Over the years, Shannon got to know the furnaces as intimately as people. If the batch furnace spat flames like the gates of Hell, she knew how to calm it down. If the autoquench—as high maintenance as an aging beauty queen—stopped in midcycle, she knew how to coax it into performing again. “This old bitch has got a mind of her own,” she said. Her favorite furnace was the Tocco, which broke down like a needy boyfriend whenever she left it alone too long. She could tell from the pitch of its whining whether the parts inside were going to turn out right.
