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Howmet Castings

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Howmet Castings
IndustryInvestment casting
Number of locations
27 plants
Area served

Howmet Castings, a division of Arconic, formerly Alcoa, is an American company that specializes in the investment casting of superalloys, aluminum and titanium primarily for jet aircraft and industrial gas turbine (IGT) engine components. Headquartered in Whitehall, Michigan, Howmet also provides hot isostatic pressing, titanium ingots and protective coating services.

Howmet operates 27 facilities in the United States, Canada, Mexico, France, the UK, Hungary and Japan.

YouTube Encyclopedic

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  • ✪ Out of the Fiery Furnace - Episode 7 - The Age of Metals Can It Last
  • ✪ Thiokol


Out Of The Fiery Furnace is brought to you by a company that makes aluminum for transportation, construction, and manufacturers of consumer products all around your house. [speaking French] This is the Pompidou Centre in the heart of Paris, the anatomy of the 20th century exposed. It speaks for our time as the Crystal Palace spoke for the 19th century. It's a visceral display of function in architecture, an apotheosis in which man's by now intestinal involvement with the age of metals shows up like a barium meal. The Pompidou Centre is a point of departure from all the surrounding traditions. It was not built up by craftsmen, but assembled like a motor car from steel components made elsewhere by machine. This confident rejection of traditional building materials argues that metals which have displaced every natural thing in almost every artifact that man uses are ready to provide his habitation. Whether the Pompidou Centre is folly or forecast depends upon answers to present questions-- are there enough metals on Earth? Will society accept the environmental penalties? What will we use for energy if all the world is to be carried forward into the age of metals? "The age of metals, can it last?" For 10,000 years, metallurgy has accompanied the march of man, transforming his way of life, filling his material universe, yet never quite losing touch with its ancient origins. The passenger jet is still barely 30 years old, but it is among the highest reaches of the art of man the metalsmith. Yet the core of this new technology, the turbines in the fiery furnace of the engines, are made by an ancient way of working with metal-- lost wax casting. The original method of lost wax casting, dating from at least the 4th millennium B.C., is still taught at Tokyo University. It begins with a wax model, here, a replica of a bronze mirror from the Imperial Palace, nearly 1,000 years old. At its plant near Washington, the Howmet Turbine Corporation uses the same ancient process to make the turbine blades which drive almost 2/3 of the world's jet aircraft. Here, too, the process begins with models shaped from wax. For all the advances of the past few thousand years, only lost wax casting can give these parts the strength to survive in the ferocity of their environment. The wax mirror is coated first with liquid clay, the first step in making a mold around its shape. The wax turbine blades, assembled in clusters, are dipped like chocolates in a bath of clay. The build-up of the mold continues with layers of coarser clay to make it stronger. The blade molds are strengthened with showers of ceramic particles. In the final shroud, a small hole at one end leads to the wax model inside. In their base, the blade molds, too, have an opening to the wax core. When the mirror mold is fired, the wax runs out, is lost. The clay shroud is baked hard. The blade molds are fired in a gas furnace. With the wax inside now lost, the ceramic coating is fused into a rigid shell. What emerges from the firing is a mold which contains a void exactly matching the shape of the original wax model. The metal for casting the mirror is bronze, 90% copper and 10% tin, the same mixture that metalsmiths 4,000 years ago hit upon as ideal for strength, appearance, and ease of casting. This metal is a triumph of modern alchemy, an alloy of a dozen elements that will freeze into a single crystal of matchless strength-- an already shaped and finished turbine blade. This is the industrial sculpture of the 20th century. The bronze replicas of the Emperor's mirror are destined for museums. Maybe, like their ancestors, they, too, will last for 1,000 years. Turbine blades will live only a few thousand hours, but millions of lives depend upon them every day. In the long journey from simple shapes cast in clay to flight between the continents, there have been countless impulses and inspirations. One unflagging stimulus has been the search for liberation by wealth and emancipation by richness. That urge has driven civilizations to the edge of the known world for the shining prizes hidden in the Earth. This is one of the world's far corners and one of its wilder shores, almost at the ends of the Earth. It's the west coast of Tasmania, as unmarked now as when Abel Tasman first sighted it more than 300 years ago. But the hills behind the coast have not escaped so lightly. In the closing years of the last century, rich lodes of copper were found beneath the primeval forest which then covered this whole region. Those who are animated by a contempt for our present existence could hardly fail to point out here, in the middle of what's still largely innocent nature, this instructive symbol. This landscape was created by men for the smelting of copper. The trees were cleared from the hillsides to feed the furnaces in the valleys. The fumes from the smelters killed off surrounding vegetation and prevented the regeneration of trees. Heavy rainfall scoured away all the topsoil. Not many will dispute that the result was a supremely awful manmade blight, a scar which represents the more unthinking excesses produced by man's voracious appetite for metals. For most of its history, most of its inhabitants have believed the world was coming to an end. Many would see in this that ominous conjunction of events which conjures up the popular nightmare of a planet made uninhabitable by the consumer