Life

Quarry Story 3

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Technically speaking, this is not a quarry story but since it took place on the road to the quarry I figured that’s close enough.

Have you ever ridden on an Army tank? Well, I did once, and that’s what this story is about. Pay close attention, learn, and then don’t ever do anything like it.

It was spring and we had been having our share of rain. The rivers were up and had overflowed their banks earlier in the week. The Walnut River, just south of town, was slowly returning to it’s normal size and we decided to check it out. I was 13 or so and my friend, Jack, was 15. You can get your driver’s license when you are 14 so Jack had gotten himself a job at a neighborhood grocery store, saved his money, and bought himself a 1935 Chevrolet. We headed for the river. It wasn’t much of a trip. From the edge of town, at what I remember was 4th Street, you crossed the Santa Fe railroad tracks and wandered down a country road for about a quarter mile to the steel bridge that crossed the Walnut River. It was one of those fine-looking steel bridges that looked like it had been made from a giant Erector Set.

The gravel road was still a little wet and muddy but we got to the bridge, crossed it, and continued along. About 100 yards south of the bridge was a place you could pull off the road and follow the tracks worn by many other cars to get closer to the river. At this point, the river bank was normally 5 or 6 feet above the river. It was a good place to fish from and we were told by older guys that it also served as a lover’s lane. We decided to check the river so Jack pulled off onto this track that paralleled the road and stopped and we got out. We looked at the river and messed around and finally got back in the car. Jack tried to drive off but the wheels started spinning. He was a good driver but couldn’t overcome the wet grass and mud and the fact that the ground sloped toward the river. I got out and tried to push but it didn’t do any good. We decided to walk back to town and call Jack’s Dad for help.

We got back to town and crossed the tracks and the first building in view at that time was the National Guard Armory. We decided to go in there and use the phone. The National Guard guy that took care of the Armory and answered the phone and did all the chores was a friend of ours named Billy Joe Davis. Billy Joe liked baseball and we had both played catch with him and hit a lot of fly balls and grounders with him. We told Billy Joe our story and asked to use the phone. Billy Joe said there wasn’t any point in making the call and upsetting Jack’s Dad because he’d be happy to pull us out. He said we should go out in the street and wait while he locked up and we could close the gate behind him when he came out. After a few minutes we heard an engine revving up and here comes Billy Joe driving a National Guard tank and yelling at us to shut the gate and climb on. We scrambled up onto the thing and Billy took off across the tracks. It just took a few minutes to get to the bridge and as we approached it, Jack and I looked at each other. Billy Joe may have crossed the bridge many times in a tank but it scared the devil out of us. That bridge looked pretty flimsy compared to this big chunk of iron we were riding on. Billy didn’t even slow down. He rolled over that bridge like it was him and Patton crossing the Rhine.

The rest of it was kind of anti-climatic. It just took a couple of minutes to get to the car. Billy Joe had brought a chain and he hooked up to Jack’s car and pulled us out. We thanked him and waved good-bye and headed back to town. I don’t even want to think of the possible consequences of “borrowing” a tank or running it off into the river. If you’ll excuse me I’ll just say “tanks for the memory”.

Dave Thomas
October 24, 2013

 

What’s a Chukker?

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I believe it was the spring of 1965. In another month, that will be 50 years ago. I remember a lot of the details but the dates are hard to pin down.

To lay the groundwork for this story, let me say that total employment at Electro Instruments was probably about 250. I was Foreman of the Test Department and had 23 technicians working for me. Our job was to trouble-shoot the instruments coming off the assembly line and fix any wiring errors or cold solder joints and replace any defective electronic components. Once we had the unit running, we calibrated it with precision voltage standards and “sold” it to a Quality Control Inspector and also to a Department of Defense Inspector if it was to be shipped against a government contract. When we presented the unit to the Shipping Department it was the culmination of the efforts of every department in the plant.

