bronc6969
Grandpa's Tool Box
Physically he had all the inherent traits of the standard grandpa. All but a ring of hair around the side of his head was present. It had been that what since his teens. He walked shifted to one side and stooped over from polio. He got it when my mom was young. His voice was a few octaves deeper then normal and his laugh was a rough bellow and rare, although his smile was always ready. He ate Post Toasty’s every morning. Every Morning! A nap was taken almost every day after lunch. His chair was reclined back and a arm was draped and bent over his eyes. The nap was short, maybe 30 minutes. He hated carpentry but did it when required and never drank or cursed.
As a young boy, he remembered sitting on the running board of on old car while his parents where out in a field burning crosses. They were in a group of like minded white folk, and all cloaked the same. This was a time when Detroit built cars with wide running boards that went from fender to fender.
His half sister Daisy was a true depression area outlaw. A dime store novel was written about her, ‘The Raven Haired Harlot.’ During his childhood, she would sneak in at night and leave money and food for them. Tying up a sheriff and leaving him to die in the desert, murder and stealing were just a few of her resume worthy skills and experiences.
He married Katie. They had 3 sons and 1 daughter. Although it was a marriage of length and I am sure there was love there, the liking each other part seemed to have been difficult. She was a sharp edged woman but a good grandma to her grandsons. The granddaughters enjoyed a more stern and judgmental side of her. For years there was a mistress and given the warmth at home, I can’t hold it against him. I think her name was Janie, and I wish more was known to me about her.
As a kid my brother, mother and I would spend our summers at their olive and alfalfa farm in Corning Ca. Those were great summers, full of mechanical splendor. He had these old junk iron piles, in which I spend hours building greatness, and other oddities. By the scrap piles was a line of 4 or 5 cars. My brother, cousins and I traveled the world in those old clunkers. I would use a chain hoist that hung in his barn to pick my bicycle up for service. He had a toolbox that was purchased used when my mother was a little girl. It was a Snap On. The drawers pulled smooth from decades of use and the top outside edges where warn from it being chained down in the back of his hugger orange Chevy C-20. It was a late 60’s model. At times the box was mounted on an old washing machine cart that he modified. The Box was simply an extension of his expertise and the one physical piece of him that I remember the most.
He was a farmer and worked for Mister Stafford for many years, never earning much more then a high level of respect for his kind way and vast mechanical knowledge. Scares on his hands where the story of a life spent toiling with sweat on his brow. It was a common story of people that shared his generation. One of his fingers was used to soften the blow between 2 objects of steel when an engine block was lowered in hast. The nail grew over the end of what remained of that finger. I bet only small wince was noted at impact.
I remember sitting on his leg and standing next to him for hours on end while he worked the orchard or alfalfa field on an old Ford 9N. He also had an old Massey Harris, Super 44 if I remember it correctly. The Ford was used more, as I think the Massey didn’t have a 3 point hitch. He had a unique smell of earth, sweat and tobacco which I came to know. His shits always had tiny burn holes in them from the small embers falling from his pipe. The tobacco was a combination of Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir Walter Raleigh aromatic. He blended it ½ and ½.
The family would get together and go camping at Bodega Bay, Calistoga, and Patrick’s Point. He and one of my uncles built these two fifth wheel trailers that carried a slide in type camper. Those were the coolest campers that I have ever seen. They had a well built, sturdy, practical stance. He carried the same stance.
A life of field work left the skin on his arms and neck sun darkened with deep folds. The skin that always lay protected, under his shirt was bone white and free of flaws. Upon his death some of the skin was harvested and grafted to a baby that was badly burned.
I acquired some of the things form his life. A love for naps, pipes, old tractors, farms, home made campers, and tool boxes.
His name was Frank and his toolbox was left in my care!
Grandpa's Tool Box
Physically he had all the inherent traits of the standard grandpa. All but a ring of hair around the side of his head was present. It had been that what since his teens. He walked shifted to one side and stooped over from polio. He got it when my mom was young. His voice was a few octaves deeper then normal and his laugh was a rough bellow and rare, although his smile was always ready. He ate Post Toasty’s every morning. Every Morning! A nap was taken almost every day after lunch. His chair was reclined back and a arm was draped and bent over his eyes. The nap was short, maybe 30 minutes. He hated carpentry but did it when required and never drank or cursed.
As a young boy, he remembered sitting on the running board of on old car while his parents where out in a field burning crosses. They were in a group of like minded white folk, and all cloaked the same. This was a time when Detroit built cars with wide running boards that went from fender to fender.
His half sister Daisy was a true depression area outlaw. A dime store novel was written about her, ‘The Raven Haired Harlot.’ During his childhood, she would sneak in at night and leave money and food for them. Tying up a sheriff and leaving him to die in the desert, murder and stealing were just a few of her resume worthy skills and experiences.
He married Katie. They had 3 sons and 1 daughter. Although it was a marriage of length and I am sure there was love there, the liking each other part seemed to have been difficult. She was a sharp edged woman but a good grandma to her grandsons. The granddaughters enjoyed a more stern and judgmental side of her. For years there was a mistress and given the warmth at home, I can’t hold it against him. I think her name was Janie, and I wish more was known to me about her.
As a kid my brother, mother and I would spend our summers at their olive and alfalfa farm in Corning Ca. Those were great summers, full of mechanical splendor. He had these old junk iron piles, in which I spend hours building greatness, and other oddities. By the scrap piles was a line of 4 or 5 cars. My brother, cousins and I traveled the world in those old clunkers. I would use a chain hoist that hung in his barn to pick my bicycle up for service. He had a toolbox that was purchased used when my mother was a little girl. It was a Snap On. The drawers pulled smooth from decades of use and the top outside edges where warn from it being chained down in the back of his hugger orange Chevy C-20. It was a late 60’s model. At times the box was mounted on an old washing machine cart that he modified. The Box was simply an extension of his expertise and the one physical piece of him that I remember the most.
He was a farmer and worked for Mister Stafford for many years, never earning much more then a high level of respect for his kind way and vast mechanical knowledge. Scares on his hands where the story of a life spent toiling with sweat on his brow. It was a common story of people that shared his generation. One of his fingers was used to soften the blow between 2 objects of steel when an engine block was lowered in hast. The nail grew over the end of what remained of that finger. I bet only small wince was noted at impact.
I remember sitting on his leg and standing next to him for hours on end while he worked the orchard or alfalfa field on an old Ford 9N. He also had an old Massey Harris, Super 44 if I remember it correctly. The Ford was used more, as I think the Massey didn’t have a 3 point hitch. He had a unique smell of earth, sweat and tobacco which I came to know. His shits always had tiny burn holes in them from the small embers falling from his pipe. The tobacco was a combination of Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir Walter Raleigh aromatic. He blended it ½ and ½.
The family would get together and go camping at Bodega Bay, Calistoga, and Patrick’s Point. He and one of my uncles built these two fifth wheel trailers that carried a slide in type camper. Those were the coolest campers that I have ever seen. They had a well built, sturdy, practical stance. He carried the same stance.
A life of field work left the skin on his arms and neck sun darkened with deep folds. The skin that always lay protected, under his shirt was bone white and free of flaws. Upon his death some of the skin was harvested and grafted to a baby that was badly burned.
I acquired some of the things form his life. A love for naps, pipes, old tractors, farms, home made campers, and tool boxes.
His name was Frank and his toolbox was left in my care!