society and its stimulation of unnecessary needs and wasteful appetites. One might think the passing of many centuries without the forecast apocalypse would instruct us to be more confident. But the language of prophecy has continued into our secular age and finds a popular echo in the environmental concerns of today. It's an ambivalence which has accompanied mining and metallurgy throughout the thousands of years man has used metals. The difference is one of scale, and that's growing larger. It embraces the conflicts and the promise of our metal-dependent way of life and the price we've chosen to pay for our passage to the age of metals. The sheer extent of devastation here has made it for years a tourist attraction. The hillsides are starting to recover now that smelting has stopped, but it was a long illness. It's probably true to say it couldn't happen now. New attitudes make it unacceptable, and modern technology makes it unnecessary. The industrialization of human society and its appetite for minerals has sharpened the conflict between needs and costs. That conflict is a volatile political reality in the urban sprawl of Western Europe. And here, the environmental concerns have produced impressive community solutions. This is the largest power station in Europe. It burns brown coal and is one of a chain which generates 1/3 of West Germany's electricity. The fuel, more than 100 million tons a year, is mined by open cut near Cologne. To get at the coal, which can lie underneath 200 meters of overburden, the Germans have developed the largest mobile land machines ever built. These gargantuan mining tools weigh up to 13,000 tons. They bite out a million tons of earth and coal a day. The coal mined here is inseparable from Germany's sustained industrial pre-eminence in Europe. But this vast gouging of the landscape occurs in the heart of the richest farmland in Germany-- the flood plain of the Rhine, settled since the days of the Romans. The opposing interests of town and country are resolved in a harmony of opposites. Evisceration of the earth is followed by its total restoration. As the huge machines crawl over and devour the landscape, the inhabitants of farms and villages move into new farms and villages built on areas already mined and filled in. Everything you see in these pictures-- villages, farms, the countryside itself-- is restoration. Where farmland is concerned, the mining company replaces the rich topsoil and reconstitutes its fertility. People buy new properties with the compensation for the old. The old simply vanish during the mining until they, in their turn, are renewed. More than 25,000 people have been resettled in this part of Germany. The cost is borne by the mining company. With the state government providing an added seduction of civic improvements like new schools. This is the price of coal to the power stations, but this energy is cheaper than oil from OPEC. Or Britain's North Sea fields. The inevitable blight of a heavily industrialized area like the Ruhr has been softened and living made more pleasant. 1/5 of the mined land is sculpted and planted with trees, and so a new landscape has been called into being. This is where mining and restoration first began 50 years ago. For a new generation, the deception is complete. Only a handful can now remember when this forest and lake were one vast hole in the ground. But total restoration of this kind is an ideal. Because of its cost, it is, in most cases, a rainbow which recedes. Another way of containing the impact of mining is making less profligates and more lasting use of metals already won and processed. Scrap steel, copper, and aluminum are recycled in greater quantities than ever. With precious metals, the incentive is obvious. These bars are stacked in the vault of the world's largest customer for silver. This one American company consumes half the silver available in the united states and more than all the silver used by many countries. While silver was one of the first metals to be worked by man, it had a restricted use for centuries. But precious metals, too, were caught up in the applied technology which swept America towards the end of the last century. One of the most outstanding examples of the American instinct for popularization was invented by a bank clerk named George Eastman 100 years ago. In the 1880s, photography meant coming to a studio and sitting more or less paralyzed in this for about 20 minutes. That was the time it took to make a single exposure. At the end of that time, the subject was rewarded with a faint portrait on tin plate. The result was invariably cloudy rather than bright. To take photographs outside the studio meant lugging around cumbersome cameras and exposing pictures on heavy glass slides treated with volatile chemicals, and the snapshots had to be developed on the spot. As more and more Americans became more and more equal, so the demand for material possessions became more general and extensive. Quantity rather than quality became a criterion, and the cheapness which put things in the hands of ordinary people became an element in success. With his invention, Eastman assured Americans that he'd found a cheap, easy way for them to keep records of themselves. What Eastman devised was this-- a box with a simple lens at one end. What went inside was revolutionary-- a flexible strip of the new plastic, celluloid, coated with chemicals. Eastman's device was not only light and convenient and cheap, it embodied a priceless virtue-- it was foolproof. Because it all depended upon the reaction of silver nitrate to light, photography aroused and has maintained the world's largest appetite for silver. There's a corollary to this huge demand for silver. Side by side with the mass production of film, the Kodak plant in Rochester, New York, conducts a huge salvage operation to retrieve the silver. From those passing moments caught in countless snapshots and films, the company distills a source of permanent wealth. It recovers more than 600 tons of silver a year worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Silver, like gold and some other inert metals, is indestructible. It can be cycled and recycled indefinitely. The demand for it is greater