I answered.”

The post Marmy, a Horse, and Compressors appeared first on POWER Magazine.

Steve Elonka began chronicling the exploits of Marmaduke Surfaceblow—a six-foot-four marine engineer with a steel brush mustache and a foghorn voice—in POWER in 1948, when Marmy raised the wooden mast of the SS Asia Sun with the help of two cobras and a case of Sandpaper Gin. Marmy’s simple solutions to seemingly intractable plant problems remain timeless. This Classic Marmaduke story, published more than 50 years ago, reminds us that an overhaul or startup may not go as planned, but it can still have a happy ending.

“Zakho strode forward majestically and straddled the goat amidships,” guffawed Marmaduke.

“Bilgewater on dedications,” roared Marmaduke Surfaceblow in his foghorn voice. “I’ll tell you armchair engineers about a dedication that almost turned out to be the plant’s requiem.”

This blast took place yesterday while I was having a corned beef and cabbage luncheon at the Bent Propeller Bar, famous waterfront hangout. Effect of Marmy’s sudden explosion was immediate and complete. It seemed that the earth itself had stopped spinning. What had been a raucous babble of voices suddenly turned into the stillness of a tomb. Only thing important was that the cantankerous old fox of a consulting engineer was about to sound off, so every word must be heard.

Thus suddenly propelled into the limelight, the old gent stood at the crowded bar, his 6-ft 4-in. frame straight as an arrow, with his battered gray derby crowning his shock of unruly hair. Marmy leisurely put down his bottle of Sandpaper Gin and turned his back to the bar. Then, surveying his audience deliberately, he hooked his huge thumbs into the armpits of his checkered vest. Satisfied he had the undivided attention of us mortal earthlings, he began to sound off with a blast that shook the bar.

“Now hear this,” he roared. “Back in 1947 I was installation engineer for an American manufacturer at a large industrial plant in Tabuzun, Dhekire. We had just installed a steam turbine-generator unit. Soon as the new machine was running the top brass decided to celebrate by homage to Divirki, their local Goddess of Power.”

“A week before the big day they started decorating with leaves, flowers and branches from sacred plants and trees. Seemed like acres of jungle were cleared of vegetation. The joint looked and smelled more like a giant greenhouse than any respectable power plant had a right to look and smell.”

“Celebration was to be started off in the traditional way, by sacrificing a goat. The animal’s carcass was then to be rationed out to the plant personnel to take home. But the important thing was to make the sacrifice according to Hoyle. That called for someone to straddle the goat amidships and, facing forward, to yank back the animal’s head with his left hand while using his right hand to slash the goat’s throat with a sharp ceremonial knife. Zab Zakho, the chief engineer, was to do the honors, with Amar Azizlya, the chief electrician, assisting with the proceedings.”

“When the great day arrived everyone from miles around showed up, including the village officials. Because the sacrifice had to take place inside the powerhouse next to the new unit, there was standing room only.”

“Everyone was in a festive mood. The great moment arrived. Zakho strode forward majestically, waving his goat sticker. Then, straddling the goat, he yanked the unhappy animal’s head back by its chin whiskers and was about to slash its throat. But at that instant my native assistant, Hulbi Banner, whipped a squirt can filled with carbon tetrachloride from behind his back. Taking deadly aim, he squirted at the goat’s stern section. BULL’S EYE! That squirt started a chain reaction of events that no one present will forget.”

“Being energized so unexpectedly, the goat took one mighty leap, heading in the direction of the Goddess Divriki’s heavenly throne. Zakho suddenly found himself riding the goat for three mighty jumps. Then, just as suddenly, his chin hooked over a wire stretched across the room that was loaded down with decorations. The greatly surprised and most unfortunate chief crash-landed flat on his hull and conked out with the speed of a ruptured fuse.”

“The goat couldn’t be bothered with Zakho, and cared less. He kept making knots, trying to escape from that carbon tet that was corroding his poop deck. About halfway to the other end of the building he aimed for a side window. But the main exciter set got in his way. By then the goat had too much steam up. He tried to stop, but his brakes wouldn’t hold.”

“That plant used one main exciter at a time for all five of its old machines. The exciter was driven by a small impulse shaft-coupling and generator brush-gear. The flying goat landed on a governor drive belt. The belt flew off and the belt safety started shutting down the unit, and the plant. Carbon brushes and pieces of goat went flying in all directions.”

“At that exact moment the big crane was passing overhead. We’d had trouble just a few minutes before the ceremony was to begin, so had the crane pick up a welding machine to take to the far end of the plant. The operator’s head was hanging over the cab’s edge, as he stared at the doings below.”

“As the goat got scrambled on that belt, a hind leg with the hoof attached zoomed through the air and caught the hypnotized crane operator smack between the eyes, knocking him for a loop. Down below all eyes were in the goat’s direction, so no one noticed the runaway crane until it hit the end of the runway with an earth-shaking crash. We noticed it then, all right.”

“Upon crashing, the welding machine hanging on the hook swung violently out through a large window. Swinging back it hit the masonry column that separated the window from the next one and knocked it clear out of the wall.”

“Below in the loading bay was a flatcar loaded with a dozen tons of cement in paper sacks. Those flatcars are called bogies in Tabuzun. Instead of air brakes, this bogie had a long lever on the side for the brakeman to set. The brake was released by kicking the dog, which snapped off the brakes.”

“As luck would have it, a chunk of masonry from above landed smack on the dog, releasing the brakes, The loaded bogie started rolling slowly out of the powerhouse because the rails were downgrade for the first two miles. The switchyard was 300 yards from the powerhouse.”

“By that time bedlam had really broken loose. As that runaway bogie built up speed, natives along the tracks ran for the jungle, shrieking their heads off. But just then we were horrified to see our big diesel locomotive come up the line, headed straight for the bogie. The diesel driver saw it too, but the bogie had picked up a 30-mile-per-hour speed and was shedding a few cement sacks at every bumpy rail joint for good measure. The diesel driver did the only sensible thing done by anyone that hectic day. He stopped, then started going astern to the first siding, about 200 yards down the line.”

“All this time he excitedly jabbered instructions to his brakie, who jumped off, ran to the siding, threw the switch, then threw it back just as the bogie came hell bent for election. He just did make it in time. The bogie went zooming by, throwing cement sacks like rockets in every direction. One of the sacks shot through the cab window where it exploded, putting the diesel driver out of the show temporarily by snowing him under with cement dust. Now we had a runaway diesel. It rumbled to the end of the siding and, since a wooden tie acted as the only bumper, the locomotive went right on through the carpenter shop and came to roost inside the foundry.”

“But the bogie didn’t stop. It headed merrily for the next town of Shatra at a good 60-mph clip. Last time we saw that missile she was zooming around a curve, shedding cement sacks like howitzer shells which exploded in big clouds of dust as they hit the ground.”

“We were still dumbfounded from all that had happened within a few minutes’ time as that bogie disappeared around the bend. That, we thought was that. But no, for coming around the curve on the same track was a trolley car. Shades of Captain Kidd! And through the haze of dust there seemed to be, of all things, a cow sitting in the front seat. This was too much and I wondered whether I was nuts—or possibly delirious.”

