View allAll Photos Tagged CleanOuts
Here's a picture from this morning. The sign has been removed, and it appears the cleanout has been finished. I imagine it will not be too long before construction starts and I finally figure out whether it is Home Depot or Lowe's that bought the lease.
Funny story: There were some dumpsters along the side of the store. I found somebody that looked like a hobo inside one of the dumpsters. As it usually does in potentially dangerous situations, my mind blanked out and I decided to talk to him.
"Finding anything good?"
"Oh heh- didn't see ya there. Caught me red handed"
"Oh, no, I'm just snooping around, too. Is there anything good in there?"
"Nah, just a couple wires and cords. I can probably get a few bucks for these"
"Oh... Good luck. I'm gonna go now"
As I get into my car, I see him loading an armful of wires into the back of a horribly decrepit 1995 Honda station wagon. From what I could see, the dumpster was mainly filled with old trash cans (none with the Kmart logo, though), and some pegboard from the shelving.
The initial view of the lines (facing to the south). In order with left being Row 1 & right being Row 2:
Row 1:
233 562-8
233 689-9
233 625-3
363 821-0
290 524-8
362 755-1
362 526-6
232 461-4
290 562-8
232 693-2
363 124-9
290 532-1
232 568-6
Row 2:
233 281-5
233 515-6
233 705-3
233 622-0
233 547-9
233 535-2
363 042-3
A heavy shower had just passed over and I had a bit of blue sky poking its head out to up the ISO. By the time I walked the first line, I had to bolt back to the car to survive another heavy shower!!
Fates of these stored loks in the same order (not one has been scrapped in 5 years since I took this photo):
Row 1:
233 562-8
Stored Z for Scrap 12/12/2011 (REV & Verls expired). Exported 14/04/2020 to Dąbrowa Górnicza works [PL] by DB - presumably to be an Ersatzteilspender (Xmas tree) - CD Notes 19/07/2020
233 689-9
Stored Z for Scrap 05/09/2011 (REV & Verls expired). Sold 20/09/2019 to Wagon-rent Mirosław Maszoński, Sulęcin [PL] (br232.com info). Revisiondaten says sold 07/09/2019 to Przedsiębiorstwo Obrotu Surowcami Wtórnymi DEPOL Sp. z o.o., Bydgoszcz [PL]No information yet if Xmas tree or will be overhauled.
233 625-3
Stored Z for Scrap 18/10/2011 (REV & Verls expired). Sold 20/09/2019 to Wagon-rent Mirosław Maszoński, Sulęcin [PL] (br232.com info). Revisiondaten says sold 07/09/2019 to Przedsiębiorstwo Obrotu Surowcami Wtórnymi DEPOL Sp. z o.o., Bydgoszcz [PL]No information yet if Xmas tree or will be overhauled.
363 821-0
Henschel built lok. Stored Z for Scrap 11/04/2014 (REV & Verls expired). Sold 19/07/2019 to LEG - Eisenbahnverkehrsgesellschaft mbH, Delitzsch. No information yet if Xmas tree or will be overhauled.
290 524-8
Mak built lok. Stored Z for Scrap 31/01/2014 (REV & Verls expired). Overhauled 06/12/2017 and transferred 15/12/2017 to DB Schenker Rail Romania S.r.l, Timisoara [RO]
362 755-1
Henschel built lok. Stored Z for Scrap 26/06/2012 (REV & Verls expired). Overhauled by LEG 26/10/2016 after ??/2016 sale to FLEX - Flex Bahndienstleistungen GmbH, Leipzig.
362 526-6
Krupp built lok. Stored Z for Scrap 04/04/2012 (REV & Verls expired). Sold 05/03/2020 to a Private Owner at RIM - Rheinisches Industriebahn-Museum e. V., Köln-Nippes. NB: has a D-RIM UIC, but no details on overhaul, if any.
232 461-4
Stored Z for Scrap 13/07/2012 (Rev & Verls expired). Sold 27/08/2018 to Skinest Rail AS, Tallinn {EST]. Sold again ??/04/2019 to CTLL - CTL Logistics Sp. z o.o., Sosnowiec [PL]. Presume active (numbered BR232 464-4), and that it has had an overhaul but no info yet.
290 562-8
KHD built lok. Stored Z for Scrap 16/10/2012 (REV & Verls expired). Overhauled in Hungary 28/02/2018 and transferred 30/09/2017 to DB Cargo Hungaria Kft., Györ [H]. Numbered 469 116 but retaining a German UIC for now.
232 693-2
Stored Z for Scrap 04/06/2013 (Rev & Verls expired). Sold 09/11/2018 to ID - Industrial Division Sp. z o.o., Wrocław [PL]. No information yet if Xmas tree or will be overhauled.
363 124-9
Mak built lok. Stored Z for Scrap 03/07/2013 (REV & Verls expired). Sold 18/07/2019 to TrainLog GmbH, Gräfenhainichen (noted October 2019 at Chemnitz - Mannheim). No information yet if Xmas tree or will be overhauled.
290 532-1
Mak built lok. Stored Z for Scrap 06/09/2013 (REV & Verls expired). Overhauled 11/12/2017 and transferred 15/12/2017 to DB Schenker Rail Romania S.r.l, Timisoara [RO]
232 568-6
Stored Z for Scrap 28/08/2015 (Rev & Verls expired). Sold 27/08/2018 to Skinest Rail AS, Tallinn {EST]. Sold again ??/04/2019 to CTLL - CTL Logistics Sp. z o.o., Sosnowiec [PL]. Confirmed active (numbered BR232 568-6), and that it has had an overhaul but no info yet.
Row 2:
233 281-5
Stored Z for Scrap 30/04/2010 (REV & Verls expired). Exported 14/04/2020 to Dąbrowa Górnicza works [PL] by DB - presumably to be an Ersatzteilspender (Xmas tree) - CD Notes 19/07/2020
233 515-6
Stored Z for Scrap 08/11/2011 (REV & Verls expired). Stored at SSM Mukran from at least 19/08/2012 to 04/2018, when it was moved to SSM Chemnitz with the cleanout of Dloks from Mukran (still at Chemnitz July 2020).