than ever. It's an ideal conductor of electricity, and it's become indispensable to the booming electronics industries. It has taken man 5,000 years to mine one million tons of silver, but no less than half of that has been dug out in the last 100 years. The same pattern is reflected in the demand for all major metals. That demand has been doubling every 20 years. Yet geologists are agreed that the danger of running out of metal resources is illusory and has never been less likely than it is today. The historical argument is powerful. Demand has always fostered innovation in search and discovery. Like the big-game hunter from the high vantage points of the howdah on the elephant's back, the geologist rides around the world today looking for the bands of mineral wealth which, striped like the tiger, run across the continents. They can be invisible to the human eye but found from up here. Parts of the Earth not covered by oceans which have yet to be examined are becoming more limited. Reserves of mineral wealth lying in the Earth's crust occupy less than 1/10 of 1% of the continental areas, and they make small and elusive targets. There are bull's eyes of copper and uranium whose presence can only be sensed by modern divining rods, the electrical and magnetic pulses that probe beneath the planet's old and wrinkled skin. The geologist rides higher and higher, his perspective is widened. Today he stands outside the Earth itself. Photographs from space made in wavelengths across the spectrum from visible light to infrared can differentiate geological features. There's a total of mineral resources on the planet which is finite, but there's little idea of its true magnitude or, indeed, where those resources lie. The great Australian emptiness, the last of the inhabited continents to be explored for minerals, even now has hardly been scratched. It's only since the second World War that this, one of the world's oldest landscapes-- the Pilbara in western Australia-- has been looked at closely. The prospectors were rewarded with an expanding horizon of iron. For those who believe that continued growth and progress, whatever their virtues, will prove impossible because the world is running out of resources, this place, Mount Tom Price, a peak in a vast province of iron hills, teaches a mineral lesson. Australia's reserves of iron ore have been proved 100 times greater than those upon which the nation's domestic and international policy was based only 30 years ago. This discovery, together with more immense finds of uranium and copper, have confirmed Australia's rapid transformation. The golden fleece which kept Europe warm and made Australia rich is being overshadowed by the minerals which feed the furnaces of Japan and keep Australia rich. Throughout history, it's been local mineral wealth which has made nations rich. Athenian Greece financed the golden age and paid for the wars with its silver. Alexander the Great funded his conquests with the gold of Macedon. Following the Dark Ages, the mines of Germany laid the economic foundations for that revival of learning which led to the Renaissance. Britain became the world's leading power coincidentally with its leadership in production of tin, copper, iron, and coal, and the Industrial Revolution. The greater resources of the United States, more than twice the mineral wealth mined in history, supported its advance to become the richest nation on Earth. Today the global village is less disposed to look upon the haphazard distribution of mineral wealth as a lottery with big prizes for a few winners. Access to raw materials is a long historical envy. It's vital to the advanced countries and to those at the threshold of industrial revolution, like the new independent nations of Asia. For Australians, the occupation of a treasure house of minerals is likely to prove the most formidable responsibility in their history. There are other uncertainties. These mining operations, where the miner himself lives on and off the job in air-conditioned comfort undreamt of by his predecessors, assume inhuman proportions. They've dwarfed the individual by their scale and dimension. There's no shortage of those who believe that this gigantism limits the citizen in his own pursuit of social ends. There's growing resistance to the prospect, which they see implicit, of all nature reduced to mechanical servitude in the name of material progress. That conveniently forgets that other servitude which once enslaved mankind and still holds back the greater part of it-- the tyranny of daily labor in the fields for bare survival. To Be here is to be aware of an even more significant change in balance. It is to dare to speculate that consequent upon Australia's boom in mineral resources, the center of gravity in the world may be moving away from Europe. Just as those once-great mines in Spain sustained the ancient civilizations of Rome and Carthage. So now we're seeing around the rim of the Pacific-- from Japan to Australia and the United States-- the rise of a new conglomerate of vitality, influence, and power. Australia's raw materials and the industrial heritage of America are fused together in the nucleus of the Pacific century. In an unrivaled synthesis of previous technology, Japan stands on a new plateau in the mechanization of work. It represents as big a jump from Henry Ford's assembly line as that was from Britain's industrial revolution. The new industrial revolution is moving into uncharted seas in its social consequences, but it foreshadows the eventual release of men and women from dangerous, arduous, or simply tediously repetitive jobs in underground mining, metal foundries, chemical works, and factories. These first-generation robots are the unskilled laborers of the new work force, tireless and obedient. They're uniformly competent, yet crude, but already they're being refined and cultivated. For centuries, the craft of the watchmaker was among the pinnacles of skilled workmanship. But it hasn't been able to survive the onslaught of this industrial equivalent of gunpowder against castle walls. The silicon chip, with its nervous system of 15,000 integrated circuits, is the brain of the quartz watch. In the final assembly, life is