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Fun with Electricity

 

   When I was a kid, we had lots of cats. Not all at once or anything like that, but we had a female cat that had dozens of kittens. Her name was Suzy. I’ll bet that during the time we had her, she had over 100 kittens. I remember one of her male kittens growing into one of the largest domestic cats we had ever seen. His name was Frisky. He was black and white, and under his white belly was a large black perfectly centered exclamation mark. I remember that he ran away for around six months. He returned one day, but he had gotten mean and he would chase my mother around the house. He ran away again and we never saw him after that.

   Anyway, with so many cats about, we had to feed them and most of them lived outside. Feeding them outside also meant that other cats would come around for a meal and my dad wanted to discourage the other cats from doing this.

   Now, back some years ago, I guess it was one of my uncles that had a problem with a dog peeing on his garbage cans. He took a screen from a door and placed it on the ground. He then placed a rubber mat down at the edge of the screen and put the garbage can on top of it. Then he led wires from the garbage can and the metal screen to a car battery… I always felt sorry for that dog… Well, the next time the dog came by, he stood on the screen and lifted his leg, and when that pee hit the garbage can and completed the circuit, that dog took off like a rocket, yelping all the way down the block. He never peed on those garbage cans again.

   With this in mind, my dad decided he would protect the cat’s food in the same way. Now, I love my dad, and I don’t want anyone to get the wrong impression, but some of the things he did were a good example of the wrong thing to do. I have always been grateful that I didn’t have to make the same mistakes myself and that I was able to witness what happens under these circumstances.

   My dad took a screen and a rubber mat and placed them down, and then an aluminum pie pan with the cat’s food in it. Now, he would never have left the food set up like that in case our own cats wanted something to eat. No. He would rather watch to see the reaction of the other cats. He wanted to make sure it would work good, so instead of using a car battery, he used an extension cord. Yes, full power from the wall. I really tried to suggest to him that it was probably a bit too much, but there was no way to change his mind.

   My dad stood at the back door peering out the window. The thin green extension cord, leading from the food trap, went under the door, up through both my dad’s hands and finally plugged into the wall. I was looking out the back door too. There were no cats around. My dad waited. Then, out of nowhere, a bird landed on the pie pan and began pecking at the food. With each peck, the dish inched its way closer to the edge of the matt. Suddenly, in a flash of bright sparking light, the bird flew away, leaving an indication that it was quite scared upon takeoff. The back room of the house was suddenly filled with smoke and the smell of burning plastic as my dad stood there, still holding the cord that was now pockmarked with exposed wire. By some miracle, my dad was not electrocuted. He never tried to do that again. It’s kind of scary to think that it could have worked. The bird would have made great cat bait.

   As it turned out, two good things actually came out of this whole ordeal. The cats were saved from my dad’s ridiculous cat trap by a bird, and my dad learned to stop playing with electricity.

 

 

A BAG OF TREATS

 

   A couple of years ago I headed down south to North Carolina with some friends to work on a barn that needed a roof and a paint job. We spent over a week down there and it was actually a badly needed vacation for me. One evening, my friend Joe and I were taking a ride in his truck when he spotted one of his friends working on his property and decided to stop for a few minutes. It was chilly that evening and I decided to sit in the truck and wait. Well, the wait became rather long and I was getting bored. About then, I spotted a bag of snacks and picked it up to have a look. The bag contained bacon wrapped banana slices. I thought that sounded rather interesting and being that I was bored, I decided to try one. “Not bad” I thought to myself as I continued to examine the bag. Then I spotted the picture of a smiling dog in the lower corner and immediately began to spit out bits of bacon and banana. I furiously wiped my tongue for about the next minute or so and hoped I wasn’t going to become ill. When Joe got back into the truck and I told him what happened, naturally he laughed and I would have done the same thing. Anyway, the moral of this story is if you ever find a bag of snacks that looks like it might taste pretty good, make sure you check for any pictures of a smiling dog before you give them a try. Now please excuse me. I have to go for walkies.

 

 

 

Bicycle Better Unbarrowed

 

   I don’t really know how old I was. I’m thinking I was around 12, and I don’t remember what it was I needed from the store. All I remember is that the store was at the shopping center in the next town. I didn’t have a bicycle and it was too far to walk.

   My friend Butch who lived just a few doors down from me had a bicycle and I went to ask him if I could barrow it. He said I could as long as I took good care if it. I told him I would.

   While I rode the bike toward Shoreway shopping center, I found out that the gooseneck clamp that held the handle bars in place was loose and the handle bars were slowly working their way downward, lower and lower as I rode along. I could not pull them back up while I was riding, but I found that if I kept my weight off the bars, I could still control the bike well enough to get where I was going.