One morning, I got a call from my boss, Pete Dreesen, the Director of Manufacturing. Pete said that his boss, Jim Zeigler, the Vice President of Operations had called and invited the two of us to lunch. I wasn’t sure what to make of this. Working stiffs like me didn’t ordinarily go to lunch with 2 levels of bosses, but I met Pete and Jim in the lobby at 11:30 and Pete drove us to a nearby restaurant.

I didn’t know Jim well, only having had a few brief conversations with him. It was normally business stuff, where he did the conversing and I did the listening. I knew he lived on some acreage on the outskirts of Alpine, a small town in the foothills east of San Diego. I had also heard that he had 7 kids so that’s probably why he had the big place. He was a nice guy and I liked him.

We were hardly sitting down in the restaurant before Jim announced that he wanted to start a company polo team. The three of us didn’t really know anything about polo so we started listing the things we thought would need to be answered in order to get this project off the ground. Jim mentioned that he had a couple of horses for his kids to ride but doubted they would make very good polo ponies. Jim and Pete both knew that I had a horse and asked about her. I told them that she was coming along but I bought her for her confirmation and sweet disposition and she wouldn’t be good for polo. Polo “ponies” are actually big, strong horses that love to run and are so competitive they will run over anything in their path. Jim said that was ok because he had been talking to the people that own Bright Valley Stables, up in Harbison Canyon, on the way to Alpine, and we might be able to work out a deal to rent horses from them. Also, they would give us lessons on riding English saddles and the fundamentals of polo.

Recruiting a team might be a tough job. We would be taking off work an hour or two before quitting time at least one day a week for English riding lessons. The hourly direct folks wouldn’t want to lose the pay. The salaried people could work extra hours if they needed to in order to stay on top of their jobs. A large percentage of our workforce was women. We had hired quite a few experienced women from the aerospace industry so they were older, more “grandmotherly”, types. Most of the rest of the women were young mothers that had to get home after work and pick up the kids at the baby sitters (Day Care was a term that hadn’t been invented yet). Our pool of riders was shrinking fast. We decided to post the story on the employee bulletin board so that we wouldn’t mistakenly exclude anyone that was interested.

We tried to think of anyone who rode horses for pleasure or knew anything about horses. The only horseman I knew was Steve Scott, a custodian working 2nd shift. Scotty was in his 60’s and his health wasn’t too good. He had come over from Brawley, California in the Imperial Valley where for years he had been the “Hay Boss” for a large cattle feeding outfit. Every year the city of Brawley holds the Brawley Cattle Call, a big western celebration featuring a parade and a rodeo. Scotty was one of the organizers of that annual event and even after moving to San Diego, returned to Brawley to take part in it. Scotty and I were having a cup of coffee one day before he went on shift and I mentioned that I had recently bought a horse but hadn’t saved up enough for a saddle yet. Scotty said he was too old to ride but had brought his saddle with him from Brawley and I was welcome to use it as long as I needed it. He brought the saddle, a fairly new roper, to work with him the next day. I used it for several months and returned it with thanks. I know this paragraph about Scotty hasn’t much to do with the polo story but Scotty was really a “good old boy” and I liked him a lot and enjoyed writing something about him so you could see him.

Getting back to business, our luncheon meeting lasted about 3 hours and we made plans and discussed obstacles until we thought we had covered everything. We knew we were facing an uphill battle but decided to take things in order and go as far as we could.

The first day of riding lessons, eight of us showed up, all managers or supervisors and all salaried. We had all ridden “western” but didn’t know one end of an English saddle from the other. The man who owned Bright Valley Stables had an accent and I think he must have been an Aussie rather than an Englishman. He was a good instructor and soon had us all mounted and riding around a ring. The lessons were fun and informative. We all enjoyed them because while riding around in circles in the ring he corrected our “seat” and the way we were posting and also talked to us about the tack and the rules of polo. It would be more exciting to tell you that somebody got thrown or that we had a runaway horse but nothing like that happened. We had a few lessons with most of the guys in attendance. Some weeks, one or the other of us would have to stay in the plant and take care of our department.