breathed into the inanimate. The brain is harnessed to the body of the watch with threads of molten gold. Nearly half the gold mined in the world finds its way into the proliferating electronic empire. The progressive replacement of human labor means that industry is becoming increasingly dependent upon energy to take its place. The mining, smelting, and processing of the metals which make modern civilization possible now accounts for 1/3 of the world's total consumption of energy. Since the rise of OPEC, Japan's steel industry has sought protection from that sudden vulnerability in a frantic campaign to conserve energy. This steel plant, the newest in Tokyo, has found a way to supply its own power. Instead of going up the chimney and so to waste, the gases from every furnace and smelting process are collected and piped to a central power station. Here they're burned again to generate electricity. Waste heat is also used to make all the steam the plant requires. Surplus steam from that process is itself used to make more electricity. So this very large steel works, producing 10 million tons of steel a year, has been made entirely self-sufficient in power. The OPEC earthquake made all the giants tremble. America, once the world's greatest oil producer, had developed by the 1970s a thirst for petroleum satisfiable only by a flood of imports. When oil prices quadrupled, Americans set out to find more of it and seized their own oil fields by the throat to wring every last barrel out of them. To wring every last barrel out of them. Even Century City, in the heart of Los Angeles, has been reminded that it's perched above an old lake of oil. This alien spire in a field of office blocks conceals a full-sized drilling rig. It's one of scores of new wells which the present wod prices have made profitable. And, so, oil is pumped from the very basements of America's largest city. In that shrine to unreality, Hollywood, California, it's unsurprising to find that this building on West Pico Boulevard encloses a minor oil field. Inside, there are 40 producing wells. There's a lot of oil still under Los Angeles, as there is in old wells worldwide, but the high costs of operation will rule them out. Then there will have to be a supplementary source of energy to maintain present living standards and to meet the rising aspirations of the world. One of the first impulses has been to reach for the Sun as ancient civilizations did. There is a certain nostalgia and comfort in that receiving warmth. Unlike the older technologies for producing energy, this one is eerily quiet. There is no pollution of atmosphere, earth, or water. Solar One, in the Mojave Desert in California, is the first large solar generator to make a contribution to commercial power. It's expensive, but it works, and there will, no doubt, be more like it. However, solar energy is obviously intermittent, and it is for the day, not the night. It's not likely to provide more than 5% of the world's energy needs before the year 2000. The one new source of energy discovered this century that might sustain us in the next is at present under fearful scrutiny. The cooling towers of Three Mile Island's nuclear plant have thrown a long shadow across the most accessible path to atomic energy. Unlocking the great doors to the heart of matter is the most formidable material achievement of human intellect. The radioactive metals transcend in their possibilities all the other metals man has ever put to work. Energy from a single lump of uranium can match the output of 300 coal mines or 50 kilometers of open-cut mining. A dramatic alternative beckons, therefore, to burning fossil fuels and the growing apprehension about their consequences such as acid rain. But the most advanced technological civilization the world has known is hesitant at the threshold of a new age. It was at this place in New Mexico's desert, surrounded by the outcrops of extinct volcanoes, which bear witness to nature's own, at times, surpassing violence, that on a July morning in 1945, man lit his last and his most fiery furnace. It was an ultimate successor to all those furnace fires of his which have glowed throughout recorded time and in which he has sought to forge both his weapons and his wealth. Here it was that man succeeded for the first time in reproducing on Earth in an instant the furnace of the Sun. He did so in those generations of fission which took place here on the site of the world's first atomic explosion and the rehearsal for the destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. These were the last moments in the garden of Los Alamos before the 20th-century atom reached for a new dimension of knowledge and power. Under Dr. Robert Oppenheimer, an international concentration of scientific intellect was yoked to the war effort. It worked against time to test the feasibility of an atomic bomb. On July 15, 1945, it was hoisted slowly to the top of the tower. At 5:29 the next morning, the desert was lit, as oppenheimer chose to say, "brighter than 1,000 suns." A huge saucer of sand was fired into silicon beads by the melting of the desert floor. These are the pearls of Alamagordo. They represent the difference between the past and future. the nuclear fire in the desert of New Mexico confirmed the arrival of the Atomic Age. The atomic furnace reversed the flow of all previous practice and experience. All the preceding furnaces consumed vast resources-- forests, labyrinths of coal, underground oceans of oil-- in order to make relatively small quantities of iron, copper, and steel. The nuclear furnace was fed with small resources, but yielded vast amounts of matter in the form of energy. For all its exactitudes and its imponderables, the nuclear furnace was an intuitive recognition by man that he lived in a world of finite resources. Man gave up his wanderings in the deserts and forests to turn to the ultimate source of energy, the Sun. It was his greatest scientific achievement. It took him 2,500 years from the time the Greeks first considered the atom's existence until that final promethean feat in which he demonstrated that he could manipulate the fundamental components of the universe itself. With it, he could forge and consume