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(Reprinted here with permission from Jim E.)

Duane was dating one of the Samsel girls, who was in nurses training in Billings. Her roommate came down to Powell for the weekend, or her sister was going back to Billings with her. Cannot remember the girl details. So Duane talked me into taking the girls to Billings topless, via Yellowstone and Beartooth Pass. The car topless, that is. And with Duane and one of the girls enjoying the sun and scenery from the rumble seat.


The night before we left, I decided to replace the dried-up and cracked original steering wheel with a big beautiful wheel from a Buick Roadmaster. The splines fit fine, but the hub was thicker. I could barely get the post nut started. No time to trim the wheel hub on the lathe, but shucks, the splines were plenty tight.

With a late start (women!) and too many stops along the trip up the North Fork (men— telling women where we had shot an elk or skied or caught a fish!), dusk was dusking before we even started up the pass. So we put up the top, closed the rumble seat, and squeezed the four of us into the front seat. There was no "back seat" in a 1937 Buick Roadster. And the front seat was narrow. Nicely narrow, if shared with soft young nurses. And of course no room to steer with both hands. But we made it safely up and over and down the Beartooth pass—rather rapidly because there was a Sunday night curfew for student nurses—and began to pull out of the Deaconess parking lot, headed for a coffee and pie and thence to Powell.

As we pulled out, the steering wheel came off in my hands. Got stopped safely. Decided we wanted a more brightly lit place to work on the project, so I clamped a pair of vice grips on the steering post, used that to steer, gave the wheel to Duane, and started driving downtown to find a well-lit gas station, preferably one with a good brass hammer we could borrow.

As we drove along, people started honking, blinking lights, pointing, and laughing. I looked over at Duane. He was leaning out the window with the steering wheel, pretending to steer and sometimes waving it. I wonder what he would have said to a cop, had we met one?

And just out of curiosity, Duane, didn't your Chevy coupe have a rumble seat?


- Jim

There’s No Such Thing as a Free Lunch

The adage holds true most of the time. What I have found is the statement is rather “light.” Lunch is “not free,” and is usually quite expensive.

When dad bought the property at May Creek Estates near Gold Bar, Washington he planned to build a mountain getaway for his family. Today the area is primary single family homes rather than weekend retreats.

I haven’t driven by there for many years. I imagine the cabin is still there, but it could just have easily been replaced with something else. Someday when I am heading east of the mountains I will swing through.

I have mentioned in earlier writings on the “frugalness” of my father (reference: “Saturday Morning Haircuts,” “I Remember…” [Cleaning Wally Weiger’s chicken coop just to get the fertilizer] or [Making our own lawn fertilizer by buying the ingredients at Burdic Feed in Kent]).

If I have learned anything from my father, it can be boiled down to a few things: “Stuff is expensive,” and “Measure once, measure again, think about it, remark the board, measure one more time and then cut – wood is expensive!" (Apparently so is fertilizer).

In the interest of saving a buck or two, my dad got this “wild hair” in the very early sixties. I am not sure what the advertisement said “Free Wood” or “Very Nearly Free Wood (BYOS)." BYOS means “bring your own slaves.”

I had mentioned earlier about the “green movement.” My dad had the opportunity to “recycle” a cabin as the basis for ours… simply tear apart this cabin – scavenge the wood, using small laborers related to you – Hint: you can even teach them to “pull a nail or two.”

I don’t recall how long we worked tearing down that cabin, but dad had solicited friends to help – maybe I should say “former friends.” We probably paid more for the wood then if we had bought new at a lumber yard. We spent hours, and I remember at least one day it poured buckets – no free lunch!

In the end we built a wonderful cabin, and used some recycled boards from that original one. For some time you could see the difference between the wood “purchased through the ad” and that purchased at the lumber yard… And I learned to pull nails.

- Craig

Church

We attended the First Methodist Church of Renton. When the church merged with the Evangelical United Brethren Church in 1967, we became the “First United Methodist Church of Renton.”

Church was a family. We dressed up in our “Sunday best,” Dad in a suit and tie, Mom in a dress. It was never acceptable to wear jeans, shorts, or for that matter, anything you might wear to the beach. We have gotten away from that, and I like it. Some people’s “Sunday best” is a clean pair of jeans. Beach wear is still in appropriate however.