Jim knew of a Dr. Herring that lived in Lakeside, a town between our plant and Alpine. This Dr. Herring had a polo team that he sponsored and played on and Jim arranged for us to watch them play one Saturday morning. It was fun to watch the guys play. I don’t know if they were any good but it didn’t make any difference because they were having so much fun. One of the “attack” guys hit a pretty good drive and all of a sudden he and one of the defensive guys were in a mad dash to get to the ball. The collision was like those you hear in the NFL. Ker-Whap!!! The “attack” guy is knocked off his horse and hits the ground, breaking his forearm. Doc Herring took one look at the arm and loaded the guy in his car. He took him to his office in town, x-rayed and set the bone, and put a cast on it. They were back at the game in a little over an hour. The Doc wouldn’t let the guy back in the game. 

This broken arm was hard on our team as two of our members abruptly quit. They said they had come out for fun and that didn’t include broken bones.

Things kind of went downhill after that. It became harder and harder to get the group together. Managers and supervisors are in those positions partly due to a sense of responsibility and that makes it hard to abandon the challenges of the job in the middle of the afternoon and go play. We knew at the outset that it was going to be tough. Besides the other problems, we had no horses, no tack, no horse trailers, no cheap places to board horses, and certainly not enough discretionary income to float the whole thing. It was fun while it lasted.

Dave Thomas
February 6, 2015

 

Seaplane Story 1

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Outbound

As I was going through some pictures this morning I found this picture I can use in this seaplane story but can also tie to some family history.

The picture I’ve attached is of a Martin Marlin P5M-2 seaplane. The tail identification, “SF”, indicates that it belongs to Patrol Squadron Forty-Eight (VP-48) and the “7” tells you that this plane is #7 of a 12 plane contingency. So, this plane’s call name is “Sugar Fox 7”. I flew in Sugar Fox 7 a number of times but was normally in Sugar Fox 1, the skipper’s plane, as I was the lead technician in that crew.

The P5M-2 was an Anti-Submarine Warfare (ASW) aircraft and was packed with sophisticated electronic gear in order to hunt submarines. Once a sub was located, the plane was capable of firing rockets or dropping bombs on the target. The cylinder hanging under the starboard wing, near the pontoon strut, was a 1 million candle-power searchlight that created a lot of excitement when you caught a sub running on the surface at night and illuminated him. The plane normally carried a crew of 10 or 11 men with varying job assignments.

In the picture, the plane is heading west and is flying parallel to the edge of Point Loma, a peninsula that juts out into the Pacific. The water that is shown just above the seaplane, from left to right, is the San Diego Channel, connecting San Diego Bay with the Pacific.

Finally getting to the point of my story, on the ground, below Sugar Fox 7, and located along the hillside, is Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery. Among the many veterans buried there you will find the gravesite of our cousin, Donald L. Thomas, a WWI veteran. His wife, Loyce, is buried in the same plot. From their resting places there is a beautiful view to the south of the city of San Diego, the San Diego Channel, North Island Naval Air Station, the city of Coronado, and on the horizon, Tijuana, Mexico. Of course, looking to the right, you see the beautiful blue Pacific.

 

Dave Thomas
March 13, 2012, revised February 15, 2015

Seaplane Story 3

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Here’s an interesting video lasting only 2 or 3 minutes that outlines the development of the P5M-1.One of the interesting innovations was the incorporation of hydro-flaps. They are hydraulically operated appendages built into the rear of the hull that could be energized separately for steering or could be deployed at the same time and serve as brakes when the aircraft was in the water.