    After I left the store, I got back to the bike and decided to get the handle bars back to a proper position before I started home. I sat on the bike and pulled up on the bars. They wouldn’t budge, so I pulled harder. With a snap, the handle bars came upward. Unfortunately, they were now turning freely with no resistance at all. I had snapped the bracket on the gooseneck. It was still holding onto the handle bars, but the crack in the bracket had released all of the gripping power that was needed to keep them from rotating. I felt treble. I had broken my friend’s bike when I promised I would take care of it.

   Lake Road between Sheffield Lake and Lorain has no sidewalk, and I had to ride the berm of the road which was very rough and uneven. The handle bars were getting worse as the gravel buffeted the tire back and forth against my trying to keep the bike straight. I was so discouraged. I thought to myself “All I need now is a flat tire”. No sooner than I had the thought, I heard…pssssssp pssssssp pssssssp. With every rotation of the wheel, the hissing sound would be momentarily interrupted as the hole in the tire hit the ground. In less than I minute, the back tire was flat and I was only half way home. I could not believe it. I had cursed myself just by thinking of it, I had conjured up the bike tire demon who put a nail right in my path. I got off the bike and began walking it home. My chest felt like there was a huge hole in it. As I walked along I thought to myself “How could things possibly get any worse?” I had to ask. At that point, the handle bars snapped completely off and the bike fell over. I wanted to cry. I picked up the bike and continued walking it home by holding on to what was left of the goose neck, the handle bars hanging from my left hand.

   As I got back to my friends house, I was not feeling so well. I knocked on the front door and Butch answered it.

   “Here is your bike Butch” He looked at his broken bike and I could see his heart drop in his chest. I gently laid down the parts of the bicycle and without looking back, I walked toward my house. Butch didn’t say anything. I felt terrible about the bike and I felt sorry for Butch, but at the same time, felt better because I didn’t get yelled at. His father was really handy with building and fixing things, so I figured he could fix the bike with no problem, but I didn’t visit Butch for a long time. What a rotten thing to do. I still feel bad about it to this day. Somehow, I still turned out to be a pretty good kid.

 

 

 

The Great Cracker Ball Bust

 

   It was not long after I met my friend Terry in High School that the following event occurred, the event that would come to be known as “The Great Cracker Ball Bust”

   I believe we were in English class when someone gave me a tiny object. It was a cracker ball. A cracker ball is a small amount of black powder and some form of striker material wrapped up in a tiny wad of tissue paper. When you throw it on the ground, it makes a snap about as loud as a cap pistol. These are available from convince stores all over the place. They are on the self with the sparklers, smoke bombs, growing ash snakes and the like. They are not even considered fireworks. Anyway, Class was in session when someone gave me a cracker ball. I should have just put it away, but I had it in my hand when Terry saw it and wanted to look at it, so I passed it to him. For the rest of the class, Terry kept the cracker ball, occasionally taunting me with it and refusing to give it back. When class ended, Terry shot out the door toward the stair well and I followed after him telling him to give the cracker ball back. Keep in mind that I was just a dumb High School kid and for the life of me, I cannot tell you why I would peruse such a frivolous item. Never the less, I did. Terry was already down the stairs to the first floor when I asked for him to give it back one more time. Instead, he threw the cracker ball on the floor. It popped right next to the ankle of one of the pretty lady teachers in the school. Terry felt bad about this. He liked this teacher and later, apologized to her. At that moment however, and without hesitation, she grabbed Terry and led him to the office. Well, so much for the cracker ball. It was gone and I was glad I didn’t get in trouble for it. That is, if it wasn’t for the fact that Terry apparently was lonely at the office and told them that I gave him the cracker ball. I also got called to the office. Terry and I were both expelled for a day and sent home with a note saying that our parents were to call the principal’s office.

   When I got home, I explained what happened and asked my parents if they minded if I listened in on the conversation with the principal. They said it would be OK, so I went upstairs on the other line. Now, we had one of the old rotary-dial phones that were owned by the phone company. The way they were constructed, you could unscrew the mouth piece cover and remove the microphone so you would not be heard while listening in on a conversation, and this is what I did. I don’t remember everything that was said, but during the course of the conversation, the reason given for my being expelled for a day was “possession of explosive devices”. “What? Are you kidding me?” I thought to myself. It’s a good thing I had that mouth piece unscrewed.

