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Engraver Louise White, 56, secures the Oscar, face down, the top of its head against a piece of rubber "so we don't give him a headache," she says. The numbers 3-4-5-3 are lined up in a row on her engraving machine and White, a 36-year Owens veteran, uses what looks like a primitive dental drill to trace them. That is connected to an industrial diamond stylus, which is pointed at the base of the Oscar and mimics the exact movements of the tracing instrument, only half as big. So, when she traces a
'3' with one hand, the stylus is moving in the same way. Now Oscar 3453 must be cured, which is factory-speak for waiting long enough to make sure there are no air holes or cracks that might weaken it. A few days later it was bath time, as Nunzio Giganti fitted Oscar on a wire rack before dipping him into soapy water to clean him up a bit. Then it was a dip in liquid copper, nickel and then ever so quickly, silver. Giganti blow dries him, using an air hose that looks and sounds like one used for tires at a gas station. Finally, comes every trophy's dream
-- a dip in 24-karat gold in a tub used for Oscar and only Oscar. Giganti then walks it over to the assembly area, where Bertha Fuentes screws on the brass-encased base, puts a plastic bag over Oscar's head and puts it into a form-fitted foam box, which is then put into a cardboard box for shipping. Early in February, Mr. 3453 will join his freshly-minted brothers on a journey taken by many a star-struck Midwesterner
-- a flight to Hollywood.
To be continued. ___ On the Net:
[Associated
Press;
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