We went to church regularly. The only acceptable reasons to skip were around our cabin or vacations. Weekends were focused on building and with the drive up after work on Friday we generally skipped church on Sunday in order to make headway. Later we used Scout outings, or the occasional ski days. For the most part we were regular irregular attendees. I continue that role even to this day – even the excuses are the same with one addition – Seahawks games – when we have tickets of course.

We met many of our close friends at church, and while we have moved, grown, married, and moved again, we still send Christmas cards and in some cases such as Dad and Mom – vacation together.

I remember many of their names, the Lee’s, Stark’s, Westpfahl’s, Abrahamson’s, Holm’s and Wieman’s (sic).

I remember Steve, Karen, and Sandra; Sue, Carol, and Lesa; Carol and Linda; Tim and Tom; Nancy and her sister; Larry and his… Also Sandi and Matt from youth group!

Church was a safe place. When I was in Kindergarten, I had a friend from class I wanted to have over at the house to play. His name was Jonathon. We would meet at the Church to play in the sand while his father and my Mom chatted. You see, it was 1962, and it simply wouldn’t be right for a black boy to be at a white boy’s house – and his father certainly couldn’t come over. I never understood why at the time.

Church is where my Dad and Mom first taught me about volunteering. Mom counted money on Monday mornings in the church office with lady’s from church – Mary I specifically remember. In the summer we hung out in the church exploring or outside playing.

Dad would sign us up to be ushers. The head usher would get the sanctuary ready before service so we always arrived early when Dad was the head usher. We carefully placed the offering plates at the front pew (we kept them in a closet during the week), filled up the baptismal font (never knew if someone would be baptized), straightened the hymnals, the attendance sheets, sharpened pencils and replaced if necessary and stood at the doors – and ushered people to the pew of their choice. I still usher today, and have tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to get Chad to usher too.

Being Methodists meant lots of food. Fellowship hours were always full – and the opportunity to be the family servers was an honor. There were never empty signup slots for any jobs – at least not that I remember.

We had potlucks – and still do at Sumner. At Renton it seemed like once a month we had a Church Dinner. Everyone was there because church was the family.

Dad also gave lots of presentations at work over the years – he would practice his toastmaster speeches at home. I wanted to emulate his comfort of speaking in front of audiences. Church was the perfect place. It was where I first spoke in front of a couple hundred people. I read Bible Verses and made announcements about youth activities.

Like I said before, church was a safe place – here I could even sing with very few people cringing or plugging their ears.

- Craig

Snowshoes and Toboggans

My dad and I built snowshoes. I only used them a few of times, but I saw them in my garage today. They have to be 38 years old. We had a pattern someone in Scouts had given the troop, and jig. They are made from gray PVC pipe and green nylon rope. I think we bought the leather toe slips at the Army / Navy surplus store on 2nd Avenue just north of Michigan in south Seattle. That was one of my favorite stores!

We drilled the holes, and gently heated the PVC with Dad’s torch, bending around the jig. The pattern included the weave of the nylon rope. I even loaned them to someone once (although I can’t remember who) – they said they worked great except the shoes needed the crampons – the person slipped and slid - but the snowshoes are very light. They were impressed however that we made them!

My brother wanted a toboggan – not a snow sled but a big, wooden toboggan. Dad and Mom bought it for him for Christmas one year. We used to lash it onto the red ’64 Dodge Dart wagon and head for the hills – usually Stevens Pass because it was close to the cabin. The Dart had studded snow tires. One time when there wasn’t much snow, Dad tied a rope to the back of the wagon, and dragged us behind the car on logging roads. Today, common sense tells me it wasn’t a good idea, but Greg and I had fun!

The toboggan was a six-seater made with alternating natural wood – honey oak, and walnut in color. The very thin pad was green, with yellow nylon rope handles woven down each side lengthwise, were your only chance at “safety.”

It might have been the second or third run on the first day, but we finally figured out how to steer. The toboggan pilot (coxswain in rowing, driver in NASCAR) would yell the steering commands. The majority of the participants on a toboggan are idiots. They cannot see where they are going, and they put their trust in a person with no “piloting experience.”

Don S., a close family friend from church, and our neighbor was the pilot on that run…

“Lean to the left!” Everyone one hung on and leaned. The toboggan started it’s “oil supertanker turn.”

