“You gotta find someone crazy enough to let you do it.”
That was the final rule Charles gave.
The first was to make sure your hand was completely dry.
Mr. Charles Logan was explaining how to slap the molten iron pouring from the foundry during a pour.
I only know Charles as he is around a foundry. That is, he is either in the long process of pouring or drinking. The hot work sweats out the prior evenings bad decisions and so he tends to be entertaining as hell to be around.
It was at an annual gathering of metalsmiths and supporters at the Metal Museum. I had escaped the big tent of people and wandered in on a young foundryman arraying some sticks on the floor while explaining his plan to Charles, another fellow, and my brother. The other guy, he can be Steve, was mostly unremarkable, my brother is a gift to the world.
My brother brought the whole bit up and the young dude knew of such exploits and was eager to learn more. The good sense angel was telling Charles to not discuss such things because young men are prone to doing dumb shit so he only let out a little. He said, “Make sure your hand is bone dry, and if it ain’t, stick it in some sand.” This is in a foundry so there is plenty of sand. Then he migrated away so as to not get in trouble but he really wanted to talk about it and the young iron smelter was full of questions and half tales. Charles does not speak much and he tells things in a spiral because each time he tells it, he remembers more and so he tells it again. No story is more than a few lines long.
I long for a videographic memory but am too actively a part of the story to even feel comfortable getting out my notebook. I tell myself I will write it down afterwards. Somewhere, there are a few scribbles of notes and the start of this page. That’s something so let’s go with that.
“Now hold your hand like that.” His is out nice and straight and swinging at a good smacking swing.
“Don’t go back. Or you’ll get that whole part of your hand.”
“You can do it again, just make sure it ain’t got wet from sweat yet.”
The story went around between two craftspeople, young and old.
I recalled towards the end of this conversation, Charles saying in his moonshine aged cadence
“I used to thing the biggest rush come from riding a bull but there ain’t nothing like slapping that fire.”