“Later, when things quieted down, the trolley driver told me what happened just before the car came around that bend. He said he had seen the bogie zoom around the curve, straight at him. He and the passengers didn’t wait to learn why—they jumped. But lucky for them, the bogie jumped the track on a curve before reaching the trolley. Next thing the driver saw was the bogie rolling down the bank into the river.”

“There was such a cloud of cement dust that no one knew how the young Brahma bull came to park in the front seat. Maybe the crash of the bogie scared him, starting him across the tracks where the runaway trolley scooped him up.”

“Sight of the trolley caused hell to really break loose. Everyone started throwing switches as the trolley came tearing into the switchyard with the bellowing bull in the driver’s seat. Nobody seemed to know what he was doing. Idea seemed to be to do something, and do it fast. If they had done nothing, the trolley would have crashed in the loading bay of the powerhouse. But someone threw a switch, diverting the trolley into the other side of the powerhouse.”

“Trouble with that was that the track led alongside the transformer room and ended up against a loading dock in the far end. The plant office was directly at the end of the track. When the trolley hit the end of the line and crashed into the loading dock, the bull was unloaded as if by jet action. He skidded through the open door of the office. By the time that frightened animal had bulled himself out of the office, the place was a total wreck. A bull in a china shop was a piker to what that fellow did to that office.”

“But there’s more to the story. The staff was hurriedly getting the spare exciter set going when they learned that the crane crash had knocked down about 30 feet of the building cornice which took the telephone lines with it. And the lines had to be repaired before they could call the dispatcher’s office to let him know about putting the machines back on the line.”

“Later we learned that our two other plants had been knocked out when we went off the line. It took about an hour to get things going again.”

“With everything finally shipshape after a fashion, speeches were made as originally planned. We Americans and our native assistants had garlands of flowers hung around our necks. We ate coconuts, dates and candy made from palm juice. We even chewed betel nut along with the natives.”

“The diesel driver, in the meantime, was busy shaking cement dust out of his ears and the crane operator’s noggin was being bandaged over a lump the size of a goose egg.”

“As for chief engineer Zah Zakho, two months later when I left for the States, he was still talking in a hoarse whisper from having his vocal cords tied into a knot when his Adam’s apple tangled with that taut wire.”

The post Marmy’s One-Squirt Celebration appeared first on POWER Magazine.

“Bilgewater on dedications,” roared Marmaduke Surfaceblow in his foghorn voice. “I’ll tell you armchair engineers about a dedication that almost turned out to be the plant’s requiem.”

This blast took place yesterday while I was having a corned beef and cabbage luncheon at the Bent Propeller Bar, famous waterfront hangout. Effect of Marmy’s sudden explosion was immediate and complete. It seemed that the earth itself had stopped spinning. What had been a raucous babble of voices suddenly turned into the stillness of a tomb. Only thing important was that the cantankerous old fox of a consulting engineer was about to sound off, so every word must be heard.

Thus suddenly propelled into the limelight, the old gent stood at the crowded bar, his 6-ft 4-in. frame straight as an arrow, with his battered gray derby crowning his shock of unruly hair. Marmy leisurely put down his bottle of Sandpaper Gin and turned his back to the bar. Then, surveying his audience deliberately, he hooked his huge thumbs into the armpits of his checkered vest. Satisfied he had the undivided attention of us mortal earthlings, he began to sound off with a blast that shook the bar.

“Now hear this,” he roared. “Back in 1947 I was installation engineer for an American manufacturer at a large industrial plant in Tabuzun, Dhekire. We had just installed a steam turbine-generator unit. Soon as the new machine was running the top brass decided to celebrate by homage to Divirki, their local Goddess of Power.”

“A week before the big day they started decorating with leaves, flowers and branches from sacred plants and trees. Seemed like acres of jungle were cleared of vegetation. The joint looked and smelled more like a giant greenhouse than any respectable power plant had a right to look and smell.”

“Celebration was to be started off in the traditional way, by sacrificing a goat. The animal’s carcass was then to be rationed out to the plant personnel to take home. But the important thing was to make the sacrifice according to Hoyle. That called for someone to straddle the goat amidships and, facing forward, to yank back the animal’s head with his left hand while using his right hand to slash the goat’s throat with a sharp ceremonial knife. Zab Zakho, the chief engineer, was to do the honors, with Amar Azizlya, the chief electrician, assisting with the proceedings.”

“When the great day arrived everyone from miles around showed up, including the village officials. Because the sacrifice had to take place inside the powerhouse next to the new unit, there was standing room only.”

“Everyone was in a festive mood. The great moment arrived. Zakho strode forward majestically, waving his goat sticker. Then, straddling the goat, he yanked the unhappy animal’s head back by its chin whiskers and was about to slash its throat. But at that instant my native assistant, Hulbi Banner, whipped a squirt can filled with carbon tetrachloride from behind his back. Taking deadly aim, he squirted at the goat’s stern section. BULL’S EYE! That squirt started a chain reaction of events that no one present will forget.”

“Being energized so unexpectedly, the goat took one mighty leap, heading in the direction of the Goddess Divriki’s heavenly throne. Zakho suddenly found himself riding the goat for three mighty jumps. Then, just as suddenly, his chin hooked over a wire stretched across the room that was loaded down with decorations. The greatly surprised and most unfortunate chief crash-landed flat on his hull and conked out with the speed of a ruptured fuse.”

INSERT ART (jpg drawing) where it works.

“Zakho strode forward majestically and straddled the goat amidships,” guffawed Marmaduke.

END ART

“The goat couldn’t be bothered with Zakho, and cared less. He kept making knots, trying to escape from that carbon tet that was corroding his poop deck. About halfway to the other end of the building he aimed for a side window. But the main exciter set got in his way. By then the goat had too much steam up. He tried to stop, but his brakes wouldn’t hold.”

“That plant used one main exciter at a time for all five of its old machines. The exciter was driven by a small impulse shaft-coupling and generator brush-gear. The flying goat landed on a governor drive belt. The belt flew off and the belt safety started shutting down the unit, and the plant. Carbon brushes and pieces of goat went flying in all directions.”

“At that exact moment the big crane was passing overhead. We’d had trouble just a few minutes before the ceremony was to begin, so had the crane pick up a welding machine to take to the far end of the plant. The operator’s head was hanging over the cab’s edge, as he stared at the doings below.”

“As the goat got scrambled on that belt, a hind leg with the hoof attached zoomed through the air and caught the hypnotized crane operator smack between the eyes, knocking him for a loop. Down below all eyes were in the goat’s direction, so no one noticed the runaway crane until it hit the end of the runway with an earth-shaking crash. We noticed it then, all right.”

“Upon crashing, the welding machine hanging on the hook swung violently out through a large window. Swinging back it hit the masonry column that separated the window from the next one and knocked it clear out of the wall.”

“Below in the loading bay was a flatcar loaded with a dozen tons of cement in paper sacks. Those flatcars are called bogies in Tabuzun. Instead of air brakes, this bogie had a long lever on the side for the brakeman to set. The brake was released by kicking the dog, which snapped off the brakes.”