233 705-3
Stored Z for Scrap 04/09/2011 (REV & Verls expired). Stored at SSM Mukran from at least 19/08/2012 to 04/2018, when it was moved to SSM Chemnitz with the cleanout of Dloks from Mukran (still at Chemnitz July 2020).
233 622-0
Stored Z for Scrap 12/12/2011 (REV & Verls expired). Stored at SSM Mukran from at least 19/08/2012 to 04/2018, when it was moved to SSM Chemnitz with the cleanout of Dloks from Mukran (still at Chemnitz July 2020).
233 547-9
Stored Z for Scrap 08/10/2011 (REV & Verls expired). Sold 20/09/2019 to Wagon-rent Mirosław Maszoński, Sulęcin [PL] (br232.com info). Revisiondaten says sold 07/09/2019 to Przedsiębiorstwo Obrotu Surowcami Wtórnymi DEPOL Sp. z o.o., Bydgoszcz [PL]No information yet if Xmas tree or will be overhauled.
233 536-2
Stored Z for Scrap 05/09/2011 (REV & Verls expired). Sold 05/06/2018 to GYSEV - GYSEV CARGO Zrt., Sopron [H]. Overhauled 25/07/2019, re-activated and renumbered to 648 002 with a UIC of 92 55 0648 002-7 H-GYSEV.
363 042-3
Esslingen built lok.
Stored E 27/04/2015 (REV & Verls expired). Stored at SSM Mukran to 04/2018, when it was moved to SSM Chemnitz with the cleanout of Dloks from Mukran (still at Chemnitz July 2020).
The heat exchanger on our boat engine was long overdue for a cleanout. Imagine our surprise and delight when we found it had become a haven for wild flowers!
And bits of rubber and broken zinc anodes......
Does ANYONE know who makes this sweater?
It is my favorite cardigan and I got it in a Sundries cleanout so I don't know who made it and I want more of them.
Can you make us one or two of them?
Please contact me if you make this sweater or know someone who does!
Thank YOU!
great dolly friends!!! ♥
I managed to snatch a Bambina Carabina helmet from a closet cleanout last week. I received the adorable helmet along with an unexpected note wishing me luck on studying for my exam this week. Thank you so much Gabriela! I love my dolly friends, they are the best!
Happy BA Friday!!
I've been thinking for a while it would be fun to take a photo with Pudding and all of our darling BA dresses. Each and every one is loved and special to us, but the dress Pudding is wearing is the only one we have ever scored in one of Kyle's shop updates (vs commissions and cleanouts) and it might actually be Pudding's favorite. :)
Thank you dear Kyle! We love our BA dresses, but we love you even more. ♥
wearing a pinafore i made today with a shirt i got a long time ago in a cleanout. not 100% happy with the result - is the fabric to thick? but i really do adore Pickles. she is everything i liked about GG but 100 times more.
A direction I think I should have pursued some more 2 years ago. Phew, spring summer cleanout of drawers!
The Great Photo Cleanout Continued...
So, I'm still working on the whole organized picture files thing... hahaha.
Decided to just randomly pick a few never posted photos and upload them to a blog. Turned into a sort of photo commentary thing:
smidgehouse.blogspot.com/2012/07/photo-commentary-saturda...
The following is an excerpt of a blog written by Tim Dees who relates his experiences working for Silva's in the mid 1970's.
Link: timdees.com/blog/?p=375
The ambulances were pink, because that was the owner’s wife’s favorite color. Pink bed linen, and when I got there, they were just moving away from pink shirts, as they were too difficult to find. Bob Silva never bought a new ambulance. They were all used Cadillacs, as he believed a used Cadillac was much classier than a new van-type that actually ran. I was taking a woman in labor to a hospital in San Francisco when the tranny gave up the ghost in Hunter’s Point. I’d told Bob the day before that it was on its last legs, and he advised that I should shut up and drive what I was given to drive. We were dead in the water, and just barely within radio range to call for another rig to take our patient.
The county came out with some new regs for gear that had to be on the rig, and one requirement was an obstetrics kit. Pre-packaged OB kits from Dyna-Med were $7.50 each. Silva bought one. He put it on a rig, sent it to be inspected, then brought that one back and put the same kit on the next rig to be inspected. When it was finally left in the rig he usually drove, he wrapped it in strapping tape to discourage anyone from actually using it. It wasn’t like we didn’t need OB kits. I delivered three babies while I worked there.
The electronic sirens we’re so used to now were just coming into widespread use in the 1970s. Most of our ambulances were equipped with mechanical sirens that wound up slowly when activated. They had brakes on them, and if you forgot to brake the siren before you left the rig, it would take a minute or more to wind down, growling the whole time. The big daddy of these mechanical sirens was the Federal Q2. Some of these are still in use on fire engines. The Q2 is a massive thing, and drew so much power that the engine would knock when you leaned on the button too long—the spark plugs didn’t get enough voltage. Few man-made things are as loud as a Q2. One day, while en route back to the station with a new attendant, I stopped at a Safeway for some groceries. I left the attendant in the rig, telling him to tap the siren if we got a call. When the call came in, he didn’t tap on the horn ring that activated the siren—he held it down. The ambulance was parked facing the store and its large plate glass windows. I heard the siren, then heard the window start to reverberate in its frame as it resonated with the blast of sonic waves—“whap-whap-whap-whapwhapWhapWhapWHAPWHAPWHAP.” I made it back to the rig, screaming ineffectively, before the window shattered.
Between the mechanical siren, separate heater for the rear compartment, more blinking lights than a Vegas casino, etc., the ambulances needed a lot of electrical power. A single battery would be dead before you got to the hospital, so most ambulances had two car batteries, cross-connected via a big rotary Cole-Hersee switch. The switch, which looked a little like the access cover to your house’s sewer cleanout pipe, had four positions: Battery One, Battery Two, Both, and Off. “Both” was the usual setting, but when the rig was parked, it was common to switch it to “Off,” so the batteries wouldn’t be drained if you had forgotten to turn something off. This effectively disconnected the batteries from the rest of the rig. If you wanted to have some fun with another crew, you could turn everything in their rig on, but leave the Cole-Hersee switch off. When they turned it back on, hilarity would ensue.
