Month: July 2026

Oops, My Mistake

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Pat reminded me of this next story. It’s sad in the beginning but ends with a good laugh at my expense.

We had a cat that had been very sick. Late one evening, after the kids had been put to bed, the cat died. We didn’t want the kids to get up the next morning and find their kitty dead. We decided to put the cat in a sack and put it in the garage. I was to get up early and bury the cat in the backyard before going to work. The next morning, I got up and did the job and went on to work. That night, when I got home, Pat greeted me with “Why didn’t you bury the cat?” “I did,” I said. “No, you didn’t,” Pat said, “Come with me.” We went to the garage where she handed me a sack. I opened it, and there was our dead cat. “You buried a sack of trash,” she said as she laughed.

Dave Thomas

7/30/2026

Interlude

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Interlude

Manufacturing companies were having a slow period. As I recall, it was about 1970 into 1973.   I was Production Supervisor for a small firm at the time. Over a few weeks’ time, I had laid off most of our workforce. One day, the manager came and told me that since we had sent all the workers home, it was time for me to go also.

With a wife and three kids, I needed to work, but no one was hiring. The Ironworker’s Union let me work a couple of jobs on a permit basis, but they didn’t have much of the short-term stuff. searching was tough.  You could only make contact by U.S. Mail or by knocking on doors. These were the days before computers, faxes, or I-phones. I left my resume at 69 firms before I got hired Job.

I finally got hired by answering an ad in the newspaper for a car salesman. I wasn’t new to the auto industry. I had worked at Howard Motors, our local Chevrolet dealership,  in the afternoons when I was a senior in high school and then for a couple of years after. I had worked the grease rack, wash rack, installed tires, installed seat covers, and had done used-car detailing and reconditioning. I knew a lot about cars but not about selling.

I started my sales career at a Chrysler/Plymouth dealership. For training purposes, I was paired with one of the top salesmen. We became friends and, after a few months, when he moved to a Chevrolet dealer, he paved the way for me to go with him. I was no fireball as a car salesman. When the company decided to open a truck, camper, and RV lot, I volunteered because that was something I could get excited about. This was when the country was going nuts about trucks, campers, and RV’s. I enjoyed talking about them, so I was doing better on the job. Chevrolet offered a correspondence course on trucks to the truck sales managers. My manager was one of the guys who thought he knew everything already, so he didn’t want to take the course. I told him that I would love to take it, and he could have the credit. I took the course under his name and did well. I got 100% on all of the tests, and he ended up looking good to Chevrolet. Of course, I was the only guy in the company that knew how to select the proper transmission and rear end ratios to match trucks to load and speed requirements.

This was the time when the mini-trucks were becoming popular.  The Datsun pickup (later known as Nissan) had been out for several years. Along came Ford with its Courier and Toyota. Last came Chevrolet with a truck known as the LUV. I was the first guy in the company to sell a LUV as a full-dressed camper unit. A man came in with his wife and son, and they all insisted that they needed on of the cute little trucks with the camper shell on it. The man was 6 ft 2 inches, and I couldn’t imagine him being happy with a rig that small, so I tried to sell him a ½ ton or a ¾ ton truck. They insisted on the LUV, so that’s what they got. It had a slide-in camper that extended above the truck’s cab. There were shock absorbers mounted to hold the camper down, mirrors on both sides, a boot replacing the rear window of the truck so you could climb back into the camper, heavy duty rear springs, and a chrome-plated dock bumper. It was a cute little thing, and it looked just like the big guys.

I enjoyed showing the trucks and campers. It was also interesting to demonstrate the latest features on the RV’s. I seemed to be getting better at the job as time went on. After a few weeks, I was summoned to the Sales Manager’s office and offered the position of Used Car Reconditioning Manager. Since this was a job I knew, I jumped at the chance. It would be a relief to be paid a salary rather than a commission.

The daily routine was to attend the daily sales meeting at 7:30 each morning and then go to my office at 8:00 am. When I got there, I would be greeted by 4 or 5 men representing some of the small auto shops around the city. They would be hoping to pick up some of the work that our own shops were too busy to take. These guys represented all of the auto disciplines including paint and body, glass, engines, tires, etc.

The first-time vendors and I stepped into my office. There was a case of scotch in the middle of my desk. I pointed to it and said, “This had better disappear while I am out of the office. Give me a good job at a fair price, and we will get along just fine. I don’t like kickbacks or under-the-table stuff.” That’s probably why I’m not rich today.

I was only on the new job for a couple of weeks when I got a phone call from Bud, the owner of the firm I worked for prior to getting laid off. He said that orders were coming in, and the future was looking better, so he hoped I would like to return to work. You betcha!!! I gave notice and, in a couple of weeks, I was back to the kind of work that I liked and was good at.

About a month later, at the grocery store, I ran into one of the salesmen from the truck lot. He said, “How come you never came in and picked up your plaque?” I said, “What plaque?” He said, “The one from Chevrolet that says ‘Truck Salesman of the Month.’”

That was a good way to close that chapter of my life.