“As luck would have it, a chunk of masonry from above landed smack on the dog, releasing the brakes, The loaded bogie started rolling slowly out of the powerhouse because the rails were downgrade for the first two miles. The switchyard was 300 yards from the powerhouse.”

“By that time bedlam had really broken loose. As that runaway bogie built up speed, natives along the tracks ran for the jungle, shrieking their heads off. But just then we were horrified to see our big diesel locomotive come up the line, headed straight for the bogie. The diesel driver saw it too, but the bogie had picked up a 30-mile-per-hour speed and was shedding a few cement sacks at every bumpy rail joint for good measure. The diesel driver did the only sensible thing done by anyone that hectic day. He stopped, then started going astern to the first siding, about 200 yards down the line.”

“All this time he excitedly jabbered instructions to his brakie, who jumped off, ran to the siding, threw the switch, then threw it back just as the bogie came hell bent for election. He just did make it in time. The bogie went zooming by, throwing cement sacks like rockets in every direction. One of the sacks shot through the cab window where it exploded, putting the diesel driver out of the show temporarily by snowing him under with cement dust. Now we had a runaway diesel. It rumbled to the end of the siding and, since a wooden tie acted as the only bumper, the locomotive went right on through the carpenter shop and came to roost inside the foundry.”

“But the bogie didn’t stop. It headed merrily for the next town of Shatra at a good 60-mph clip. Last time we saw that missile she was zooming around a curve, shedding cement sacks like howitzer shells which exploded in big clouds of dust as they hit the ground.”

“We were still dumbfounded from all that had happened within a few minutes’ time as that bogie disappeared around the bend. That, we thought was that. But no, for coming around the curve on the same track was a trolley car. Shades of Captain Kidd! And through the haze of dust there seemed to be, of all things, a cow sitting in the front seat. This was too much and I wondered whether I was nuts—or possibly delirious.”

“Later, when things quieted down, the trolley driver told me what happened just before the car came around that bend. He said he had seen the bogie zoom around the curve, straight at him. He and the passengers didn’t wait to learn why—they jumped. But lucky for them, the bogie jumped the track on a curve before reaching the trolley. Next thing the driver saw was the bogie rolling down the bank into the river.”

“There was such a cloud of cement dust that no one knew how the young Brahma bull came to park in the front seat. Maybe the crash of the bogie scared him, starting him across the tracks where the runaway trolley scooped him up.”

“Sight of the trolley caused hell to really break loose. Everyone started throwing switches as the trolley came tearing into the switchyard with the bellowing bull in the driver’s seat. Nobody seemed to know what he was doing. Idea seemed to be to do something, and do it fast. If they had done nothing, the trolley would have crashed in the loading bay of the powerhouse. But someone threw a switch, diverting the trolley into the other side of the powerhouse.”

“Trouble with that was that the track led alongside the transformer room and ended up against a loading dock in the far end. The plant office was directly at the end of the track. When the trolley hit the end of the line and crashed into the loading dock, the bull was unloaded as if by jet action. He skidded through the open door of the office. By the time that frightened animal had bulled himself out of the office, the place was a total wreck. A bull in a china shop was a piker to what that fellow did to that office.”

“But there’s more to the story. The staff was hurriedly getting the spare exciter set going when they learned that the crane crash had knocked down about 30 feet of the building cornice which took the telephone lines with it. And the lines had to be repaired before they could call the dispatcher’s office to let him know about putting the machines back on the line.”

“Later we learned that our two other plants had been knocked out when we went off the line. It took about an hour to get things going again.”

“With everything finally shipshape after a fashion, speeches were made as originally planned. We Americans and our native assistants had garlands of flowers hung around our necks. We ate coconuts, dates and candy made from palm juice. We even chewed betel nut along with the natives.”

“The diesel driver, in the meantime, was busy shaking cement dust out of his ears and the crane operator’s noggin was being bandaged over a lump the size of a goose egg.”

“As for chief engineer Zah Zakho, two months later when I left for the States, he was still talking in a hoarse whisper from having his vocal cords tied into a knot when his Adam’s apple tangled with that taut wire.”

The post Marmy’s One-Squirt Celebration appeared first on POWER Magazine.

Combined Solar Technologies (CST) has designed, built, owns, and operates a water purification system located at the Musco Family Olive Co. facility in Tracy, Calif., that burns olive pits to purify highly saline wastewater through a distillation process while also producing electric power. For its pioneering approach, CST is the winner of POWER’s 2012 Marmaduke Award for excellence in plant problem-solving. The award is named for Marmaduke Surfaceblow, the fictional marine engineer and plant troubleshooter par excellence, whose exploits were chronicled in POWER beginning in 1948.

Courtesy: Combined Solar Technologies

Featured in the Discovery Channel’s recent television special “Powering the Future,” the Combined Solar Technologies’ (CST) innovative water purification system began operating in 2010. The Musco Family Olive Co. hired CST to help its plant—the largest olive-canning facility in the U.S.—better meet the California Water Board’s wastewater treatment standards. The facility’s one-of-a-kind system validated CST’s concept of using biomass fuel combustion for wastewater treatment. The system was designed to generate 375 kWh of electricity and operates year-round.

The Musco facility processes more than 13 billion olives per year, each with a pit that is a source of energy. The combustion system burns about 24 tons of olive pits per day to power its onsite water purification system; no pretreatment is required to utilize the olive pits as fuel (Figure 1). This helps the olive company by both eliminating a waste stream and providing free fuel.

1. From pits to power. The CST system, located at the Musco Family Olive Co. facility in Tracy, Calif., uses about 24 tons per day of olive pits to power its onsite water purification system; no pretreatment is required to use the olive pits as fuel. The tanks shown in the background are where Musco stores and cures its olives. Courtesy: Sam Burbank

The $4 million CST plant has many components of a modern biomass power plant with the major exception of the SteamBoy brine boiler system. Conventional biomass plants consume large amounts of clean water to produce electricity; in contrast, the CST plant produces large amounts of clean water in the process of making electricity. CST designed and built the unique SteamBoy system, which includes a boiler, condenser, and steam engine.

The creative force behind the invention of the SteamBoy system is CST’s Frank “The Rub” Schubert. He is a renaissance man whose career ranges from working on closed water systems for NASA’s man-to-Mars effort to playing music with the famous rock band Devo. Much like the fictional Marmaduke Surfaceblow (see the online reprint of a classic Marmaduke story that will appear with this issue’s story archive), he’s an inventive troubleshooter who’s comfortable using his technical prowess to improvise original solutions to challenging situations.

Wastewater Treatment Technology

“The heart of the CST system is the SteamBoy brine boilers. The design of the boilers allows for the use of wastewater as a feedwater source without the normal fouling that would be associated with standard boilers,” said Robert Schmitt, PE, an engineer with Bibb Engineers, Architects & Constructors who works on a number of CST projects (Figure 2).

2. Solving the salt problem. The SteamBoy brine boilers are shown at the Musco Family Olive Co plant. The facility has a zero-liquid discharge system that cleans the highly saline wastewater produced by processing olives and generates electricity at the same time. Courtesy: Sam Burbank

Victory Energy of Tulsa built the CST SteamBoy brine boilers. All SteamBoy products are inspected and ASME certified.

