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288 pages, Hardcover
First published March 10, 2015

In 1997 a corrosion engineer named Rusty Strong had a rust problem. He was on his way back to Houston from a corrosion conference near Chicago and after deplaning he took a shuttle to the airport parking lot where his black Nissan truck was parked. Before de-shuttling he could tell that something was wrong. His truck was crushed, the cab banged in, the windshield shattered. Incredulous he asked the shuttle bus driver what had happened. The driver refused to make eye contact.
“I think a pole fell on it,” she mumbled nervously, “It was an act of God.”
Rusty was steaming particularly since nobody had bothered to cover the hole in the cab, and after a few days of rain the floors were soaked. He took the shuttle back to the parking lot toll gate and called a tow truck. Late the next morning in his wife’s car he swung by his office, grabbed a camera and micrometer and returned to the lot. He began investigating.
The twenty foot light pole that had fallen on his truck had been removed. But the base of the pole, four inches in diameter, was easily visible on a concrete pedestal one foot off the ground. The base of the pole was heavily rusted on the inside because the weep hole that was suppose to let water out had been grouted over. Rusty took photos and measurements. Then he began inspecting other poles in the parking lot taking more photos and more measurements.
That’s when the shuttle bus pulled up, out came the parking lot manager telling Rusty that he wasn’t authorized to take photos. They argued while Rusty finished his study. The Rusty asked to speak to the owner of the lot. The Owner in Florida told him by phone that the pole had been knocked over by a tornado in a rainstorm. Rusty informing him that he was a corrosion engineer who studied rust professionally told the man otherwise.
“This was not an act of God,” he said. “It was a failure of man.”
He went on informing the owner that were the matter to end up in court that it was precisely someone like Rusty that the owner would want on his side. Rusty figured that the owner didn’t buy it.
“A rust professional? Who’d ever heard of such a thing?”
After that phone call Rusty drove home and made another call to his insurance company. He told his agent that the damage to his truck was the result of a maintenance failure. To that agent he faxed an article from the journal Corrosion on the same phenomenon in Galveston, Texas along with his photos. Fifteen minutes later an insurance adjuster called Rusty. He was laughing.
“This will be so easy,” he said.
Now Rusty’s insurance record says, “Do Not Cancel.”




In this way, young Harry became familiar with steelmaking long before he formally taught himself as much as there was to know about the practice. It was the beginning of a life devoted to steel, without the distractions of hobbies, vacation, or church. It was the origin of a career in which Brearly wrote eight books on metals, five of which contain the word steel in the title; in which he could argue about steelmaking-but not politics-all night; and in which the love and devotion he bestowed upon the inanimate metals exceeded that which he bestowed upon his parents or wife or son. Steel was Harry's true love.
After a long career as a scientist, he insisted that he was an artist, because he thought about steel with his heart rather than his head. Questioning chemists' test results, he called their reports "bogey tales" of "bluff and bunkum". He resisted modernization. He called himself "a breaker of idols and a scorner of cherished regulations." . . . He was curious but opinionated, flexible but intolerant, innovative but persnickety, knowledgeable but overconfident, and determined but obstinate. He was patient with metals and impatient with masters. He even became a class warrior-a lover of underdogs like himself-and then somewhat paranoid. All because of steel.
I want to be a can evangelist. But I'm torn, because I'd also like to raise a kid someday, and I'd like that kid not to be exposed to a potent endocrine disruptor for the sake of convenience. I'd like to have more faith in industry and government, and feel like I did on the second day of Can School, before I got pulled aside, when I was drinking coffee from a paper cup, marveling at the only thing there not in a can.
He pointed out that with exercise, you can get more physically fit, but you can't stop aging. With corrosion, you can't get time back, but you can stop the clock
While children admire Buzz Lightyear for his bravery and strength and improvisation, the rest of us can admire Robert Baboian, Bhaskar Neogi, and Ed Laperle. Don't we need some engineering heroes? Finally, unlike so many bleak environmental stories of the moral and practicing variety, we may see results long before we degrade and die.