The gear we had in these ambulances was very basic, and most of us purchased and brought our own equipment to work, rather than provide inferior care for our patients. I bought my own stethoscope and sphygmomanometer (blood pressure cuff), chemical cold packs, wire ladder splints, ammonia “wake up gizmo” ampules, etc. Consumable supplies, such as self-adhering Kerlix bandages and waterproof tape, were stolen from the hospitals. The bandages we had on board, furnished by the company, were made of crumbling linen material from the Korean War era. Oropharyngeal airways were supposed to be either used once and discarded, or autoclaved between patients, but we had neither replacement airways or an autoclave, so we wiped them clean with alcohol and hoped for the best.
Our suction apparatus was powered through the engine’s vacuum manifold. Suction power went to zero when the engine was accelerating. If you were trying to clear gunk from a patient’s airway while your driver was flooring it, you’d tell him to coast until you had made some progress.
We weren’t allowed to say someone was dead, even if the flesh was falling from their bones. Law enforcement officers could make that determination, but doing so meant they would have to remain at the scene until the coroner arrived, which could take hours. This being the case, many officers chose to see some glimmer of life in corpses long past resurrection. We responded to an “11-80” (traffic accident with serious injuries) attended by a member of the California Highway Patrol to find a pickup truck that had rolled over with an unfortunate passenger in the back. The passenger had not quite been decapitated, as his head was hanging by a few strips of flesh. This was one of the more obvious dead people I had encountered, but the Chippie ordered us to run him in. Getting the body onto the gurney had the same effect achieved in kosher slaughterhouses, where the neck veins are severed and the blood is allowed to drain from the carcass. By the time we got to the hospital, the floor of the rear compartment was literally awash in blood, with it sloshing over my boots. I called the office and told them we would be out of service for a while.
This pre-dated the AIDS scare, and even though hepatitis and other bloodborne pathogens were just as nasty then as now (and there was no vaccine), we had no latex gloves to wear. Back then, gloves were worn by medical people to protect the patient from infection. There wasn’t a lot of thought given to protecting the caregivers. I remember cleaning up after an especially gruesome call and thinking that I wasn’t just cleaning something, but rather someone, out from under my fingernails.
One case where we didn’t have to transport was at the home of an older gentleman. I never knew the circumstances that prompted the call, but we arrived a few minutes after the fire department and before the cops. As we walked up to the house, the firemen were walking out, chuckling to one another. “He’s dead!” they said with some amusement. We entered the bedroom to find an older man lying supine on top of his bed, naked. Rigor had set in, so he had been gone for some time. What the firefighters found so funny was that the man had expired while engaged in an act of self-pleasure, and still had the weapon in hand. My partner and I looked at each other and registered much the same expression the firemen had. As we walked out, the cops were just arriving. “He’s dead!” we told them. I suppose there are worse ways to go, but that’s not how I want to be found.
I ran a lot of calls at Silva’s. The shifts were 120 hours long–yes, five days straight. You got paid straight time ($2.00/hour in 1974) for the first eight hours, a guaranteed time-and-a-half for five more hours, and were unpaid for three hours of meals, whether you actually got to eat them or not. Between midnight and eight in the morning, you got overtime for the time you were actually in service on the call. If you rolled and were cancelled two minutes out–which was common–you got two minutes of overtime. I swear some of those rigs could find their own way home, because there were many nights I have no memory of having driven them there. When my days off finally arrived, I would usually sleep through at least one of them.
The full Silva’s uniform was a sartorial delight. Each time they would give me a new uniform article, it would fall to a mysteriously tragic end, so I wore a white shirt, navy blue knit slacks, and a nylon bomber jacket. If you wanted to show you were management material, the required outfit consisted of a white (formerly pink) shirt with royal blue trousers and Ike jacket. The trousers had white piping down each leg, as did the cuffs of the jacket. On each shoulder of the Ike jacket was a huge purple and gold patch, proclaiming the wearer to be employed by Silva’s Ambulance Service, the words spelled out in metallic script. One was also obliged to wear a royal blue CHP clip-on neck tie. Mandatory accessories to the ensemble included a gold metal nametag, white belt, and white leather shoes. Worn on the shirt or jacket was a shield-type gold badge, about the size of a soup plate. All the badges identified the wearers as “Technician,” except for Bob Silva’s. His said, “Owner.” There was a $20 deposit on the badge. Those who were really in with the in crowd had huge custom Western-style belt buckles with their first names spelled out diagonally, and the corners adorned with red crosses, stars of life, or tiny ambulances. However, the crowning glory accessory–and I only saw one of these–was a gold tie bar, wider than the tie itself, with a fine gold chain attached to either end of the bar. Dangling from the chain was a pink Cadillac ambulance. Its wearer was extremely proud of this, and wouldn’t tell anyone where he got it, lest someone steal his thunder.
Employee turnover was around 200% annually, and I was a prized employee because I always showed up on time and sober. I was able to work full time on school vacations and summer, and from Friday evening to early Monday morning, when I’d leave to make it to my first class at San Jose State. It wasn’t uncommon to have an employee go AWOL, and have the cops show up a day or so later, looking for them. You had to be fingerprinted to get an ambulance driver’s license, but all you needed to work as an attendant was a first aid card, which management would procure for you for a small fee.
Bob Curry, in almost the full Silva's uniform (no badge), posing with a "new" ambulance, formerly used by Allied Ambulance in Oakland.
Bob Curry, in almost the full Silva’s uniform (no badge), posing with a “new” ambulance, formerly used by Allied Ambulance in Oakland.