CST built the steam engine, combustion unit, and condensing unit that are being used at the Musco facility. The plant’s full-scale system features a SteamBoy 1,200 hp steam engine and three SteamBoy steam generators that, on average, operate at a little less than half of rated capacity. Kato Engineering built the 750-kW generator.

The SteamBoy engine, while not as efficient as a modern-day steam turbine, is robust (Figure 3). And unlike a steam turbine, it can handle steam that would typically be considered too harsh to use for power generation. The proprietary EcoPod is CST’s negative pressure evaporation system that uses exhaust from the engine to operate (Figure 4).

3. Tough engine. Combined Solar Technologies’ Scott Mattson is shown in front of the SteamBoy 1,200 hp steam engine at the Musco facility. Unlike a steam turbine, it can handle steam that would typically be considered too harsh to use for power generation. Courtesy: Sam Burbank

4. Brine busters. Combined Solar Technologies installed the SteamBoy evaporators at the Musco plant during 2010. In the final process phase, the waste brine is evaporated/concentrated using the steam from the distillation process, making the plant a zero–liquid discharge facility. Courtesy: Sam Burbank

CST’s technology is an economically viable solution for dealing with wastewater salinity problems. Schmitt said, “the SteamBoy process treats the Musco facility’s highly saline effluent, which can contain upwards of 20,000 ppm of total dissolved solids (TDS), and produces treated water that almost achieves potable water standards.”

The boilers evaporate the water under pressure and produce clean steam (90% to 97%) and a blow-by stream (3% to 10%) that contains some steam and a high concentration of the salts (contaminants). The remaining salts and other contaminants are deposited in the evaporator tubes, from which they are easily removed as dry solids. The resulting distilled water is allowed to leave the top of the boilers as clean pressurized steam that is then directed to electrical generation units before it is condensed back into distilled water.

The distillation process purifies over 90% of the challenging wastewater received from the plant’s olive processing and removes the TDS. The process produces waste brine that is less than 10% of the original wastewater amount. In the final process phase, waste brine is evaporated/concentrated using steam from the distillation process, making the plant a zero–liquid discharge facility. The plant’s top priority is keeping salt out of the environment.

Bob Bibb, chairman and CEO of Bibb Engineers, suggests that CST’s wastewater treatment technology also has many other uses. “Treating wastewater to reduce TDS will soon become big business, particularly within California and regions where frack water is being discharged. CST appears to have one of the few proven treatment systems that works.” Bibb suggests that the CST system may also have future application in power plant zero–liquid discharge systems.

Using Biomass to Generate Electricity

The Musco Plant produces clean water and electricity by processing biomass fuel. The biomass is fed into the combustion unit and hot combustion gas gives up its heat to the oil heat exchanger. The oil heat exchanger delivers the heat transfer oil that is continually circulated though the SteamBoy steam generators. The steam generators, in turn, produce clean, pressurized steam that is directed to the electric generation units that produce electricity. The exhaust steam is directed to drying pans, where its heat is used to dry the remaining solids that are extracted from the brine water.

In addition to purifying water, the plant’s system generates electricity that it uses for miscellaneous internal electrical needs. Schubert said, “the Musco facility has no plans to sell the energy to the grid, as it uses all the electricity that it produces onsite.”

The plant uses a steam piston engine operating at fairly low pressure (200 psig) to produce electrical power. When the plant is scaled up some time in the future, a steam turbine generator configuration will be used to get the highest possible efficiency and reliability possible for power generation.

The Musco plant uses a modern programmable logic control system for monitoring and controlling the various combustion, hot oil, steam, and electrical systems. Schubert said, “this system control philosophy can readily be adapted and up-scaled for future plants.”

CST has trained some of the Musco staff on operations of the facility. In addition, Musco hired some specialized personnel to operate and maintain the plant.

Successful Air Emissions Control

When CST installed the new wastewater purification system at the plant, Musco made a significant investment in state-of-the-art emissions controls. The system uses the CST Vector Jet combustion system, which burns the olive pits as fuel, as well as a Donaldson Torit baghouse, and a Babcock Power selective catalytic reduction unit (Figures 5 and 6).

5. Under construction. A worker is shown inside the shell of the CST Vector Jet combustion system before the refractory bricks and vector nozzles were added. The system burns olive pits, a former waste product, as fuel. Courtesy: Sam Burbank

6. Ultra-clean firing. The Combined Solar Technologies plant’s combustion and emission system is shown next to the silo and auger feed system. Recent source testing of the system showed that its emissions are the lowest of any biomass-fired system in California. Courtesy: Olga Perry

The CST biomass burner system is ultra-clean firing. The combustion stack is monitored for emissions and is capable of meeting the California Air Quality Standards. Recent source testing of the CST system located at the Musco facility showed that emissions from the CST system are the lowest of any biomass-fired facility in California (approximately 4 ppm of nitrogen oxides), according to Schmitt.

The air quality permit was the first permit the plant had to obtain. CST and Musco’s environmental engineer worked together to submit a permit application to the California Air Quality Board, and the permitting process took approximately three and a half months. A water quality discharge permit was not needed, as the Musco facility already had one. The plant did not need any federal permits.

Innovative Design with Versatile Applications

Schubert said the important technological innovations at the Musco plant are the CST SteamBoy brine boilers, the Vector jet biomass combustion system, the modern steam engine, and the Ecopod with its drying pan technology.

The CST plant’s olive pit–powered renewable energy and wastewater system is also known as RENEWS. In July 2011, the CST RENEWS system was lauded at the inaugural Agricultural Innovation conference at University of California, Davis, where the plant received a “Game Changer of the Year” award in the Innovation in Energy and Agriculture category for its unique water purification system that solved its high-saline discharge problem.

“In addition to the olive processing industry, a number of other types of food processors have combustible waste that can be used to power the CST SteamBoy system,” Schubert said. “Examples are the wine industry, the dairy industry, the cheese industry, and the tomato-canning industry.”

With the successful demonstration of the SteamBoy system at the Musco plant, CST is now able to expand the use of its technology to a number of new venues. For example, the city of Tracy, Calif., recently hired CST to improve its municipal wastewater treatment plant’s (WWTP) operations. The company has already installed its SteamBoy Jr. unit in the plant and it is currently reducing salts from the plant’s discharge stream by over 97%. CST also has begun the design of a full-scale system that will include such green heat sources as the biogas currently coming from the plant’s digester, a CST bioreactor for woody materials, and a solar thermal array.

In addition, CST is in the design phase for biomass plants for the Eastern Municipal Water District east of Los Angeles; frack water processing facilities in Pennsylvania and California; a municipal WWTP similar to the Tracy project for the city of Salinas, Calif.; and the conversion of an existing biomass facility to SteamBoy technology in New York.

— Angela Neville, JD, is senior editor of POWER.

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Florida Power & Light Co. (FPL) last week said it had completed a $3 billion five-year-long extended power uprate to add more than 500 MW to its Turkey Point and St. Lucie Nuclear Power Plants in Florida.

The NextEra Energy subsidiary announced completion of the project after it completed uprates at Turkey Point Unit 4 and connected it to Florida’s power grid. Upgrades of Turkey Point Unit 3, located in Miami-Dade County, and St. Lucie Units 1 and 2, located in St. Lucie County, were completed in 2012.

