Right before I left the company they were getting rid of all of the similar tooling. They tossed all of the gears, shafts, fixtures and cutters into bins. The rotary tables (one ~4' in diameter) and dividing heads were strapped to pallets. I was told that the whole lot went for the price of scrap metal. I thought that was awful.
That's one specially shaped milling tool and if you think the breech block threads are hard, just contemplate the female threads in the end of the breech! I've seen what various companies do when they go out of business too. Like those big screws with the leades rusting at the scrap yard out in a field of daisies and weeds. Your poem reminded me of one that I wrote a long time ago. I probably had a typical inspector's "bunker mentality" at the time. Or maybe I wrote it after hearing the standard greeting from, yet another new, Quality Assurance V.P., "Hi, my name is Blah Blah; my job is to make your job obsolete, Ha, Ha, Ha." We just smiled sweetly, and thought, "just what we need as the company spirals downward toward bankruptcy, another effing moron!" Don't know how I made it for 30 years in manufacturing, but writing the following poem sure helped.
The Inspector
The inspector sits down on his familiar stool,
And from his rollaway selects his favorite tool.
It's a nit-picker, and with it he can pick nits so small,
That ten thousand into a thimble could fall.
He loves to hear schedulers rant and bellow,
They must think he is a really mean fellow.
Buyers with their bags always packed for far away places,
Cringe when his D-Stamp appears, you should see their faces!
The Production Manager truly has trouble,
A bad drawing threatens to burst his bubble.
Five machinists and three engineers, try as they might can't figure the math,
They call the inspector, and for him, clear a path.
With eyes wide open and a stride most steady,
The inspector approaches with his calculator at the ready.
With pencil and pad he scribbles a triangle here and a triangle there,
The errant dimension appears as if from thin air.
His work complete, he departs with a smile,
Satisfied he's needed, once in a while.
Regards,
Tracy