I scoff at the puny efforts of human flesh, bone, and muscle to change my erratic course

It sounds like my new motto, but it is, in fact, a line from this great old safety poster that caught my eye during a tour of the old Collider Experimental Hall (where electrons and positrons used to smack into each other…for science!) at the Stanford Linear Accelerator Center (click to embiggen):

I can’t find it anywhere online, except one reference to the poem (reprinted below) in a university material safety document. The date in the lower left looks like it was revised 5-87, but it could just as likely be ’67.  I wish I knew who Marshall Peterson is/was. And what, for that matter, is an A.M.A. (American Medical Association, Against Medical Advice, American Music Awards, etc.)?

What I do know is that the poster makes me more likely to want to see Mr. Scruffy Canister go off in as violent manner as possible, not less.

A Sleeping Giant

I am a compressed gas cylinder. I weigh in at 175 pounds when filled.

I am pressurized at 2,200 pounds per square inch (psi).

I have a wall thickness of about 1/4 inch.

I stand 57 inches tall.

I am 9 inches in diameter.

I wear a cap when not in use.

I weaer valves, gages, and hoses when at work.

I wear many colors and bands to tell what tasks I perform.

I transform miscellaneous stacks of material into glistening ships and many other things — when properly used.

I transform glistening ships and many other things into miscellaneous stacks of material when allowed to unleash my fury unchecked.

I am ruthless and deadly in the hands of the careless or uninformed.

I am too frequently left standing alone on my small base, my cap removed and lost by an unthinking workman. Then I am ready to be toppled over, my naked valve can be snapped off — and all of my power can be unleashed through an opening no larger than a lead pencil.

I am proud of my capabilities — here are a few of them:

I have been known to jet away faster than any dragster.

I smash my way through brick walls with the greatest of ease.

I fly through the air and reach distances of half-a-mile or more.

I spin, ricochet, crash and slash through anything in my path.

I scoff at the puny efforts of human flesh, bone, and muscle to change my erratic course

I can, under certain conditions, rupture or explode — your read of these exploits in the newspapers.

You can be my master only under my terms:

Full or empty, see to it that my cap is on, straight and snug.

Never — repeat — never leave me standing along. Keep me in a secure rack or tie me so that I cannot fall.

TREAT ME WITH RESPECT — I AM A SLEEPING GIANT.

–Marshall Peterson A.M.A.