Though final testing will determine precise increases in each unit’s output, FPL estimates that 148 MW was added at St. Lucie Unit 1, 132 MW at St. Lucie Unit 2, and between 115 MW and 123 MW at each Turkey Point unit.

Noting that extended power uprates are "massive, highly-complex engineering projects," FPL said it had surpassed the initial projection of 399 MW for the entire investment at the end of 2012, and that the project was estimated to deliver nearly 30% more capacity than originally projected.

The project involved more than 22 million man hours of work—4 million hours alone of which were dedicated to engineering. It also involved installation of 38,000 feet (more than seven miles) of electric wiring conduit; 288,500 feet (more than 50 miles) of electrical cable, and approximately 16,000 linear feet of pipe (approximately three miles).

FPL’s two reactors (Units 3 and 4) at Turkey Point in Miami-Dade County have been operational since the early 1970s. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, FPL added two more nuclear units in St. Lucie County on Florida’s Treasure Coast. The company received a need determination from the Florida Public Service Commission to implement extended power uprates at all four nuclear units in 2007.

The uprate investment was partly paid with Florida’s nuclear cost recovery framework. "The framework keeps long-term costs down for customers through a pay-as-you-go process that pays off certain development and interest costs before the plant is complete, preventing these costs from compounding additional interest," FPL said in a statement. "Although the so-called ‘advanced’ cost recovery system only accounts for a small portion of a utility’s investment, it produces hundreds of millions of dollars in savings for customers over time."

The Energy Information Administration estimates that since 1977, more than 144 proposals—a combined 6,500 MWe—for nuclear uprates have been approved by the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, and most have already been implemented .

Sources: POWERnews, FPL, EIA

FPL Completes $3B Uprate Project, Adds 500 MW to Four Nuclear Units

Florida Power & Light Co. (FPL) last week said it had completed a $3 billion five-year-long extended power uprate to add more than 500 MW to its Turkey Point and St. Lucie Nuclear Power Plants in Florida.

The NextEra Energy subsidiary announced completion of the project after it completed uprates at Turkey Point Unit 4 and connected it to Florida’s power grid. Upgrades of Turkey Point Unit 3, located in Miami-Dade County, and St. Lucie Units 1 and 2, located in St. Lucie County, were completed in 2012.

Though final testing will determine precise increases in each unit’s output, FPL estimates that 148 MW was added at St. Lucie Unit 1, 132 MW at St. Lucie Unit 2, and between 115 MW and 123 MW at each Turkey Point unit.

Noting that extended power uprates are "massive, highly-complex engineering projects," FPL said it had surpassed the initial projection of 399 MW for the entire investment at the end of 2012, and that the project was estimated to deliver nearly 30% more capacity than originally projected.

The project involved more than 22 million man hours of work—4 million hours alone of which were dedicated to engineering. It also involved installation of 38,000 feet (more than seven miles) of electric wiring conduit; 288,500 feet (more than 50 miles) of electrical cable, and approximately 16,000 linear feet of pipe (approximately three miles).

FPL’s two reactors (Units 3 and 4) at Turkey Point in Miami-Dade County have been operational since the early 1970s. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, FPL added two more nuclear units in St. Lucie County on Florida’s Treasure Coast. The company received a need determination from the Florida Public Service Commission to implement extended power uprates at all four nuclear units in 2007.

The uprate investment was partly paid with Florida’s nuclear cost recovery framework. "The framework keeps long-term costs down for customers through a pay-as-you-go process that pays off certain development and interest costs before the plant is complete, preventing these costs from compounding additional interest," FPL said in a statement. "Although the so-called ‘advanced’ cost recovery system only accounts for a small portion of a utility’s investment, it produces hundreds of millions of dollars in savings for customers over time."

The Energy Information Administration estimates that since 1977, more than 144 proposals—a combined 6,500 MWe—for nuclear uprates have been approved by the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, and most have already been implemented .

Sources: POWERnews, FPL, EIA

The post FPL Completes $3B Uprate Project, Adds 500 MW to Four Nuclear Units appeared first on POWER Magazine.

Steve Elonka began chronicling the exploits of Marmaduke Surfaceblow—a six-foot-four marine engineer with a steel brush mustache and a foghorn voice—in POWER in 1948, when Marmy raised the wooden mast of the SS Asia Sun with the help of two cobras and a case of Sandpaper Gin. Marmy’s simple solutions to seemingly intractable plant problems remain timeless. This Classic Marmaduke story, published more than 50 years ago, reminds us that even the most modern steam plant is only as good as its operators.

“Something’s haywire,” observed young Marmaduke Surfaceblow when he reached the large cottonwood tree only a block from the village power plant. The young man automatically stopped to listen and look down the dusty road at the small, red brick plant near the river. The high steel stack belched a plume of thick grey smoke, which spread over the low evening sun’s embarrassed face. As the young man listened, he knew from the sound of the exhaust that the large compound engine was running. “Wonder why?” he crackled in his deep voice, clamping an unlighted cheroot between strong white teeth. Then, taking giant steps, he hurried downhill to the plant.

Milldew, Missouri, on that long-ago day shortly after World War I, had a scant 200 inhabitants. But the little Mississippi River hamlet would one day become famous for having been the hometown of the senior member of Surfaceblow & Associate, internationally respected New York consulting engineers. At age 15, Marmaduke was already an overgrown, rawboned country lad, 6 feet in height. And he had been rattling over the red-clay Missouri country roads in a model-T Ford ever since his legs were long enough to reach the floorboard pedals.

Fact is, since age 10, Marmy, as he was fondly called by the natives, had been helping Thaddeus McSpadden with his blacksmithing, overhauling farm machinery, Stanley steamers, and the “gas buggies” of the period. Then, during the hectic autumn harvesting seasons, the youthful embryo mechanical genius had fired and operated steam threshing engines, some fitted with straw-burning boilers, as well as any grownup.

Marmaduke had spent his 14th birthday, stripped to the waist, shoveling coal into the hungry boilers of the Mississippi River side-wheeler, the Great Republic. By the time the river queen returned to St. Louis from New Orleans, Marmy could handle a slice bar and keep steam on the line along with the burliest river firemen.

“If that young’un Marmy can’t fix it, better bury it,” was heard frequently around the Milldew countryside. And that included repairing everything from grandfather clocks to internal-combustion engines.

Now, with the war having claimed one of his shift operators, chief engineer Diogenes Bluer, an old friend of Thaddeus McSpadden, had put the youngster on as an operator at the “electric light” plant. Marmaduke had the night shift, starting at 6 p.m. It was a 12-hour “day,” and his pay was $100 a month. Not bad for the times, the job and the hamlet, no siree—not to mention for a youngster of only 15.

The small plant had four horizontal?return-tube (HRT) boilers, rated at 150 boiler hp, on that day’s basis of 10 sq. ft. of heating surface equaling 1 boiler hp. Although some backward areas still use this antiquated method, we rate boilers today on pounds of steam produced per hour.