the new strategic precious metals, uranium and plutonium, which have taken the place of gold and silver in determining the relations between all-powerful nation-states. The scientists had the wit to call this place Trinity, a name which has long stood for the highest, most mysterious, and exacting of all philosophical and religious concepts and difficulties. Ever since homo sapiens first used fire, he has been preoccupied with its nature. Prometheus, in Greek myth, who took fire from the gods and returned it to man, denied him knowledge of the future. He thought it might make men unhappy. Alamagordo could be the altar on which the Earth is offered up as a burnt offering. But perhaps we should be more optimistic. In his monumental history, the decline and fall, a great human intellect, Edward Gibbon, reminded us that however much the opinion that the world is coming to an end deserves respect for its usefulness and antiquity, it hasn't proved agreeable to experience. Nearly half a century on from Alamagordo, we are still here, however precariously. But there is more than just survival to show for it. Each new leap of technology may be shadowed with risk. But the challenge of risk has been indivisible from civilization's march, from the time when man's perspectives were measured by the distance he could walk in a day to his vistas now out among the spheres. My name is Robert Raymond, the producer of this series. I'm raising a question which might have occurred to many people. Will the world run out of metals? We're in the mountains of Colorado. Metals found in these hills in the 19th century-- gold, silver, copper-- were a key factor in the foundation of modern U.S. economy. Today, most of those deposits are gone. Is this going to happen one day to all the great mines? Someone who has positive views on this is Dr. John Tilton, professor of Mineral Economics at a center of knowledge on this issue, the Colorado School of Mines. I don't think we'll run out of metals in the sense that one day we'll find the cupboard bare. The U.S. Geological Survey, for example, has estimated we have 1.5 times 10 to the 15 tons of copper in the Earth's crust. That comes to roughly 200 million years of use at current production levels, which is far more than most of us think we need at the present time. Also copper is a relatively rare metallic element in the Earth's crust compared to bauxite and aluminum or compared to iron ore. That doesn't mean we necessarily will have no problems as far as the metals are concerned in the future. It simply says looking at the problem of exhaustion as a pot that we're drawing out of is wrong. The real question is what will happen to metal costs. Will they rise to the point where we can no longer afford to use metals for automobiles and refrigerators? The answer to that is not totally known at this point because it depends on the cost-reducing effects of technological change over time and the cost-increasing effects of depletion, which requires that we go to poorer grade, more remote, more-difficult-to-process mineral deposits. For the next 50 years, most mineral economists, most geologists are fairly convinced that we'll have no serious problems in terms of rising costs of metal commodities, rising real costs after you adjust for inflation. Beyond that, it's basically a race between cost-reducing effects of new technology and cost-increasing effects of depletion. No one knows for certain which one will win. Over the last 100 years, new technology has more than offset the increasing costs of depletion. Today, copper, aluminum, and many of our other metal commodities cost far less than they did 50 or 100 years ago. Whether that will be the case in the future, we don't know. We do know that the problem isn't going to fall on us suddenly. That won't happen. what conceivably could happen is that very slowly, over years, over centuries, the real costs of metals rise slowly. A number of forces are keeping metal costs from rising so high we can no longer afford to use them. These costs apply in the West. What happens to the other part of the world where people haven't had their first industrial revolution? Will they be able to afford metals? They'll get them at the same price the West gets them. At the present time, that means they're not getting very much metal. That's the problem of the distribution of wealth. That's been with us for a long time, and it's likely to continue. But that's a different problem. That's a question of how wealth is distributed among people rather than whether metal resources are too expensive. In the future, if we're looking at increased metal usage by other nations, environmental costs are involved, aren't they? What about the fear of degradation of the planet if the present rate of extraction continues? Certainly that's a subject of concern to all people associated with the mineral industries. They, the mineral industries, by their very nature, have major environmental problems associated with them. Because of this, over the years, these industries have worked hard to try and improve their environmental impacts. If we're willing to pay the costs, we can have the mineral materials we need and contain the environmental problems associated with mining and processing of mineral and metal commodities. Could the world be persuaded to pay that cost of preserving what's left? Sure. It's just a question of what we consider important. As environmental issues come more to the attention of people around the world, it's only a question of time before they're prepared to pay the cost to keep the Earth's environment attractive and pleasant for people who live here. Out Of The Fiery Furnace is brought to you by a company that makes aluminum for transportation, construction, and manufacturers of consumer products all around your house. captioning made possible by Commonwealth Aluminum Captioning performed by the National Captioning Institute, Inc. Captions copyright 1986 Opus Films Public performance of captions prohibited without permission of National Captioning Institute the companion book, Out Of The Fiery Furnace by Robert Raymond, is published by the Penn State Press and is available at bookstores throughout the country.