Another interesting part of the video is the take-off. As the plane gets up to speed it creates a “rooster tail” higher than those seen at the thunder boat races. At the tail of the plane is a 50mm machine gun turret that has a spectacular view during take-off. The turret was no longer armed or occupied so, with the pilot’s permission you could sit back there during take-off. You are facing backward and as the speed increases, the walls of water get higher and higher until it feels like you are looking down a canyon. What a ride!

http://www.livingwarbirds.com/martin/p5m-marlin.php

Here’s an interesting thing about water take-offs. Sometimes at dawn and for a short time thereafter, San Diego Bay is as smooth as a sheet of glass. No ships or boats have been moving to cause ripples or waves. It sounds like it would be perfect for take-off but you can’t develop any lift and get airborne. On a morning like this, the pilot calls the tower and tells them to watch out for surface traffic while we tear around the bay in circles and try to develop some waves.

I was doing some research and found a YouTube video about the crash of a Martin P5M-2 seaplane from VP-48, my squadron. It crashed in the Laguna Mountains 1/1/1959 on a flight to the Salton Sea. The pilot and co-pilot were killed but 8 members of the crew bailed out successfully. The 2 men in the crew that I knew best were Allen Van Dyke and William Little. The crew roster appears in the last few seconds of the video. Bill Little was an Aviation Electronics Technician First Class (AT1) and we worked out of the same shop so I saw him every day. Both guys said that bailing out was a hairy experience because the plane was just barely clearing the mountain tops.

http://youtu.be/p8d2JgrHrcU

Dave Thomas
March 15, 2012. Revised February 20, 2015 

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It’s for real: Seaplane ended up in and took off from Ascarate Lake

Trish Long / El Paso Times

POSTED: 05/08/2009 11:31:34 PM MDT

Dear Trish, my name is Eddie Bustamante. I’m not from here. I have heard from people that have lived here all their lives that a seaplane landed on Ascarate Lake many years ago. If it is true, what year? And how was it able to lift off the lake? I keep wondering if people are just pulling my leg. Can you help?

They’re not pulling your leg, Edward. On April 10, 1960, a U.S. Navy P5M Martin Marlin seaplane was made an emergency landing on the 3,000-foot long Ascarate Lake.

The pilot, Lt. M.T. Burke, said he made the decision to land in the “pond” when the starboard engine began cutting out every few minutes.

“The trouble started around Yuma,” Burke told the El Paso Times at the time. “But it didn’t get serious until we were 50 or 60 miles out of El Paso.” The officer decided to come to El Paso rather than try for Elephant Butte Lake.

Before landing, much of the fuel was dumped from the seaplane, which the El Paso Times article also referred to as a “flying boat.”

Burke and his crew had left San Diego en route to Baltimore, via Pensacola, Fla. The seven people on the flight were members of a ferrying group that transported planes across the nation.

The plane landed from south to north, then was towed with the assistance of a Sheriff’s Department boat piloted by Deputy Charlie Barker, and a County Recreation Department boat, handled by Earl Thurston, to the north end of the lake.

Additional personnel, tools and spare parts were flown in to help get the flying boat ready for takeoff while Burke held an “open house” so that Mayor Raymond Telles, County Judge Woodrow Bean and other City and County officials could inspect the seaplane — “a rarity in El Paso.”

The landing, however, wasn’t as complicated as the takeoff later.

Four rockets were added to the seaplane, it was stripped of all unnecessary equipment, and it carried a minimum load of fuel to make it as light as possible. The trees at the south end of the lake were soaked overnight and pushed over with bulldozers.

In the early morning of April 23, an Air Force helicopter hovered overhead and emergency crash trucks stood ready in case of trouble.

Capt. Ted Vogel of the El Paso Police Department and two members of the Sheriff’s Department Boat Patrol were also on watch, and Mexican police had an ambulance and fire truck ready on the Mexican side.

At 6:13 a.m., the 77,000-pound flying boat, using its extra jets and aided by small motorboats kicking up waves, took off successfully from Ascarate Lake.