There was one very senior employee whose name was also Bob. Bob thought he was the manager, and would tell you he was if asked, despite advice to the contrary if one of the Silvas was listening. Bob was very possessive of “his” ambulance, which was always the newest one (given that they were all used, “new” was a relative term). One night, I had just come in to work, and a call came in. The dispatcher told me to take it, so I grabbed an attendant and got in the first rig I saw. It was Bob’s, of course. When I returned, Bob screamed my face, lest I forget that that particular rig was HIS ambulance, and I had better stay the hell out of it if I knew what was good for me. Bob had an apartment near the main station, so he didn’t have to sleep at the station when he was on duty. If you were Bob’s attendant (Bob never worked in the back unless there was some real hero stuff going on), you were allowed to drive Bob’s ambulance to his place, where you switched seats. That night, a co-conspirator and I did a little customizing to Bob’s rig. When he got in the next morning, he found the handle on the driver’s door adorned with some adhesive tape, reading “Bob’s Door Handle.” Inside, more tape indicated Bob’s Steering Wheel, Bob’s Cigarette Lighter, Bob’s Gearshift, Bob’s Turn Indicator, Bob’s Accelerator, Bob’s Radio, Bob’s Other Radio, and so on. Tucked under Bob’s Sun Visor was a card on a little string, trimmed to drop to eye level: “Hi, Bob.”
Silva’s didn’t have the market cornered on odd employees. A rival company employed a guy we called Captain Action. Captain Action worked for a company that had more traditional uniforms, but still included a badge. The issued badge wasn’t up to Captain Action’s high standards. He had his own badge made up. It was a thing of beauty. It was a gold seven-point star (the most common style of police badge in those parts), but much larger than most police badges. It put the Silva’s badge to shame on size alone. I remember it had a big California State Seal in the middle, and a lot of text on the banners and inner ring. There was so much lettering on the badge that I never got to finish reading it, although I saw it often. Captain Action also wore a police-style Sam Browne belt with various snaps and cases, including a cuff case, handcuffs, and a baton ring. I never saw a baton, but I’m sure he had it around somewhere.
Captain Action loved to talk on the radio. Each ambulance had two radios, one on the company channel, and one that broadcasted on a shared, county-wide channel, called County Control. There was no direct channel to the hospitals, so one was obliged to tell County Control what you had and where you were bringing it, so the dispatcher could give the appropriate ER the heads up. An appropriate message might be something like, “County Control, Ambulance 3335, en route Code 3 to Peninsula Medical with an unconscious head injury.” Captain Action preferred to be somewhat more detailed, and made liberal use of the phonetic alphabet. “County Control, Ambulance 3330, en route Peninsula Medical Center with a 33-year-old white male with a history of cardiac myopathy, I spell CHARLES-ADAM-ROBERT-DAVID-IDA-ADAM-CHARLES-BREAK-MARY-YELLOW-OCEAN-PAUL-ADAM-TOM-HENRY-YELLOW…”
After one of these lengthy naratives (keep in mind that there were ten or twelve other ambulances in the county that used the same channel), the dispatcher was oddly silent. Captain Action made another try to ensure his message made it through. “County Control, Ambulance 3330, did you copy?”
“Ambulance 3330, County Control, TOM-EDWARD-NORA-BREAK-FRANK-OCEAN-UNION-ROBERT.”
Ah, the good old days.
Written by Tim Dees on January 1st, 2015
So I soaked a xs goodnite, and smushed it with other trash. Other trash was baby blankets and stuffies.
The familiar blue glow of 1978 Marantz, seamlessly upgraded with state of the art LED lamps. Also gave it a clean-up, inside and out. Cleaned and lubed all pots and anything else that visibly needed attention.
Bob Curry, in almost the full Silva’s uniform (no badge), posing with a “new” ambulance, formerly used by Allied Ambulance in Oakland.
The following is an excerpt of a blog written by Tim Dees who relates his experiences working for Silva's in the mid 1970's.
Link: timdees.com/blog/?p=375
The ambulances were pink, because that was the owner’s wife’s favorite color. Pink bed linen, and when I got there, they were just moving away from pink shirts, as they were too difficult to find. Bob Silva never bought a new ambulance. They were all used Cadillacs, as he believed a used Cadillac was much classier than a new van-type that actually ran. I was taking a woman in labor to a hospital in San Francisco when the tranny gave up the ghost in Hunter’s Point. I’d told Bob the day before that it was on its last legs, and he advised that I should shut up and drive what I was given to drive. We were dead in the water, and just barely within radio range to call for another rig to take our patient.
The county came out with some new regs for gear that had to be on the rig, and one requirement was an obstetrics kit. Pre-packaged OB kits from Dyna-Med were $7.50 each. Silva bought one. He put it on a rig, sent it to be inspected, then brought that one back and put the same kit on the next rig to be inspected. When it was finally left in the rig he usually drove, he wrapped it in strapping tape to discourage anyone from actually using it. It wasn’t like we didn’t need OB kits. I delivered three babies while I worked there.
The electronic sirens we’re so used to now were just coming into widespread use in the 1970s. Most of our ambulances were equipped with mechanical sirens that wound up slowly when activated. They had brakes on them, and if you forgot to brake the siren before you left the rig, it would take a minute or more to wind down, growling the whole time. The big daddy of these mechanical sirens was the Federal Q2. Some of these are still in use on fire engines. The Q2 is a massive thing, and drew so much power that the engine would knock when you leaned on the button too long—the spark plugs didn’t get enough voltage. Few man-made things are as loud as a Q2. One day, while en route back to the station with a new attendant, I stopped at a Safeway for some groceries. I left the attendant in the rig, telling him to tap the siren if we got a call. When the call came in, he didn’t tap on the horn ring that activated the siren—he held it down. The ambulance was parked facing the store and its large plate glass windows. I heard the siren, then heard the window start to reverberate in its frame as it resonated with the blast of sonic waves—“whap-whap-whap-whapwhapWhapWhapWHAPWHAPWHAP.” I made it back to the rig, screaming ineffectively, before the window shattered.