Howmet can be traced back to 1926 with the founding of Austenal, a company which manufactured raw materials and process for dental appliances. Austenal founders, Reiner Erdle and Charles Prange worked to improve investment chrome base castings utilizing two separate investments: The first coating named 'protective coat" giving a smooth finish was smothered with alcohol binder investment to obtain a correct expansion. This technology replaced gold alloy with vitallium and was popular in depression time. During the 1930s, Austenal expanded into aircraft engine superchargers with superior castings when General Electric asked for help to improve manufacturing practices for wartime production demands.

Howe Sound Company, a metals and mining business, purchased Austenal in 1958, and a year later in 1959, Howe acquired Michigan Steel Casting Co. (MISCO), which provided the monolithic shell process, which uses a ceramic shell with thin, strong walls to increase control of the solidification process to produce a sounder casting.

Howe became Howmet in 1965, marking a transition from a mining company to a manufacturer of precision metal products. Howmet was purchased in 1975 by Pechiney, a multinational aluminum company. In 1989, Pechiney purchased the Cercast group of companies, bringing Howmet into the aluminum casting industry.

In 1995, Pechiney sold Howmet to a joint venture between Thiokol and The Carlyle Group. By late 1997 the ownership structure of Howmet had morphed into a distribution of Thiokol owning 62%, Carlyle 23%, and the public 15%. Thiokol later in 1998 changed its name to Cordant Technologies Inc. By February 1999, Cordant had acquired an 84.7% stake in Howmet.

In 2000 Cordant sold its stake in Howmet Corp. to Alcoa, which merged Howmet into its Alcoa Industrial Components unit. In 2004, Howmet was merged to form the Alcoa Investment Cast and Forged Products unit. In 2007, Howmet was renamed Alcoa Howmet as a division of the newly formed Alcoa Power and Propulsion unit.

On November 1, 2016, Alcoa Inc. spun off its bauxite, alumina, and aluminum operations to a new company called Alcoa Corp. Alcoa Inc. was renamed Arconic Inc., and retained the operations in aluminum rolling (excluding the Warrick operations), aluminum plate, precision castings, and aerospace and industrial fasteners.

It focuses on turning aluminum and other lightweight metals into engineered products such as turbine blades for sectors including aerospace and automotive. It trades on the NYSE under the ARNC ticker.

On January 31, 2017, the hedge fund Elliott Management Corporation launched a proxy contest against the company. Elliott publicly called for the firing of then CEO, Klaus Kleinfeld citing the company's lackluster stock performance, missed profit forecasts and inefficient spending. On April 17, 2017, Klaus Kleinfeld resigned as chairman and CEO by mutual agreement with the board of Arconic, after sending an unauthorized letter to Elliott.


See also

External links

This page was last edited on 31 October 2019, at 13:18
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