“Lean to the right!” Don had a slight panic to his voice, but everyone arched to the right, and the toboggan came upright and started a very slow turn to the right.

We were slaloming just like on skis! However, the actual toboggan run was not that long, and long slow turns were not optimum.

“JUMP!” came the anxious shout as the toboggan smashed into a tree. No injuries to the toboggan or otherwise!

- Craig

I Remember...

• Going to Children’s Shoe Land for shoes
• Your favorite store was Sears in Renton, followed closely by McLendon’s
• Elk hunting with a Cow tag and not getting anything
• Deer hunting with a Doe tag and not getting anything
• Pheasants, geese and ducks
• Making shot gun shells
• My first bicycle and showing you Mom had taught me to ride – I stopped by running into the Oldsmobile because I hadn’t learned to use the brakes
• Teasing Vern and Ronnie Hall, Mike Moss, Randy Butterfield, Geoff, Paul and Janice Broomhead
• Learning to put new pads on drum brakes
• Changing the oil
• Mowing the lawn
• Building the cabin
• Cleaning Wally Weger’s chicken coop just to get the fertilizer
• Making our own lawn fertilizer by buying the ingredients at Burdic Feed in Kent
• The 50 miler
• Numerous Scout Camps – Brinkley, Omache, Shepard, Parsons
• Wetting the bed
• Pulling the box spring handle off, and promptly stepping on the tacks
• Cutting Christmas trees
• Driving the boat – towing a trailer
• Building the fiberglass cover for our deck in SeaTac – and expanding the deck
• Chain link fencing
• Pouring concrete – cabin foundation; slab for my current dog kennel (not used); curbs around the grass and under the fences; widening my driveway – all under your guidance
• Growing potatoes, tomatoes, rhubarb, zucchini, and pumpkins
• Creating the rock garden landscape so I didn’t have to mow as much
• Making a bedroom for Greg downstairs – moving the door to the garage to the workshop
• Insulating, wiring, dry walling, framing, roofing, siding, painting
• Working on my car in Pullman after school got out one summer – you had to get the parts in Seattle
• Our rabbits
• Turtles
• Geronimo getting his ear clipped by the barbed-wire fence chasing a pheasant
• Not coming back for breakfast after trailing elk, eventually falling asleep in the snow – how worried you, Earl, and Darrell were when I didn’t make it back when it got dark either
• Our family train ride to Missoula
• Camping and fishing up the North Fork
• When you learned to downhill ski again with your two boys
• The family reunion for your 50th wedding anniversary
• Our trip to the East coast with Grandma Vesta
• Disneyland, Tijuana
• Getting the dry-heaves at Norma & John’s in Hanford
  
  (To be continued…)

- Craig

$15 – New Tires

Back in the early sixties, my father bought a new used car. It was a 1950 Oldsmobile – faded light blue and in reasonably good working order. He paid a lot in those days – 50 bucks. We had a single car garage, with a single car driveway – which was probably pretty fancy then. Dad had to park his work car on the street.

I have driven by the old house on occasion, but the last time was probably ten years ago. Instead of parking on the street those occupants parked on what used to be the front lawn. The old white split rail fence was long gone, and there were only remnants of the three Douglas fir trees in the corner of the yard.

We had an old blue Renault to compliment the new old Oldsmobile. The Renault had two features I remember – beyond the similarity to a modified VW bug – red interior and an unshielded fan attached to the dashboard for air conditioning. Dad – did you put that in? I would stick my fingers in the blades while it was on – but the soft rubber fan blades prevented a catastrophe. No one in their right mind would have put something like that in their car today – but in those days everyone – even small children had common sense – only soft rubber blades should be used on fans without a guard – or any other safety feature for that matter.

The Renault was the first car I drove – riding in my father’s lap down the long straight road. Today they call it Union Ave. Our address was 13225 SE 238th PL – now I don’t know what it is, but 238th is now SE 3rd PL. I would sit on Dad’s lap and steer the car toward home, listening to him complain gas prices had jumped from 22.9 cents a gallon to 24.9! If you do the math – that is significant.

The Oldsmobile probably got 12 miles to the gallon, and Dad worked in downtown Renton – a good 5 miles away – may be more “as the crow flies.” At some point Mom convinced Dad she needed a station wagon. We bought the red ’64 Dodge Dart mentioned in Parallel Parking. We had three cars and only two legal drivers. One had to go – the “gas hog.”