Dave Thomas

July 16, 2026

Life Is Hard

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Model T

My great grandma, Minnie Peebler, lived at 1120 School Street. Next door, on the south, lived Joe and Rosella Pimlott. Joe was a nice old guy but he didn’t say much or move around too much. Rosella was a stout, grandmotherly type lady. She was a seamstress and a good one. She always had work stacked up. I knew them because they were Grandma Minnie’s friends and because my Mom sometimes had Rosella make things for us. Mom made me a lot of nice looking shirts out of feed sacks but some projects she deemed to be more suited for Rosella.

Joe had a Model T, black in color (of course) and it looked to be in perfect condition though the paint had faded a little. I’d see Joe, now and then, driving the Model T to the store or wherever he had to go. Joe kept the Model T in his garage which was out in back of the house like most of the older places. You entered the garage from the alley.

When we were little kids, Mom always made my sister and I go with her to Mrs. Pimlott’s house. Mrs. Pimlott was perceptive enough to know that I wouldn’t be too interested in dresses and that kind of stuff and would tell me to go on out and check out the back yard and the garage while I was waiting. Joe had tools and all kinds of stuff hanging on the walls so I could entertain myself for quite a while. I could even get up in the seat of the Model T and pretend to drive.

Time passed and then Joe Pimlott passed as well. Meantime I’ve turned thirteen and have started thinking about cars. In Kansas you could take Driver’s Education when you were thirteen and then get a restricted driver’s license when you were fourteen. The year was 1950 and cars were getting more expensive with V-8 engines and all that other stuff. I knew I wouldn’t have much money so I started thinking about old Joe Pimlott’s Model T Ford hidden away in that garage on the alley. Mrs. Pimlott liked me so I could probably get it for a good price. Model T’s were supposed to be easy to drive and easy to fix and practically indestructible. I knew that this was the car for me and now I had a plan. I would save my money and keep a secret that there was a perfectly good 2

Life IS Hard (cont.)

Model T stashed in Mrs. Pimlott’s garage. The weeks rolled by and I was taking Driver’s Ed. And whenever I went up to visit Grandma Minnie I would slip over and look through the crack between the doors to see if “my” Model T was still there. Everything was fine until one day when I was riding my bike down the street and here comes this Model T driven by Ross Larcom, a kid 2 years older than me. “Hi Ross””, I yells, “Where’d you get your car?” He yells back “I got it from Mrs. PimLott for 15 dollars!”

I was wiped out!

Dave Thomas
January 2, 2014

 

Uncle Dave’s Basement

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Uncle Dave’s Basement

My great uncle, Dave Peebler, and his wife, Rachel, built their house at 124 High Street in 1923. It was a nice place with three bedrooms and a bath upstairs, and a full basement downstairs that had 2 bedrooms and a bath as well as a bunch of free space. In the basement, was a gas range for cooking in one area, and a Maytag washer in another. The furnace, a part of the central heating system, was there as well. Part of the free space contained a workshop area and part of one wall was covered by floor to ceiling shelves for storage.

 

Over the years, I had many connections to the basement as well as the rest of the house. This story probably should start with my Mom. Mom’s mother died when Mom was only eight years old. Mom’s dad couldn’t care for her, so she was passed around to different family members until she was taken in by her Grandmother Minnie. Later, when she was in high school, she was taken in by Uncle Dave and Aunt Rachel. I think that after her high school graduation, she stayed with them for a couple more years. After Mom married Dad, they lived in an apartment above a store downtown. This was during the depression, and Dad was doing what he could to find work and keep some money coming in. He wasn’t able to bring in enough to keep us going, so when I was about three years old, Mom, Dad, my sister, Sylvia, and I moved into Uncle Dave’s basement.

 

I only remember two things from this time period. The first was that I had violated two rules of the house and ended up getting hurt. The first rule was, “Don’t run with a pencil in your hand,” and the second was “Don’t try to hurry down the stairs.” I had gone upstairs to get a pencil and then ran through the house to the stairway. I fell down the stairs and jabbed myself in the middle of the forehead with the pencil. The worst part was that for the next few years when Mom or Aunt Rachel needed an example, they would point to my scar and say, “Here’s what happens when you don’t follow the rules.” The other thing I remember from the time we lived in the basement was that one day I realized that my Dad wasn’t around. I asked Mom and she said he couldn’t find work and so he had gone to Western Kansas. He was working in a store out there. Fifty years later, when I became interested in genealogy and family history, I found one of Dad’s uncles had a general store in Atwood in Rawlins County, Kansas.

 

Things got better in the summer of 1941 when Dad was hired by the local refinery. We moved out of the basement and into the house at 19 Cliff Drive. In a short time, two brothers, Ray and Russ Larsen, moved into the basement. In a few months, the war started, and the brothers were drafted. The last time I saw Ray while he was in a Class A uniform, he was wearing the stripes of a master sergeant. While the guys were in the Army, their clothes and their personal items were stored in one of the bedrooms. After the war, Ray lived in the basement for a year or two. I don’t know where Russ was, but a few years later he came back to town. He and his wife, Sarah, opened Larsen’s shoe store on the west side of State Street, across from the bank. In their store, they had one of those magic x-ray machines that you stick your foot in and see the bones of your toes and the outline of your shoe.

