The name probably came from the early days of steam navigation, when sweating men with their upper bodies exposed incessantly shoveled coal into the fire vents of the ship’s boilers.
Our ‘boilers’ operated with modern pulverized coal firing, whose heat converted the water under high pressure in thick-walled boiling tube bundles into steam.
The stokers sat in the control room in front of the control panels and used knobs and switches to regulate the conversion process from water to high-pressure steam, which was needed for the turbines to drive the power generators.
The general overhaul of a boiler was always associated with a socialist competition to keep the downtime of the steam generator as short as possible. No sooner was the boiler out of service than the digging began. When the furnace masons began demolition, the bricks were still breathing heat.
Almost simultaneously, the pipefitters, welders, and insulators began work. The electricians, along with the instrumentation and control technicians, pulled their strings through all the floors, which were mostly grids. Worn pumps, gate valves, pipes and valves had to be removed.
The gantry crane under the high roof of the boiler house never stood still. The additional freight elevators were constantly blocked by some trade. In addition, there was the demolition dirt and the heat from the running steam generators. Despite all the difficulties, the competition target was beaten by one or two days for each general repair.
It is a miracle that none of the workers involved was seriously injured or even killed. When the deafening hiss of the huge white cloud of condensate from the roof of the boiler house was finally heard, everyone knew: the repaired steam generator was going online. The heat battle was forgotten, and everyone involved felt a little proud.
Once again, I was called to the party office. Probably, as so often, it was about my candidacy for SED membership. So far, I had always refused, even though I was openly in favor of the socialist idea from my upbringing at home.
To my great surprise, this time it was about something else. I was to be delegated to study to become a teacher. The offer was tempting, but I did not want to become a teacher, so I declined.
I would have accepted a degree in welding technology, but it was made clear to me that teachers with practical experience were needed in the GDR. Who else was going to educate our youth to become class-conscious socialists?
There was nothing to be said against this argument, but I still refused. The next day I told my father about the offer and my refusal.
The old man completely lost his composure. How could a young person be so stupid as to refuse such a generous offer? He was allowed to study free of charge and received an additional 300 marks a month in tuition money.
With good performance, an additional scholarship is not out of the question. As a poor miner’s son, someone should have made him such an offer! I meekly relented, wanting to reconsider.
A few years ago, I had dropped out of school without my parents’ knowledge. Under no circumstances did I want to disappoint my father again. After this family dispute, I explained to the party secretary that I had agreed to take up my studies.
He said that he had expected nothing else from me and urgently advised me to immediately look for two experienced comrades who would vouch for me until I was honorably accepted into the party after one year as a candidate.
For without party membership no study to become a future socialist teacher. I did as I was advised. A year later, as a young comrade, I was about to enroll in the four-year teacher training program. 𝓣𝓸 𝓑𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓾𝓮𝓭…
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