Between the mechanical siren, separate heater for the rear compartment, more blinking lights than a Vegas casino, etc., the ambulances needed a lot of electrical power. A single battery would be dead before you got to the hospital, so most ambulances had two car batteries, cross-connected via a big rotary Cole-Hersee switch. The switch, which looked a little like the access cover to your house’s sewer cleanout pipe, had four positions: Battery One, Battery Two, Both, and Off. “Both” was the usual setting, but when the rig was parked, it was common to switch it to “Off,” so the batteries wouldn’t be drained if you had forgotten to turn something off. This effectively disconnected the batteries from the rest of the rig. If you wanted to have some fun with another crew, you could turn everything in their rig on, but leave the Cole-Hersee switch off. When they turned it back on, hilarity would ensue.
The gear we had in these ambulances was very basic, and most of us purchased and brought our own equipment to work, rather than provide inferior care for our patients. I bought my own stethoscope and sphygmomanometer (blood pressure cuff), chemical cold packs, wire ladder splints, ammonia “wake up gizmo” ampules, etc. Consumable supplies, such as self-adhering Kerlix bandages and waterproof tape, were stolen from the hospitals. The bandages we had on board, furnished by the company, were made of crumbling linen material from the Korean War era. Oropharyngeal airways were supposed to be either used once and discarded, or autoclaved between patients, but we had neither replacement airways or an autoclave, so we wiped them clean with alcohol and hoped for the best.
Our suction apparatus was powered through the engine’s vacuum manifold. Suction power went to zero when the engine was accelerating. If you were trying to clear gunk from a patient’s airway while your driver was flooring it, you’d tell him to coast until you had made some progress.
We weren’t allowed to say someone was dead, even if the flesh was falling from their bones. Law enforcement officers could make that determination, but doing so meant they would have to remain at the scene until the coroner arrived, which could take hours. This being the case, many officers chose to see some glimmer of life in corpses long past resurrection. We responded to an “11-80” (traffic accident with serious injuries) attended by a member of the California Highway Patrol to find a pickup truck that had rolled over with an unfortunate passenger in the back. The passenger had not quite been decapitated, as his head was hanging by a few strips of flesh. This was one of the more obvious dead people I had encountered, but the Chippie ordered us to run him in. Getting the body onto the gurney had the same effect achieved in kosher slaughterhouses, where the neck veins are severed and the blood is allowed to drain from the carcass. By the time we got to the hospital, the floor of the rear compartment was literally awash in blood, with it sloshing over my boots. I called the office and told them we would be out of service for a while.
This pre-dated the AIDS scare, and even though hepatitis and other bloodborne pathogens were just as nasty then as now (and there was no vaccine), we had no latex gloves to wear. Back then, gloves were worn by medical people to protect the patient from infection. There wasn’t a lot of thought given to protecting the caregivers. I remember cleaning up after an especially gruesome call and thinking that I wasn’t just cleaning something, but rather someone, out from under my fingernails.
One case where we didn’t have to transport was at the home of an older gentleman. I never knew the circumstances that prompted the call, but we arrived a few minutes after the fire department and before the cops. As we walked up to the house, the firemen were walking out, chuckling to one another. “He’s dead!” they said with some amusement. We entered the bedroom to find an older man lying supine on top of his bed, naked. Rigor had set in, so he had been gone for some time. What the firefighters found so funny was that the man had expired while engaged in an act of self-pleasure, and still had the weapon in hand. My partner and I looked at each other and registered much the same expression the firemen had. As we walked out, the cops were just arriving. “He’s dead!” we told them. I suppose there are worse ways to go, but that’s not how I want to be found.
I ran a lot of calls at Silva’s. The shifts were 120 hours long–yes, five days straight. You got paid straight time ($2.00/hour in 1974) for the first eight hours, a guaranteed time-and-a-half for five more hours, and were unpaid for three hours of meals, whether you actually got to eat them or not. Between midnight and eight in the morning, you got overtime for the time you were actually in service on the call. If you rolled and were cancelled two minutes out–which was common–you got two minutes of overtime. I swear some of those rigs could find their own way home, because there were many nights I have no memory of having driven them there. When my days off finally arrived, I would usually sleep through at least one of them.
The full Silva’s uniform was a sartorial delight. Each time they would give me a new uniform article, it would fall to a mysteriously tragic end, so I wore a white shirt, navy blue knit slacks, and a nylon bomber jacket. If you wanted to show you were management material, the required outfit consisted of a white (formerly pink) shirt with royal blue trousers and Ike jacket. The trousers had white piping down each leg, as did the cuffs of the jacket. On each shoulder of the Ike jacket was a huge purple and gold patch, proclaiming the wearer to be employed by Silva’s Ambulance Service, the words spelled out in metallic script. One was also obliged to wear a royal blue CHP clip-on neck tie. Mandatory accessories to the ensemble included a gold metal nametag, white belt, and white leather shoes. Worn on the shirt or jacket was a shield-type gold badge, about the size of a soup plate. All the badges identified the wearers as “Technician,” except for Bob Silva’s. His said, “Owner.” There was a $20 deposit on the badge. Those who were really in with the in crowd had huge custom Western-style belt buckles with their first names spelled out diagonally, and the corners adorned with red crosses, stars of life, or tiny ambulances. However, the crowning glory accessory–and I only saw one of these–was a gold tie bar, wider than the tie itself, with a fine gold chain attached to either end of the bar. Dangling from the chain was a pink Cadillac ambulance. Its wearer was extremely proud of this, and wouldn’t tell anyone where he got it, lest someone steal his thunder.
Employee turnover was around 200% annually, and I was a prized employee because I always showed up on time and sober. I was able to work full time on school vacations and summer, and from Friday evening to early Monday morning, when I’d leave to make it to my first class at San Jose State. It wasn’t uncommon to have an employee go AWOL, and have the cops show up a day or so later, looking for them. You had to be fingerprinted to get an ambulance driver’s license, but all you needed to work as an attendant was a first aid card, which management would procure for you for a small fee.
Bob Curry, in almost the full Silva's uniform (no badge), posing with a "new" ambulance, formerly used by Allied Ambulance in Oakland.