 

During World War II, almost everyone had a Victory Garden. The war had caused quite a shortage of food. The able-bodied men who would normally be raising crops on the farms had been drafted. Then, what crops were produced had to be processed and sent overseas to feed the thousands of men were sending over there.

 

Aunt Rachel and Uncle Dave had an acre or so out on Custer Lane, at the edge of town. They put in a large victory garden there and let my folks have a garden there also. When the green beans came in, Mom and Aunt Rachel decided to work together and can a lot of them. They set up the basement as their efficient green bean canning factory. I don’t know how the process works, but I know Mason jars, pressure cookers, and a stove are used. We heard Mom and Aunt Rachel talking about pressure cooker explosions being reported, and that they must be careful. Well, sure as heck, one of the jars exploded and green beans and glass went flying across the room. Sylvia had some bad luck as a piece of glass hit her in the forehead, and she was cut badly enough that she probably still has the scar. The rest of us and the basement were pretty well covered with green beans.

 

Another time, Mom and Aunt Rachel decided to make soap which was in short supply during the war. They acquired lye from someplace, and used it to make their own. After that, we had plenty of soap on hand.

 

After a fantastic cucumber harvest, they decided to make pickles. They had crocks all over the basement. They made dill pickles, sweet pickles, bread and butter pickles, and relish. It was stored for the family. We were in pickle heaven.

 

We didn’t have a washing machine or a car after we moved to the house on Cliff Drive. On laundry day, Aunt Rachel would haul us up to her house. Sylvia and I were young, so we had to tag along. One day, I was so bored I asked Mom if I could help with the washing. She was wringing out a load and said I could help. After receiving instructions and warnings to be careful, I started feeding clothes into the wringer of the old Maytag machine, and it wasn’t long before the thing grabbed my fingers and pulled my hand clear into the wringer. I let out a yell, and Mom stopped the machine. She opened up the top and got my hand out. No broken bones- just another case of humiliation.

 

My next memory of the basement involved Uncle Dave’s guns. In one room, two guns were hanging. One was a double-barreled 10 gauge, and the other was an over-and-under with a .410 on top and a .22 on the bottom. I don’t know where Uncle Dave got them. He wasn’t a hunter.

 

I had traded for a .22 when I was 12 years old so I could start rabbit hunting. I also wanted to hunt ducks, so Uncle Dave let me borrow the 10 gauge whenever I wanted. I shot at some tin cans with the 10 gauge, and I’m telling you, the recoil was pretty nasty. I don’t think I ever shot a duck with it. That was probably a good thing for I hate the taste of duck meat.

 

Pat and I got married in 1957, soon after I joined the Navy. One of the perks of graduating in the top five of my class at Aviation Electronics school was that I got to pick my next duty station. So, California, here we come! We got to San Diego in 1958, and that has been home ever since. We soon had Russ, Doug, and Terri, and as they grew up in the 1960’s and 1970’s, we tried to go back to Kansas every year or two.

 

Uncle Dave had always enjoyed estate sales and farm auctions. When he retired, he went to a lot more of them. If he found a good buy, it usually ended up in the basement. So, the basement was full of all kinds of odds and ends, and ready for the kids. Uncle Dave had always encouraged them to go downstairs and explore.

 

One of the main attractions was the black walnuts. There was a black walnut tree in the back yard, so Uncle Dave always had a keg or a bucket full of them. There was a work bench in the basement with a vise mounted on it. Using a nearby hammer, you could crack the nuts against the vise. There were always a couple of nut picks handy so you could dig out the meat.

 

Another favorite was the hand drill. We used to call it a “hurdy-gurdy.” There was an old wind-up Victrola phonograph with a stack of records that ranged from Perry Como to Turkey in the Straw. There were several whet stones. Uncle Dave prided himself on being able to put a keen edge on any kind of blade. Russ tested the blade of an axe, and cut his finger when barely touching it. There were several items that Uncle Dave built himself. There was a table saw that doubled as a work bench, a battery charger for his truck battery, a bit for a horse, and a hunting knife. There were old monkey wrenches and a 36 inch Stilson pipe wrench. There were drill bits for wood and metal, and taps for cutting threads. There was a stack of National Geographics in one corner. Who can throw away those beautiful pictures? There was a pair of World War I puttees. Who knows why? The basement was full of new things to learn and new nomenclature to use. For instance, in addition to the table saw, there was a bucksaw, a crosscut saw, a rip saw, a keyhole saw, and a coping saw. The kids learned a lot from Uncle Dave and his tools and junk. He often let the kids pick something from the basement to keep. Terri really liked an old saxophone she found, so she took it home and still has it. Doug remembers Uncle Dave calling them to come up from the basement for lunch which included what Uncle Dave called “Smearcase,” a name for cottage cheese derived from an old German term. The kids thought that was pretty funny.

 

Uncle Dave passed away first. A few years later, Aunt Rachel passed. Their daughter, Maxine (Peebler) Fisher came down from Denver and settled the estate. She sold the house and all of it’s contents to our friend, Keith Scholfield, a realtor in Augusta. Keith said it took several days and a lot of truckloads to clear out that basement.