Two horizontal Buckeye steam engines drove shaft-mounted alternators with belted exciters. The small single?cylinder engine, dubbed “Little Buck,” was rated at 75 kW; the larger, cross? compound “Big Buck” at 150 kW.

Sure, today those old timers sound insignificant in capacity. But to the youthful country lad, the large unit, especially, with its heavy flywheel spinning and its crosshead reciprocating steadily to and fro, seemed impressive enough. Each engine had one piston-type-valve, and the compound’s low-pressure side had a slide valve.

Usual practice was to run the small unit from midnight to around 7 a.m., the time when the load started climbing. Peak load was from 140 to 150 kW—except on Saturday nights, when it shot up to 175 or even 180 kW, and the compound needed help from the smaller engine.

On Saturday, farmers drove to town by buckboard, or with their Webber & Dame green farm wagons loaded with produce and children, or in their Tin Lizzies. The younger people would congregate around the ice-cream parlor next door to Enoch Fidley’s Feed & Grain Exchange. Smedley’s Tonsorial Emporium and the grand Pool Parlor next door would buzz with activity. And the new Lyceum Movie Palace, boasting 100 seats and recently completed in what had been Jastrow’s Livery Stable, would have standing room only, especially if Harry Carey starred in a cowboy picture and Charlie Chaplin added icing to the evening’s cake.

On Saturday evenings, merchants along River Road had their stores a blaze with electric lights, displaying merchandise stacked on the sidewalk beneath the wide veranda that extended along the storefronts from one end of the block to the other.

Yessir, while the biggest excitement on weekdays might be a dogfight or two on dusty River Road in front of Schwartz’s Butcher Shop, on Saturday the town always came alive. And this WAS Saturday.

Marmaduke opened the engine-room door and apprehensively stepped inside. He was enveloped by the warm, sweet aroma of steam in contact with cylinder oil. And the big compound was throbbing steadily away as it reciprocated majestically, hissing light feathers of steam from stuffing boxes at the end of each stroke. The spokes of the massive flywheel were a blur, and its vertical fly?ball governor spun in merry-go-round fashion. Beyond Big Buck, Marmy saw Cyrus Clooney, the day operator, through the blurred flywheel spokes, working away at something over Little Buck.

Stopping for a second, Marmaduke watched Clooney. What was he doing—fishing a piece of broken piston ring out of the smaller engine’s steam passage? The young man knew instantly what had happened. Yes, Little Buck had evidently taken a drink of water which knocked out her cylinder head, bent her piston rod, and broke the rings on her piston valve.

“Looks like a tornado’s been here. What a mess,” rumbled Marmaduke, lighting the cheroot and taking a drag on it. “Where’s Diogenes?”

“Idunno—reckon he’s gone home to supper,” came the unconcerned reply from Cyrus as he continued his fishing expedition. “And that’s where I’m heading, soon as I snare this last dagnabbed piece of ring out of this here port.”

Now, chief engineer Diogenes Bluer was of the old school. Like operating engineers of the day, he had got his “schooling” by starting out as a “boomer engineer,” firing HRT boilers and operating steam engines at whistle stops throughout the country. After satisfying his wanderlust and acquiring a first-hand knowledge of boilers and engines, from simple “side-winders” to the stately Corliss, he had returned to settle down back in his hometown.

Diogenes was a big, burly man of about 250 pounds, with a close-cropped grey mustache and a bald head, which was always covered by a ten-gallon hat, his trademark. Although on the quiet side while on the job, Marmaduke soon learned that the chief had all the right answers when the chips were down. Chief Diogenes, as he was respectfully known throughout the Ozarks, and young Marmaduke had a great deal of respect for each other.

“She’s all yours,” exclaimed Cyrus, dropping the last piece of piston ring on the workbench. He squirted lube oil on his grimy hands, rubbed them together to work off the dirt, then vigorously wiped them with waste. “I’m making tracks, taking Rosie Gerber to the bam dance out at Pevely’s new electrified farm,” he added as he signed the log book. Then, reaching the door, “I’ll be thinking of you when Bib Buck starts calling for help. And if the lights go out, me and Rosie won’t mind—ha, ha.” He was gone.

Marmaduke knew it was HIS time to start worrying. How was he going to get by with the smaller engine torn apart and the peak load sure to follow in another two hours?

Perhaps chief Diogenes thought leaving the young man by himself in a tight situation would be good for him. Or maybe he wanted to see exactly how Marmy would act in an emergency. Who knows? At any rate, the chief didn’t show up for two very, VERY long hours. By then, the load had been inching up steadily, and the youthful operator was extremely concerned. It was his first job as a shift operator in a steam power-generating station; he had started only three weeks ago! And this was the first time he had faced the peak load all by himself, with Little Buck’s anatomy scattered over the floor. Worst of all, if the breaker tripped, River Road would be thrown into darkness. And the entire Ozark countryside would remember only that the blackout occurred on Marmaduke’s shift. Now THAT would be something to carry to his grave.

Just as the embryo engineer, with eyes glued anxiously to the wooden instrument panel, was wondering WHAT he could do to prevent the breaker from tripping—lash it down? No, never—he felt a cool breeze flow in as the back door of the engine room opened. It was Diogenes himself. The big man never looked so big as he did to the young man at that moment.

“Gosh, Diogenes, am I glad to see YOU,” blurted the young man. “The load’s nearing one-fifty, and Big Buck’s about to start slowing down. What should I do?”

Diogenes didn’t answer, giving the impression he had had a very leisurely and satisfying dinner and now wanted only to enjoy a smoke. He walked slowly to the instrument board and glanced at the steam gage, then at the frequency indicator. The meter registered slightly below 60 cycles. Removing the corncob pipe from his mouth, he tamped down the tobacco with his little finger, struck a wooden match with one hand by scratching it with his thumbnail, lit the pipe and drawled. “Just you keep your shirt on, young feller.”

Then, glancing at the steam gage, “Go tell Alex to keep the water low in the glasses—maybe a half-inch above the nut—and his boiler pressure right up on the pop valves.”

The perplexed young operator looked on in disbelief as the chief lumbered over to his swivel chair, pulled it across the floor to the side of the compound painted base, pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes, and leaned back in his chair as if going to sleep.

“He’s blown all his gaskets,” thought the concerned young operator. “Peak load coming up, no reserve power, and he’s hitting the hay.” But now that the chief had returned, at least the problem was on HIS shoulders. Marmaduke walked into the fireroom.

The fireman has pushed a wheelbarrow of coal in from the outside coal pile, and was dumping it in front of a boiler. “Alex, chief Diogenes wants you to keep the water low, just above the bottom nut. No time for Big Buck to get a shot of water. And he wants that steam right up on the pops,” relayed Marmaduke.

The fireman glanced up at the steam gage, then quickly at the water level in the gage glasses. Hoisting one foot up on the empty wheelbarrow, he removed the sweat towel from his neck, and wiped the perspiration and coal dust from his neck, face and forehead. “Well, she’s right up there now, Marmy, old chum. If she goes any higher she’ll pop, that’s for sure.” With that, he opened a furnace door. The hot glare from the flames flooded Alex in a blaze of red light, magnifying into a giant shadow on the boiler front opposite. Alex got busy with the slice bar, breaking up a large clinker on the coal bed.