Bob Curry, in almost the full Silva’s uniform (no badge), posing with a “new” ambulance, formerly used by Allied Ambulance in Oakland.
There was one very senior employee whose name was also Bob. Bob thought he was the manager, and would tell you he was if asked, despite advice to the contrary if one of the Silvas was listening. Bob was very possessive of “his” ambulance, which was always the newest one (given that they were all used, “new” was a relative term). One night, I had just come in to work, and a call came in. The dispatcher told me to take it, so I grabbed an attendant and got in the first rig I saw. It was Bob’s, of course. When I returned, Bob screamed my face, lest I forget that that particular rig was HIS ambulance, and I had better stay the hell out of it if I knew what was good for me. Bob had an apartment near the main station, so he didn’t have to sleep at the station when he was on duty. If you were Bob’s attendant (Bob never worked in the back unless there was some real hero stuff going on), you were allowed to drive Bob’s ambulance to his place, where you switched seats. That night, a co-conspirator and I did a little customizing to Bob’s rig. When he got in the next morning, he found the handle on the driver’s door adorned with some adhesive tape, reading “Bob’s Door Handle.” Inside, more tape indicated Bob’s Steering Wheel, Bob’s Cigarette Lighter, Bob’s Gearshift, Bob’s Turn Indicator, Bob’s Accelerator, Bob’s Radio, Bob’s Other Radio, and so on. Tucked under Bob’s Sun Visor was a card on a little string, trimmed to drop to eye level: “Hi, Bob.”
Silva’s didn’t have the market cornered on odd employees. A rival company employed a guy we called Captain Action. Captain Action worked for a company that had more traditional uniforms, but still included a badge. The issued badge wasn’t up to Captain Action’s high standards. He had his own badge made up. It was a thing of beauty. It was a gold seven-point star (the most common style of police badge in those parts), but much larger than most police badges. It put the Silva’s badge to shame on size alone. I remember it had a big California State Seal in the middle, and a lot of text on the banners and inner ring. There was so much lettering on the badge that I never got to finish reading it, although I saw it often. Captain Action also wore a police-style Sam Browne belt with various snaps and cases, including a cuff case, handcuffs, and a baton ring. I never saw a baton, but I’m sure he had it around somewhere.
Captain Action loved to talk on the radio. Each ambulance had two radios, one on the company channel, and one that broadcasted on a shared, county-wide channel, called County Control. There was no direct channel to the hospitals, so one was obliged to tell County Control what you had and where you were bringing it, so the dispatcher could give the appropriate ER the heads up. An appropriate message might be something like, “County Control, Ambulance 3335, en route Code 3 to Peninsula Medical with an unconscious head injury.” Captain Action preferred to be somewhat more detailed, and made liberal use of the phonetic alphabet. “County Control, Ambulance 3330, en route Peninsula Medical Center with a 33-year-old white male with a history of cardiac myopathy, I spell CHARLES-ADAM-ROBERT-DAVID-IDA-ADAM-CHARLES-BREAK-MARY-YELLOW-OCEAN-PAUL-ADAM-TOM-HENRY-YELLOW…”
After one of these lengthy naratives (keep in mind that there were ten or twelve other ambulances in the county that used the same channel), the dispatcher was oddly silent. Captain Action made another try to ensure his message made it through. “County Control, Ambulance 3330, did you copy?”
“Ambulance 3330, County Control, TOM-EDWARD-NORA-BREAK-FRANK-OCEAN-UNION-ROBERT.”
Ah, the good old days.
Written by Tim Dees on January 1st, 2015
All pics by La Viri.
I am very excited to welcome a nerdy La Viri custom to my dolly clan. I have wanted one ever since I saw Pam's Maple and Nancy's Pirri. Vir's girls have loads of personality, that's for sure!! It will also be my first dolly ever with teeth, so that is quite exciting too. :B
Look out for a closet cleanout soon :P
Shortalls over a bodysuit.
Shortalls / Dungarees - Kmart
1980s Singlet Bodysuit / Leotard - Found in my wardrobe in a recent cleanout. Seriously, bought this 30 years ago!
Leopard Print Jelly Sandals - Jelly Beans
Nail Wraps - Jamberry
After having taken a series of photographs - see the story below - inside the dead brother's little house, the departed man's brother gave me his card so I could contact him later on if I so wanted.I, in return, noted down my name and mobile phone number on a piece of paper torn from a dirty notebook that was lying there somewhere.
"I'll call you, or, you call me" he said. "But don't expect a call anytime soon because we're gonna be busy clearing out my departed brother's house the coming week" "Not to worry" I said.
We talked for a little while and I said goodbye to the older man and his girlfriend.
I needed a rest and a think.
The story is gonna be a long one.Please bear with me.
As almost every thursday, for the past few months, I've participated in the Utata.org "Thursday Walk" project.This thursday I decided to pay the birth village of my late father and consequently, my grandparents, a visit.After roaming around on the few streets of this small village (which lies in the province of Antwerp, Belgium, and is called "Hingene") and having taken some shots, it started to rain.I went for a coffee in a brown pub and waited for the rain to end or at least diminish slightly.It got dryer again and I packed up my camerabag and decided to hit the streets again.I didn't have much hope of shooting anything decent any more and was in fact heading back to my mountainbike.Now the village has some quaint little (uninhabited, or so I thought ) houses that date back maybe 150 years and on one of these little houses the door was open and I saw two people, an elderly man and woman, doing things inside this house.The man noticed me from inside and I said hello and asked him what they where doing.I asked the man if he was from this village or was born here and mentioned that my late father was also from this village and the man had known my late father well.In fact, they had gone out (partying) together when they where both young men (somewhere in the mid-fifties I presume) So the man came to know that I was in fact the son of my father and we started talking.The man's younger brother, age 55, had just passed away and he and his girlfriend where busy clearing out the little house where the departed brother had lived all his life.He (the departed brother of 55) had, I found out, had once lived there with a woman ( she to had previously, a couple of years before, been found dead in the house) that was well known in our community for her weirdness and awkwardness ; the woman's name was "Zotte Betty" (translated as "Crazy Betty" ) and one of her sons.The son of Betty, the crazy woman, had lived with the brother till the day they found him dead.