   After the conversation was finished, my folks thought the principal was just as much of a jerk as I did. They knew how ridiculous it was to blow this situation out of proportion over something so trivial. I got kicked out of school over something someone had given me that got stolen only a moment later. I didn’t have it long enough to get it warm in my hands. Of course, my parents were obligated to give me a brief speech about staying away from people that could get me in trouble and I agreed. But…

   The next day, Terry stopped by with his mom in the car and asked me if I wanted to take a ride out to K-Mart with them. Being I would not be allowed to go to school that day, It sounded like something fun to do and so I went with them. It was a fun day and Terry and I didn’t miss school at all.

   So, this was the punishment for what we had done. We got a day off from school and spent the day having fun instead. Somewhere however, buried in a warehouse in a dust covered box forgotten by decades of time is a folder with my name on it that says Permanent Record, and somewhere in that folder is a notation that I was expelled from school for one day for the position of explosive devices. But Terry and I didn’t learn anything from all of this. If we had learned anything at all, we would have gotten more cracker balls.

 

 

 

Our Friend Porky

 

   Every morning during high school was pretty much the same. Terry would pick me up in his car and we would head for school. As we passed our friend Joe who would be walking to school from his parent’s house not too far away, Terry would wave and this would get Joe running after us. Now, Joe could run about as fast as I can walk barefoot across gravel, so rather than waiting, we would continue toward school and go park in the lot across the street from auto shop until it was time to go in.

   We had a friend named Porky and about this time, he would pull up next to us. He would announce his arrival with a couple of feeble squeaks from his decrepit car horn. Everyone in Terry’s car would immediately roll up the windows and smile at Porky as we pointed to the sky with our middle fingers. We weren’t really being mean to him but it was just routine. It became a tradition.

    Porky’s car was a tanish goldish dirty Chevy caprice with a convertible top. The back corner above the window was held together with what must have been several rolls of duct tape. There were other things wrong with Porky’s car, but this is what particularly sticks in my mind.

    Porky truly had a unique stereo system. In the back seat among a tangle of wires, was an array of miss-matched disembodied and exposed speakers from tiny tweeters to one very large bass speaker that his brother sat on. The wires led up front to an old 8-track player the size of a suitcase. He had a Dolly Parton tape that he would throw in that sounded like an AM radio surrounded by a group of compulsive wax paper scrunchers. Porky was really proud of that stereo. One day, he asked Terry to help figure out why a new speaker he had just added was not working. Terry traced the extension chord wire that Porky decided to use for his new speaker and discovered that Porky had connected one of the two strands of wire to the speaker and the other strand to the stereo. Terry fixed the connection and Porky was pleased as punch. His Dolly Parton tape was louder than ever.

    Terry and I were into making flying model rockets. We built the rockets from kits that contained all the parts including a tube for the fuselage, balsa wood for the fins, a parachute, a nosecone and decals for decorations. The instruction stressed that after gluing on the fins, an extra bead of glue along the seams would give lots of added strength. After painting and decal application, the rockets always looked really neat. Terry and I talked about our hobby to everyone and one day, Porky wanted to join us at the park. After lots of whining, we finally agreed that he could join us.

   The day came when we would meet Porky at the park to launch rockets. When he arrived, he was proud to show us the Klingon War Ship kit that he put together. Now, this was an advanced kit. It is not recommended that anyone attempt to assemble this kit until they have successfully assembled and flown much easier models. A Klingon War Ship is far from a standard rocket shape with its elaborate wing like appendages and other extra embellishments. Porky slapped this kit together as fast as he could. He didn’t even apply the extra glue that was necessary for reinforcing the structure. It wasn’t even painted. Terry and I looked at each other and couldn’t wait for Porky to launch his rocket, but Terry and I had arrived first and were already in the process of launching our rockets. After considering the direction of the wind and adjusting the launch pad appropriately, we would connect the battery pack that would ignite the rocket engine. The rockets would take off with a great hissing whoosh of white smoke and shoot skyward, almost out of sight. The parachute would deploy and the rocket would gracefully float back to earth. After recovery, the parachute was put back in place and a new engine would be inserted for the next flight.

   It was time for Porky to send up his rocket. We helped Porky get started. We made sure he had the parachute in place and inserted the igniter in the rocket engine properly for him. That’s all we could do for him. We waited in anticipation for him to launch. 3…2…1… Porky pushed the button. The engine ignited and with a hiss and a cloud of smoke, the rocket left the pad. A trail of plastic confetti began tumbling downward around the launch pad. I don’t think the rocket got twenty feet in the air before the fuselage was stripped clean. The naked cardboard tube now, completely out of control, continued wildly upward till the parachute popped out and what was left of the rocket floated downward into the top branches of a very large tree.

   After that, we let Porky watch us fly our rockets. Poor Porky. I guess he just wasn’t a rocket scientist kind of guy.