I don’t know what Dad advertised the car for - $25? Hell – he paid 50 dollars for it and put four new tires on it – but no takers. Everyone could tell where gas prices were going, and having a big blue Oldsmobile didn’t make sense (although I wish I had it now). This might have even been an early sign of the “Green Revolution.”

Finally Dad buckled to a young girl buying her first car - $15 – New Tires.

- Craig

All That Jazz

I have always loved music. Not all kinds – but definitely most. Some things I don’t call music – early “rap” for instance is not really music. Hip Hop can be music but I don’t like a lot of it. “White and Nerdy” by Weird Al Yankovic is my favorite – is that Hip Hop? I also like “My Humps” by the Black Eyed Peas.

Most of my young adult years consisted of Rock – Tom Petty, Styx, REO Speed Wagon, Benatar, Doobie Brothers, Elton John, Deep Purple, Nugent, The Cars, Knack, Stray Cats, and many more. Sometime there was the occasional country rock band like Charlie Daniels, Marshall Tucker, or Lynyrd Skynrd. Oldies include Elvis, Beach Boys, Louis Armstrong, and Frank Sinatra.

I even have light stuff like Little River Band, Mammas and the Pappas, Peter, Paul and Mary. There is really only one band I hate: The Rolling Stones. I have one vinyl – and yes, it is pretty good – but the majority I just don’t like.

Pink Floyd, Blue Oyster Cult, Bob Marley, Moody Blues, McCartney and Wings, Lennon are all in my collection. Did I mention Enya or Norah Jones?

One time when we still lived in Renton (we moved when I was 9) I made the comment “I like Jazz!” Dad said “You don’t even know what Jazz is.” “Yes I do!” I ran through some of my parents’ favorites like Benny Goodman (with his licorice stick) or Glenn Miller. I couldn’t decide which one to reply with – so I chose my favorite: The Beatles.

Dad said “that’s not Jazz.” It was to me!

- Craig

Making Puppies

(Craig with Buck and Smokey)

When I was three, Grandpa Kenny sent us a purebred English Bulldog puppy (as opposed to the Old English Bulldog breed like my brother’s dog Susi).

(Rachel with Susi)

Smokey was white with some brown patches. She was not considered a show dog, although I don’t know the specifics of her “defects.” While some people considered Smokey ugly with the wrinkled face and huge pug-like nose, she was quite beautiful. The fact Bulldog tongues are generally sticking out doesn’t hurt either. With Bulldogs, the eyes truly are windows to their souls.

One time the milk man looked through the screen door with Smokey looking back. He said “My, what an ugly dog you are,” in a patronizing sort of way. She went through a closed screen door and nipped at his leg. She knew exactly what he said and I think she also knew retribution was sweet. His eyes were very large when the door came open!

Smokey snored. She snored loud for hours a day when she got older. Grandpa Kenny raised purebred Boston Terriers and English Bulldogs. I remember “Taffy” was Smokey’s mom.

(Craig with Taffy)

I think her registered name was Angel’s Taffy. The Boston Terrier bitch was “Lady.” I don’t think I ever knew her registered name, but I remember she bit me on the cheek after I kept head butting in the rear end.

Grandpa Kenny brought out a litter of pups one time for Dad to sell. He sold them all. I am not sure of the amounts, but I remember the conversation Dad had with Grandpa Kenny to the effect that Dad had sold them too cheaply. Apparently the prices in a very small town in Wyoming (because of the simple economic equation of Supply and Demand) were much lower than the national average. All of the puppies sold but Grandpa didn’t send any more.

Smokey had a corkscrew tail. This was probably one of the defects. It almost looked like a hairy pigtail, thicker, and mostly internal. It didn’t stick out more than an inch.

I don’t think Smokey ever wanted to be a mother. She did however get knocked up by a lab or so we think. The puppies were cute, but essentially worthless in the market. Smokey used to run to the back of our property which abutted an undeveloped area. I remember Dad or Mom saying Smokey was trying to lose them… a litter of puppies CAN BE ANNOYING to the mom.

Smokey also farted - bad sometimes. She’d pass gas - waking her from a deep sleep. She would make this “Scooby Doo” type sound of surprise, and she would mosey quickly to another area of the room.

- Craig