At that point I had to just ask if I could take some photos of the inside.This had to be a one time opportunity.A once in a lifetime chance.I appologized several times if I was being impolite or intruding ( after all, this man's younger brother had just died ! ) but the man and his girlfriend saw no objections.So I stepped through the little door and was immediatly struck by the ackwardnes of the place.How in earth people could have lived in such circomstances was beyond me.It most resembled the home of some horder who never in his live decluttered !
I will save you a detailed description of the state the place was in ; look at the photos and let your mind do the work.
On the other hand, the house was full of memories of a man who must have lived the live of a recluse and now his things, his memories where about to be thrown away, to dissapear.
The more I photographed the interior, the wallpaper with this frail golden color, the odd trinkets and old objects, the more the man and his girlfriend became at their ease and they let me share their thoughts and insights in the life of their brother( in law).The woman even let me take a couple of shots where she was on inspite of her being very wary in the beginning.
I am deeply indebted to these people who have let me in in their personal lives whilst in the midst of a beriefment.
I express my gratitude.
These photos where taken with love.Be so kind as to threat them that way.
copyright Ange Soleil ( a.k.a Tweng) 2008
a lot of this is from the hoarders house (I guess Im glad I went through the trash - at the bottom of a bag filled with random stuff - would be a smaller grocery bag and at the bottom of that would be a really small paper bag or something with an old forgotten candy or gum item - the Sno-Caps was in a tupperware container with newer candy at the last estate sale/cleanout I set up - I think its 80s
I have way too many fabrics, so I decided to do a little cleanout of the ones suitable for dolly clothes (with tiny prints). I might make others happy with these...?! Scraps of approximately 35 by 35 cm (enough for more than 1 dress or skirt in Blythe size, for example) will go to the place in sets of 5!
the usual delights of a saturday await us,
soccer sidelines,
chicken coop cleanout,
shed tidy,
and the inevitable laundry mountain.
but for a few moments, early on a saturday morning
before the day truly begins...
he always watches the soccer and i always dabble with a hook :)
233 515-6
Stored Z for Scrap 08/11/2011 (REV & Verls expired).
Stored at SSM Mukran from at least 19/08/2012 to 04/2018, when it was moved to SSM Chemnitz with the cleanout of Dloks from Mukran (still at Chemnitz July 2020).
pretty cool huh -I think so - made my weekend - could be early 70s as well I suppose ....I know who threw this out (on a cleanout) - I was at the dump when they were leaving......getting people to save you stuff is hard sometimes - I have an extra to trade....
I did a thorough closet cleanout on Saturday and found this dress. I’ve had it for nearly eight years. It’s shorter than when I first bought it (I took it up a few inches) and the velveteen is marred in a few spots, but it’s otherwise unchanged. Polyester really does last forever.
Jacket, Mossimo. Blouse, Sans Souci. Dress, New York & Company. Tights, MeMoi. Boots, Lauren Ralph Lauren. Bag, Charming Charlie. Tassel charm, Epcot Morocco. Arrowhead pendants, thrifted.
So I soaked a xs goodnite, and smushed it with other trash. Other trash was baby blankets and stuffies.
A couple pairs of old boys nylon soccer shorts I bought and they never got used. So into the trash they go. They aren't nice enough to even give away.
www.recyclart.org/2016/08/hand-crank-wash-tub/
There are many hand-crank washing tubs out there, but they cost money. Heck with that! I made my own Hand-Crank Wash Tub out of recycled and upcycled bits & pieces lying around my shed for FREE! The motivation behind it is that I like to do basic maintenance on my cars and motorcycles, and it always generates a lot of dirty, greasy rags.
I don’t like to run them through my washing machine because of the risk of spreading grease to my regular laundry. I also don’t like to take them to the laundromat for the same reason. It’s not fair to the next customer to ruin their clothes! So, I decided to make something that would at least do a good job of a first wash so that I could then use my own washing machine.
When I looked around, the cheapest ones were around fifty dollars. I looked around for plans, and the most prominent ones were basically versions of wash boards or the style that uses a plunger in a lid. I didn’t want to sit around and basically “churn butter”, as agitating washers work better. So this is my version of an agitating washer!
Hand-Crank Wash Tub – supplies & tools needed:
Supplies needed:
5-gal. bucket (like a used latex paint bucket that you’ve cleaned out)
Two 2x2” pieces of wood, approx. 18” long (I used redwood pallet boards for all wood on this project)
Two 2x2” pieces of wood, approx. 4 to 5” long
One 2x2” piece of wood, approx. 6” long
Front fork set from a kid’s BMX bike (don’t need the handlebars)
One piece of 6” black PVC pipe (the type used for sewer cleanouts, etc), approx. 8” long & cut into two pieces vertically
4 sets of nuts/bolts/washers – approx. 1.5” long (enough to go through forks and piece of PVC pipe)
2 sets of nuts/bolts/washers – approx. 4.5” long (enough to go through your 2x2 boards to clamp together)
4 wood screws, 2.5” or 3” long
1 pallet block (ensure all nails/screws are removed)
1 set of nuts/bolts/washers – approx.. 6” long (enough to go through hand crank and the 2x2 board
1 piece of wire (heavy gauge – like fence wrapping wire), enough to wrap around the bucket a couple times so you have places to hook bungee cords to. I used approx. 4’ of wire
Tools Needed:
Band Saw
Reciprocating Saw
Draw knife
Drill press
Drill & a few different drill bits
Hole saw bits (optional – can use the band saw too)
Impact driver
Circular Saw
Chop/Miter saw
Wrench & socket set
Utility knife
¼” chisel
Pencil
Tape measure
Sand paper (from 80-grit to 2000 grit)
Hand file
Small wood lathe
Sanding sponges (medium and fine grit)
End cutting pliers (dull is fine – you’re not cutting anything – just prying nails from blocks)
Hand-Crank Wash Tub – A BMX bike front fork set:
We had a leftover kid’s BMX bike that my husband had picked up at a used store for 8.00. He used the crankset for another project he made. The front fork set had been sitting around, so I thought I’d use it, as it has free-spinning bearings. I used a reciprocating saw with a metal-cutting blade to cut the front fork set loose from the frame just behind where it was welded together.