 

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A QUICK TRICK

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Quite some time ago, I had a job at the Ford plant kitchen. I had worked many kitchens in my life and I came into this job with a good bit of experience under my belt. I remember the very first task I was given when I started there. A girl led me to an area where there were around 20 or 30 avocados waiting to be processed. “Here,” she said. “Peel these avocados.” It seemed simple enough to me. “O.K.” I said and got to work. A few minutes later, I found the girl again and asked, “What else do you want me to do?” She looked at me a little surprised and asked “You did those, already?” “Yup” I said. She went to check and found that I had finished my task and then gave me something else to do.
As time went by, I naturally got to know the people in the kitchen. I had plenty of time to do that. This was, by far, the most lax kitchen I had ever worked in. As far as I was concerned, this kitchen was overstaffed, but I wasn’t complaining. It was nice to work in a kitchen that was not overwhelming like all the kitchens I had worked in before.
It was weeks later when I ran across the oldest lady in the kitchen, who had been there for years, and she was prepping the avocados. I looked in amazement as I saw her, meticulously peeling little pieces of the skin off, with her fingers. The avocado meat was all squished and slimy as she picked at the skin that refused to come off in pieces any bigger than a dime. I could not imagine the time it was going to take her to finish the job. I walked over and asked her “What are you doing?” She looked at me as if I was blind and said “I’m peeling avocados.” I said “Let me show you a trick.” She replied, “I don’t have time for tricks.” I picked up an avocado and said “You will after I show you this trick.” I picked up a French knife and cut into the avocado till I hit the pit, and then spun the avocado around to divide it in half. With an excited voice, she asked me “What are you doing?” I said “Just watch.” I twisted the two halves apart and set one down to pick up the knife again. I smacked the edge of the blade into the pit, and turned the blade, and the pit popped out. I then grabbed a large serving spoon, and inserted it between the skin and meat of the avocado, and with a single turn, I pulled the avocado meat out and plopped it down on the cutting board. A beautiful smooth avocado half lied amongst its poor mutilated counterparts. The poor old woman, with a look of dismay, put her fists on her hips and proclaimed “Well, for crying out loud” She thought of all the time she had spent struggling to produce such a bad looking product. After that, every time I saw her prepping the avocados, with the new method, she always had a smile on her face, happy to do the job that, she now knew, would be over in a matter of a few minutes. I’m glad I taught her that trick.

 

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HAND MADE SCARVES

 

   My mother loved to crochet. She used to make Afghans and hats and scarves for people. One day, she asked me what kind of an afghan she could make me, and I told her I wanted to think about it. I finally asked her for a giant checker board. She made a six foot board with black and red squares and grey trim, and even made the twenty-four playing pieces crocheted out of black and grey yarn. I still have that checker set and I will always treasure it.

    One cold winter’s day, when I left from work at the sign shop, I headed for the store, near the bus stop, so I could pick up a few grocers before I went home. As I approached the store, I passed a girl ringing the bell for the Salvation Army. She was a pretty black girl, probably 18 or 20 years old. She looked so cold. She didn’t have a hat, or scarf or gloves. My heart went out to her. I had done the same job a year earlier, and knew how much work would go into a very small reward on Christmas Eve, when the job was over.

   I asked her about not having hat, gloves and scarf, and she said that she didn’t have those things. I knew that she would be outside for hours, and I would only have to wait for a little while before the bus came. “Here” I said. “You need these more than I do”.  I removed my hat and gloves and gave them to her. Then I took off my scarf, a nice brown, plaid pattern. It matched the plain brown gloves and hat, and went nice with her outfit. She smiled and thanked me. I went into the store and picked up a few items, and when I came back outside, I asked if she was warmer now. “Yes” she said, and thanked me again. I went to the bus stop on the other side of the parking lot, and waited for the bus to arrive, late as usual.

   By the time I got home, I had a chill, and the next day, I was sick with a pretty rough cold, but I did not regret giving my winter gear to that girl. She may have caught her death, in the bitter cold, without it.

   I told my mother about the incident, and she said she was proud of the way I was kind to a stranger. A few days later, my mother presented me with a half a dozen various colored scarves she had crocheted. She told me that these were for me to give to people who needed them. Every day, I carried an extra scarf with me every day for the rest of that winter, and whenever I ran into someone who needed one, I would give it away, and tell them that God loves them. By the end of the season, I still had a couple scarves left.

   My mother has been gone, now, for about 10 years. I found a couple of the scarves a while back, packed away with some other winter gear. Perhaps one day, I will find another person who needs a scarf, but the last one is mine. It will be a treasured reminder of the works of my mother’s loving hands.