Bob Doty looked as though he had just fallen in a flour bin. Stationed above the pulverizing jaws on the big crusher, he picked out the mud, lost drill heads, and other articles that would destroy the machine if they got caught in the mechanical jaws that converted rock into marketable lime dust. Like many workers in southern Indiana's stone belt, he carried a collapsible aluminum cup into which the water boy could pour relief from the hot and dirty work. On one of the boy's passages, Doty accepted his water ration and began to roll a cigarette for himself. As he put tobacco to paper, however, the overseer barked, "You ain't got time to be rolling cigarettes. Buy hard rolls."