Hand-Crank Wash Tub – Tub & Supporting Frame:
My wash tub is a leftover, heavy-duty 5-gal bucket. I happened to have an old Behr latex paint bucket that we’d used up, let dry, and then peeled out the dry latex paint remnants. The frame is made from pallet wood. To begin the frame, I started with with the two 2x2 x18” pieces of wood. I placed them across the top of the bucket, side by side and used clamps to hold them together. I marked the outside and inside diameters of the bucket with a pencil on the bottom sides of the wood. Next, I used a band saw to cut notches into the wood along the cut lines, approx. 3/8” deep. It just needs to be deep enough to create a channel so the wood frame will sit securely on top of the bucket. I used a chisel to clean up along the ends of the curves that the band saw couldn’t cut.
Find the approximate center of the two boards, and if you have them clamped tightly, you could use a hole saw to drill one hole down between the two for where it will clamp around the top tube. If not, you can use a band saw and cut the half-circles out. My cut was a little crooked, so I just notched around my bad prep job. I’d suggest you cut it more evenly, haha! Then I re-clamped the boards together and drilled two holes, equidistant from the center hole. The bolts will clamp the top tube in between these two boards. Sand the boards down the way you want. They don’t have to be perfect.
Hand-Crank Wash Tub – Correcting my error (do yours right and skip this step):
I test-fitted mine, and because of the crooked frame cut, it caused it to slip a little when I tried it, so the two shorter 2x2” boards were my solution. If you cut straight, you may not need them. Repeat the hole cutting process, as these two smaller boards will squeeze tightly around the top tube, basically clamping all 4” of the top tube. I screwed these two smaller boards together and then down on top of the longer boards to anchor the tube tightly.
Hand-Crank Wash Tub – Woodturning!
To make the handle, I used a pallet block. It is CRITICAL when using a lathe, or most of your saws, to remove any nails or screws. I used a circular saw to make shallow cuts around the nails that were cut flush when I dismantled pallets with a reciprocating saw. After cutting close to the nails, I made more cuts around the edge that I just sliced across so I’d be able to chisel the wood away easily to expose a bit of nail top. Next, I chiseled the wood away, exposing about ¼” of the nail heads, and used an old pair of end-cutting pliers. The rolled cutting end does a great job of clamping onto the exposed nail, and then allows you to roll the pliers over and pull the deeply-embedded nails out easily.
Identify the approximate centers of your block. Use a ruler and draw a line from one corner to the other diagonally. Do the same in the other direction. X marks the spot! Do this on both of the end-grain ends of the block and carefully center it into the lathe. I used a draw knife to round over the edges. You can use a band saw or other tools if you choose, but a draw knife is fast and convenient for me. I turned the wood into the shape of an old-style hand-crank drill. Those old handles are a good fit for my hands, and I know my husband won’t be doing it, haha! I turned it, smoothed it down, starting with 80-grit sponges, all the way down to 2000 grit paper while still on the lathe. I removed it and cut the excess wood off, then sanded the ends. Next I turned the horizontal piece of handle from more pallet wood – the last piece of 2x2x6” wood. Find the centers again and load it into the lathe. You could chip or sand down a dowel instead, but I didn’t have any leftover dowels. Besides, I only needed about 2-3” of round wood that’ll fit into the round-shaped clamp at the top end of the top tube – where the handle bars clamp in. I turned it down to the size I needed, and then rounded over the edges just so if I hit my knuckles, it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable.
I used a drill press and a wood-boring bit to drill a centered hole through the handle knob and then through the location on the horizontal piece of wood. Cut it loose around the size of your bolt so it’ll turn freely like a drill handle.
Hand-Crank Wash Tub – hardware stackup on crank knob assembly:
The hardware stackup is as follows: Long machine bolt, large washer, crank knob, large washer, connecting wood piece, large washer, and either a nylock or, if you don’t have those, I just used two bolts and tightened them against themselves so that the handle could turn freely. Bolt the crank knob assembly into the handlebar grip point and secure.
Hand-Crank Wash Tub – wash paddles (the agitator):
To agitate the dirty rags, I had to come up with something that would be a little flexible, but very durable. So, I used a piece of large, black PVC pipe – I think it was left over from when we installed a new cleanout drain on our 1920’s home. I cut a short piece off of the long tube – approximately 8” with the reciprocating saw, and then split it in half. I used the band saw to round over the corners, and then a hand file to smooth over the edges. It doesn’t have to be perfect; just not so rough that it’ll snag and tear your terry-cloth rags.
Next, clamp them onto the forks, in whatever pattern you want. You can stagger the height, or change the curve directions; it’s up to you. I put mine the same direction, but staggered the height. Drill two holes through the paddles and all the way through the forks. Hardware stackup: Bolt, tooth-washer, paddle, fork, tooth washer, nut. Repeat for the 2nd paddle, so you’ll have four holes to drill total (or more if you make your paddles bigger).
Hand-Crank Wash Tub – Putting it all together:
Final assembly begins now! Install your top tube in between your first two boards you cut, and secure tightly with bolts/nuts. Ensure that your tube assembly is level, or the paddles will slap up against the sides of the bucket and create drag. Put the entire assembly into the bucket and align the grooves on the two mounting boards onto the edges of the bucket. Secure with bungee cords. I did a non-permanent mounting so if anything got tangled, I could just unhook the bungees and pull it all out easily. However, you can mount the assembly any way you choose.
Now, time to give her a twirl! My assembly WORKED – other than the oops I listed above. With the extra little corrective boards I added, it stays level and slaps the dirty rags around. This probably seems like an excessively long post for such a little project, but I wanted to make this and not spend a single dime, and accomplished it! Are there other ways to make hand-crank washers? Sure. But I’ve got one load of rags that have been washed already so far. :D