Marmaduke walked back into the engine room. Yep, the chief was still reclining in his chair, hadn’t changed his position. So the young man dismissed the immediate problem from his mind, and set to work routinely checking the oil cups on the compound. He felt the main bearings with the back of his hand, as Diogenes had taught him, then reached for the long-spouted oil can and started filling the cups. But all that time, he kept glancing at the chief.

Suddenly, Marmaduke realized that chief Diogenes wasn’t snoozing after all! He was quietly and comfortably observing the motion of the valve gear.

The engine had an inside traveling cut?off, and, as the load built up, the travel increased. Sure, that’s what the old fox was up to—observing the valve gear from where he sat, he could see when the valve’s travel was nearing its full?out position.

“Marmy, come here,” called the chief, as soon as he decided that the valve travel had reached the full-out point. The young man hurried to the chief’s chair. And it was at that point that Marmaduke Surfaceblow got his first important lesson in compound steam engine operation. Bluer pointed to the one-inch line tapped into the main steam line just above the throttle and low-pressure cylinder chests. A valved branch of the one-inch line extended down into the sewer.

Young Marmaduke knew the line was used to drain the main steam line in to the sewer before warming up the engine. He also knew it served to “goose” the engine on the low-pressure side when, on shutdown, the h-p piston came to rest at dead-center.

“You just eyeball that steam on the receiver, Marmy, and see what happens,” instructed the chief. Marmaduke glued his alert eyes onto the gage. It registered about 12 psi, which he knew was normal for the load.

The chief started cracking the valve on the one-inch line to the receiver. And Marmaduke observed the receiver pressure start building up, ever so gradually. As soon as it reached 15 psi, Big Buck perked up considerably, cranking away in earnest, and it came right up on the governor. The young man also observed that the frequency indicator was again riding smoothly at 60 cycles.

Chief Diogenes didn’t have to explain what he was doing, nor why. Young Marmaduke had the picture instantly, mentally kicking himself for not having thought of it before. All he had to do was observe that the one-inch line connected the main steam from the boiler to the steam chest of the l-p cylinder’s valve, thus bypassing the h-p cylinder and bleeding boiler pressure steam directly into the l-p cylinder.

Young Marmaduke had the picture instantly, mentally kicking himself for not having thought of it before. Source: POWER

From that day he never failed to study thoroughly every piece of equipment he operated, so he could take care of every mechanical hookup to keep his plant running.

In years to come, he would bring in several triple-expansion engine-powered ships on only one cylinder, and several others on two. Not only that, but right then and there young Marmy made up his mind to make a career of power-plant operation—that’s how impressed he was with the way chief Diogenes met the peak load with his ingenious one-inch piping.

Two weeks later, the needed parts for Little Buck arrived from the factory up?river in Dubuque, Iowa. Marmaduke and Cyrus spent their watches assembling Little Buck under the watchful eyes of Diogenes Bluer, with a few hours of help from Thaddeus McSpadden, the blacksmith. By the following weekend, the single-cylinder Little Buck was ready to assist Big Buck with the heavy Saturday night load.

Since that long-ago day back in Milldew, considerable bilgewater has been pumped over the sides of many ships. And Marmaduke has helped grind out kilowatts galore, not to mention solving numerous perplexing energy-systems problems in various corners of the globe. But chief Diogenes’ actions that day taught the youngster one important lesson he has made excellent use of many times since: Energy systems equipment, regardless of how sophisticated, is only as reliable as the operator in charge.

[Note: If you enjoyed this tale of Marmaduke Surfaceblow’s adventures, visit the POWER Store to purchase a compilation of stories that originally were published in POWER—Marmaduke Surfaceblow’s Salty Technical Romances. ]

The post Classic Marmaduke: Marmy’s First Lesson appeared first on POWER Magazine.

In early 2007, Contact announced plans to invest up to $1 billion in the construction of new geothermal plants in the Taupo region, located near the center of the North Island. (All amounts in US$; US$1 = NZ$1.28 at press time.) The latest addition to Contact’s renewable portfolio is the two-unit 166-MW (159-MW net) Te Mihi Power Station (Te Mihi).

Contact CEO Dennis Barnes says its investment in Te Mihi reflects the company’s view that geothermal is New Zealand’s most cost-effective new baseload generation. Barnes identified the importance of Te Mihi to ratepayers when he said, “The additional 114 megawatts is expected to be required by the market by 2013 as economic growth resumes and will also contribute to lowering Contact’s average cost of generation.” The total cost of Te Mihi is estimated to be close to $623 million. A second project at Tauhara is in the development pipeline, with other projects seeking permits or in the reservoir exploration phase.

To develop Te Mihi, Contact engaged the McConnell Dowell Constructors Ltd., SNC-Lavalin, and Parsons Brinckerhoff New Zealand joint venture (MSP JV) to build Te Mihi. The engineering, procurement, and construction (EPC) contract was signed with MSP JV in February 2011 for two 83-MW geothermal power units to be constructed 5 kilometers (km) from the existing Wairakei geothermal power station.

Long-Term Investment

Taupo is the center of volcanic and geothermal activity on the North Island (Taupo Volcanic Zone), and Lake Taupo is a popular tourist destination. Taupo is also the region where geothermal energy has been the principal source of electricity generation for the North Island since the 1950s. Today, geothermal energy satisfies almost 15% of the entire country’s electricity needs. All of the country’s geothermal plants are located on the North Island. Hydroelectric power supplies about 98% of total South Island demand. A single HVDC Inter-Island transmission line with a capacity of 1,200 MW (by the end of 2013) interconnects the two islands.

The oldest geothermal plant in the Taupo region is the 66-MW Wairakei A Power Station, constructed in 1958, the first of its type in the world to use wet steam in a single flash process to produce electricity. The plant’s single flash system has reliably served residents, but increasing maintenance costs and emerging environmental issues have shown the plant was nearing the end of its useful life. However, the Wairakei steam field is predicted to be able to supply steam for electricity generation for many more decades.

Wairakei uses once-through river cooling of its condensers and discharges steam condensate into the Waikato River, which flows down from Lake Taupo. At present, the Wairakei power station uses a cooling system that relies on drawing water from the Waikato River, mixing it with steam condensate that has been used to power the turbines, and then discharging that stream of cooling water back to the river. The result has been warmer water and the deposit of geothermal trace elements in the river water.

Conversion from once-through cooling to an evaporative system plus treatment for trace elements in the water discharge was not a economical solution, so development of Te Mihi was hastened. A newly built bioreactor now removes hydrogen sulfide from Wairakei’s cooling water before it is returned to the river.

Te Mihi is a staged replacement of the existing 157-MW Wairakei A and B power stations, although the 16-MW binary system added in 2005 that uses hot separated geothermal fluid will continue to operate. The net increase from the combined Te Mihi and binary portion of the Wairakei station is 114 MW of firm baseload capacity (Figure 1).

