“Go now, boy. Travel with haste and don’t come back until you’ve finished your errands” the raspy voice of my Master Repairman echoed through the brick garage. Stuck under a heavy Steam Earth Mover, with a slew of tools parts and oil covering a 4-foot radius, Master Repairman Klopp was busy. I was delegated to running plans to different workshops in the city. Carrying lists of part numbers, rolls of blueprints and a tab, I was tasked with returning with whatever parts he had needed to get the beast of steel and iron moving once again. As I’d walked the cobbles of busy Cincinati, I thought of what the next job might be. Another 60 ton earth mover, or a clock? I never knew what I’d be helping with, but I always learn something. I was a repairman’s apprentice, not a master repairman. My first task within the busy city was to go to the blacksmith’s shop and hand him plans for the different parts that had worn on the engine. “Old Musky’s broke again? I might as well be the one to make that damned engine, I’ve forged every piece on that digger at least twice” The Master Smith yelled as he chose the steel off a large rack “You can stay and watch, if you’d like to learn something. These shouldn’t take but a half hour to make” as he chose his tools and made measurements on the steel, I couldn’t help but wonder at the shop. From the counter I could see the heart of his business, the forge, bellows and all. To the left A large anvil. The block of steel was expertly forged and crafted, with beautiful curves and a well-proportioned face. To the right of the smithy was a large workbench, topped with a half foot thick timber surface and legs to match. On the wall hung measuring tools: Rules, calipers, other devices whose names I couldn’t remember. Behind the anvil sat the majority of his tools, hung on the wall. Rows of funny shaped hammers, square shanked tools that sat in a special hole on the anvil called a “hardy”, and others. The smith was finished with his pondering, and had put steel in the fire to begin shaping it. Sparks flew as the metal heated, bringing it up to forging temperature. “How hot do you have to get the steel?” I asked, hoping the smith heard me in the noise of the city. “This? This I heat until it’s a bright orange. Other steels would be a cherry red, some hotter, some cooler. The pin Klopp asked for should be strong enough that it’ll hold the load, but not so hard it destroys the steel it’s held in from wearing through. So, I chose this steel. That and I won’t harden it; this should make a tough steel that won’t cause more problems down the road” He explained, peering over the counter in an attempt to see if I absorbed the information or if I was twiddling my thumbs. Eager to learn, I was listening intently whilst the large man spoke. Walking towards the forge and grabbing tongs off of a rack, he took the steel from the fire and began shaping with a hammer that lived on the anvil. Many minutes and hammer blows later, the church bells of his ringing anvil ceased and he stared at his work on the anvil. “That should do” he’d said, tossing me the pin. I caught it, but it was still far too hot for any normal man to handle and I was forced to drop it into the dirt. “I’m sorry son, I should've let it cool a minute longer. Have a pair of these” and as the echoes of his voice stopped a pair of thick leather gloves landed at my feet. “I have no use for these, I don’t wear gloves when working. They impede my dexterity, and these are far too small for me anyways” and as I put the gloves on the Smith turned to work on whatever else he had planned for the day. “Thank you, Sir” was all I said as I picked the now cooling pin, with the leather glove that fit me perfectly. The ring of the anvil sung through the streets as I exited the shop, traveling through busy markets and streets to my next stop: The machinist, Class 3. He was always particular about the class 3, as that meant he was as high ranking as they come. A short walk and a trolley ride later I was met with the whirling sounds of the machine shop. Entering the wooden building, I was met with a flurry of mechanical devices. Lathes, Mills, Shapers, all powered by leather belts crisscrossing the ceiling, only descending to meet matching drums on the machines. Rows of workers operated each one, frequently returning to nearby workbenches to verify parts and check dimensions. A sprite man in an apron filled with all sorts of precision tools glared at me with large, round goggles expertly machined from brass. “Boy, you must wear your safety equipment in this shop. This isn’t some reckless smithy” The man shrieked, walking over to me. “Yes, sir” I quickly replied, grabbing the glasses hanging from my neck, seating them on my face. “Now that you won’t go blind from the goblins that throw steel, what do you need?” “Master Klopp needed you to make a gear for Musky, sir” I replied, handing him the plans sent with me. “Again with that old contraption? I bet I can tell you any measurement on that blasted design, down to the thousandth of an inch!” he yelled as he stared at the drawing. “I made replacements out of steel. I know he asked for brass but trust me, medium carbon steel is the way to go with this. I just have to put in a channel here, it shouldn’t take but 5 minutes” He said, directing me to the shaper after picking up a gear off a table of parts. “Luckily I already have the tool needed on the ram. I just have to change out the bit and chuck up the gear and the shaper can take care of the rest” The shaper was a large and heavy machine, with a large ram that moved back and forth across it. A table sat in front of it with a large vise. The workpiece went into the vise and the shaper moved back and forth, taking small amounts of material away in a straight line. I was always fascinated with these machines, and how they were made. As the machinist worked with, accurately setting up the part so the shaper can do what was needed the sounds of the machine shop rang. The clacking, whirling, scraping sounds of machines and smell of cutting oil and layout dye permeated the slightly smoky air. Unlike the loud bangs of the blacksmith’s shop and sounds of fire when the anvil finished its song, the machinist’s shop was a steady hum of noise. The shaper’s ram started moving back and forth, and as its name says it was shaping the channel needed in the inner hole of the gear. Each time the ram came back to the body, a small handwheel that moved the bit downwards turned slightly. Such mechanisms are almost magic to everyday people but us repairmen and the machinists look at them with a sense of critique, contemplating how to make the mechanism better. A few minutes later the machinist called out to me saying “Boy, the gear is done and you can return it to Klopp. Let me know if steel works better” as he took the gear out and put it into a paper bag “Run now, boy. Musky is a vein in Cincinati, helping feed this city. Us machinists wouldn’t have much to do without it!” he joked, and with the part in hand and my stomach rumbling, I decided to head back to the repair shop and eat lunch. “Thank you, sir” I replied as I exited the shop in a waft of oil smoke. Another trolley ride and a walk in the city brought me back to the repair shop. Handing the pin and gear to Master Klopp, I asked if I could eat lunch “Of course, child. You must’ve worked up an appetite running around the city like you have, go have lunch”