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The length had to be between, if I remember right, forty-six and and fifty thousands of an inch, and the angle had to be between sixteen and twenty degrees. If the rondel was outside of these specs the machine had to be immediately shut-down and repairs made.
A guy named Ogg did the other six machines. He was a couple of years older than I, think already married, thin like me, dark hair and a pretty simple guy. We spent a lot of time sitting against the wall on stools waiting for the next fill up which took about ten to fifteen minutes. These machines ran twenty four hours a day with three shifts.
There was a third member of the crew, the mechanic called Shorty, because he had-had polio and was about four feet tall with a twenty-degree back and forth, list-to-the-right, limp. His job was to keep the machines in proper working order. This was to change work-rests on which the needles were ground, adjust or replace the rollers that revolved the rondels, change push rods that pushed and held the rondels while being ground and adjust the length of stroke up and down the channel, change diamond grinding wheels, adjust oil pressure if needed and other problems that might arise. Mostly when everything was fine he spent his time in the big room shooting the breeze with the foreman or whoever else he could find.
After a few months working with Shorty, he convinced me to invest in one of his race cars - about three-hundred dollars. He and his buddy were partners racing a midget-racer. Dave was the driver and Shorty was the mechanic.
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