Managing the Resource

The geothermal resource used to produce the motive steam originates with the Wairakei-Tauhara geothermal system, which contains pressurized water at a temperature of ~250C (482F) at a depth of about 2.5 km. The geothermal fluid production begins with rainwater that percolates through the volcanic rock until it is heated and pressurized by volcanic activity deep underground. After producing electricity at Te Mihi, the warm geothermal fluid is conserved by reinjection back into the Wairakei-Tauhara geothermal reservoir. Another disposal option available to Te Mihi for the clean condensate (~10% of the reinjection fluid) is farm spray irrigation, though this option is not currently utilized.

Steam for the Te Mihi Power Station is drawn from geothermal fluid in the Wairakei geothermal field from two production areas (Figure 2):

• Western Borefield. About 40% of Wairakei Power Station’s steam currently comes from the Western Borefield. It consists of about 30 wells drilled to a depth of about 600 m characterized by the production of a two-phase fluid (steam/water mixture).
• Te Mihi Borefield. Approximately 60% of Wairakei Power Station steam currently comes from the Te Mihi area, located about 5 km west of the existing Wairakei Power Station. This borefield produces dry steam from a shallow (300 m to 400 m) high-pressure (10 bar) steam zone, and two-phase fluid from a large reservoir of hot water below this at a depth of close to 2,500 m. The Te Mihi Borefield also provides steam for the Poihipi Road Station, another geothermal plant in the area.

The new Te Mihi Borefield is closer to the Te Mihi plant to minimize steam transmission losses. It is also the deeper liquid resource that will continue to be developed to provide steam for Wairakei and Te Mihi Power Stations for the long term.

Of key importance to the plant design is that the Te Mihi plant site is at higher elevation (relative to the existing Wairakei Power Station) because this reduces the fluid pumping requirements for the disposal of separated hot water and condensate to the injection wells. At the same time, the plant site is below the intermediate pressure (IP) separation plant elevation, thereby allowing gravity feed of LP geothermal water to the low-pressure (LP) flash vessels at the station.

Flash Steam Process

The advanced “double flash” technology used on the Te Mihi project produces ~20% to 25% more electricity than the same amount of geothermal fluid consumed by Wairakei. In addition, the plant design uses an evaporative cooling system and eliminates the condensate discharges to the Waikato River, thereby reducing the plant’s environmental footprint in the region.

The design of the dual flash system uses steam released from the geothermal brine at two pressure levels. As the high-pressure liquid found at depth rises to the surface, the pressure decreases and the water flashes into a two-phase (80% water and 20% steam) mixture. At centralized separators, geothermal fluid is separated into IP steam and brine by the separated geothermal water (SGW) system. Both are piped to the power station, where the separated brine is flashed in the low-pressure SGW system to generate LP steam, which is injected into the steam turbine (Figure 3). (See the online version of this story for a link to a process drawing.)

The Te Mihi Project inked a technology agreement that represents the re-emergence of Toshiba as a steam turbine technology provider for flash-type geothermal projects. Toshiba Corp., through its Australian subsidiary, Toshiba International Corp. Pty. Ltd., supplied two sets of 83-MW-class geothermal turbines, generators, and condensers, plus support services to the project. Despite the impact of the devastating March 2011 earthquake and tsunami in Japan, Toshiba met its initial delivery commitments to the project.

The double flash technology provides steam at two different pressure levels for introduction into a dual-admission steam turbine. The IP and LP steam is expanded through the steam turbine to drive the generator. The exhaust steam is condensed using evaporative cooling towers. The liquids (~100F) collected by the SGW systems are recycled by reinjection back into the geothermal reservoir. Unique to geothermal plants, some noncondensable gases (NCGs, such as CO₂ and H₂S) are dissolved in the geothermal water and remain in the steam. The NCGs are removed from the condensers by gas extractors and discharged to the atmosphere.

The power station facility also incorporates emergency steam vents to ensure that the steam pipelines are not overpressurized, which could cause problems with downstream generating equipment, such as the steam turbines and other vessels. These vents, arranged on the incoming IP and LP steam mains and a common LP vent adjacent to the LP flash vessel, incorporate automatic vent valve control systems and steam vent silencers.

Te Mihi is designed to be operated remotely from Wairakeim, but it does incorporate a small control room and staff facilities for on-site operation and maintenance. Roving operators visit Te Mihi regularly to check the status of equipment and perform on-site chemistry testing.

Shaky Start, Strong Finish

Contact’s Te Mihi power station has negotiated many twists and turns on its route to completion, starting with the rigorous consenting process. As the power station site was classed as rural, particular importance was attached to the effect of noise, visual impact, and traffic management during construction and operation. Stringent noise level limits were applied and extensive mitigation measures were put in place to achieve a compliant design. The site’s visual impact was lessened by restricting building heights, carefully selected main structure colors, and with plantings.

The traditional consent application in New Zealand, via a district or regional council, can be a lengthy process. Given the project’s significance for the New Zealand economy, Contact expedited the process by applying to the minister for the environment to designate the project as a “project of national importnace,” allowing him to exercise his right to “call in” the consent application. This meant that a Board of Inquiry selected by the minister rather than a local council would consider the application. Following a prompt Board of Inquiry process, consents were granted in 2008. Te Mihi was the first major power project that used the call-in process that is part of the Resource Management Act to expedite important projects.

Once consented, the development phase of the Te Mihi project encountered a number of challenges. For example, the global financial crisis led to a decision to defer the project by a year. During this hiatus, Contact completed additional work to refine the scope prior to further competitive bidding.

The final EPC procurement process restarted in 2010 and, on Feb. 22, 2011, an EPC contract was signed with MSP JV—on the same day that the devastating Christchurch earthquake rattled the South Island. The MSP JV readjusted work schedules and resources to regain project design and construction schedule losses incurred due to the earthquake.

As this article was being prepared (early July 2013), commissioning work on both units was in full swing and will likely be completed by the time you are reading this article. Performance testing for both units is the next project milestone, followed by a one-month reliability run prior to commercial operation.

From its inception, Te Mihi incorporated environmental stewardship into every phase of the project. As an example, the Te Mihi design increased the number of reinjection wells added to the Wairakei steam field so that all geothermal fluid can be reinjected back into the ground rather than being discharged into the Waikato River. Very accurate pH control is essential for successfully reinjecting the separated geothermal water. Working with Contact Energy and key suppliers, the MSP JV has designed and built a unique acid injection system on a scale that has never been achieved with any prior geothermal project (Figure 4).

4. Acid dosing system. A unique feature of Te Mihi is its novel acidifying of the reinjection brine. The caustic LP separated geothermal water is well-known for its propensity to scale reinjection pipes, wells, and other equipment, causing lengthy plant shutdowns for repairs and clean-out. By acidifying the fluid, that system reliability problem was eliminated. Courtesy: MSP JV

5. The team. More than 2,500 staff members total have worked on site during the past two years, with numbers peaking at around 550. Courtesy: MSP JV

Geothermal energy is as renewable as that derived from the sun and wind, except that it has the added benefit of providing base-load power generation. On the North Island of New Zealand, geothermal energy has served customers for over 50 years. Te Mihi, built in the same tradition, will undoubtedly continue that tradition for another half-century. From the staff of POWER, congratulations to Contact Energy and the MSP Joint Venture for a job well done (Figure 5). (For more details, watch this video of the project.)

— Dr. Robert Peltier, PE is POWER’s editor-in-chief.

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