The pilot was Lieut. Commander William L. Schad, and his co-pilot was Lieut. Gordon R. Williams. They flew from El Paso to Corpus Christi and then on to Baltimore, Md.
___________________________________________________________________________

The pilot mentioned in the next-to-last line, Lt. Cdr. William Schad was the plane commander of Crew 4, SF 4, of VP 48. He was a skilled pilot and I flew with him a number of times.
Dave T

 

Wal-Mart Greeters

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Gary Casner sent an e-mail about the Admiral who was a Wal-Mart Greeter. I’ve enjoyed the story a couple of times before and it always reminds me of my own “Greeter” story.

Four or five years ago, Gene Maness and I were drinking coffee at our favorite McDonalds’s in Keller, Texas. We were mouthing off at each other as we usually did and started talking about getting part-time jobs just to keep ourselves busy. We discussed several possibilities and discarded each of them for one reason or another. Finally, we got to Wal-Mart Greeter and things started looking up. A new Wal-Mart Super Center was just opening up a couple of blocks from where we lived. It looked perfect! There would be no commute to speak of and if your wife needed some groceries or something you could pick them up on the way home and save a trip.

As we continued to discuss the benefits of working at Wal-Mart I mentioned that we would get to hug the good-looking girls as they came in, just as they do in the Wal-Mart commercials. Maness, who was always a “the glass is half-empty” kind of guy, says “do we have to hug the ugly ones, too?’ Well, I had no idea but I remembered that we were going to attend a Homeowner’s Association meeting that would be held at a neighborhood school Thursday evening and that the Manager of the new Wal-Mart would be introduced to the community there. This would be a perfect time for us to ask some questions.

We arrived at the meeting a little early and quickly spotted a guy wearing a Wal-Mart ID badge. We went over and introduced ourselves and before I could blink an eye, Maness says” If we went to work as Wal-Mart Greeters we would hug all the good-looking girls that came through the door but we want to know if we would have to hug the ugly ones, too?” The manager who was pretty quick on the uptake (that’s why he was the manager) said “Yes, you would have to hug the ugly ones, too. We are an equal opportunity company and try to treat all our customers in the same way.” That killed the whole deal for us…it was time to go back to square one and think about other opportunities.

Dave Thomas
November 12, 2012

 

Old Mrs. Coates

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It was about 8:00 AM on one of those joyous summer mornings with the sun shining and heavy dew glistening on the leaves and grass. I had just finished my third grade year and was thankful to be free. I was on the way to visit my Great-grandma Minnie, who lived several blocks from us. It was always a special treat to be invited to breakfast with Grandma Minnie because she always fixed me her special bread pudding with raisins in it.

As I got closer to Grandma’s I could see that her across-the-street neighbor, old Mrs. Coates, was out on her front porch enjoying her morning tea. I yelled, “Good morning, Mrs. Coates!” She yelled back, “Good morning, David, how are you this morning?” (I should explain that Mrs. Coates had a voice that was loud and clear and you could hear her clear to the end of the block.) I responded “I’m OK, how are you?” She bellows back, “Well, David, I had a wonderful bowel movement this morning so I know it will be a great day!” This was more information than a little kid could handle and I felt my face turning red as I ran for Grandma’s door and a chance to get out of sight.

Dave Thomas
March 31, 2012

 

Grandpa and Billy the Goat

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Grandpa, A.A. Thomas, always had something interesting going on. One day I rode my bike down to visit Grandpa and Grandma. I might have been 11 or 12 years old and Grandpa was at least 80. When I got to the house, Grandma said Grandpa was out in the back yard so I went on out there. It turned out that Grandpa had bought himself a cute little billy goat. He was putting the finishing touches on a pen he had built for it. He told me he had named the little critter, Billy, and that I could get in the pen and play with him. Billy was a friendly little guy and enjoyed being petted and fussed over so I played with him that day and pretty often in the days that followed.

Then, for some reason I didn’t get down to see Billy for quite a spell and when I did go to visit, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Cute little Billy, the kid goat, had turned into a full-sized ram with a fine set of horns. Grandpa said he was still just a playful little guy and I should just go on in and give him some attention. Well, Billy was glad to see me and I enjoyed petting him and messing with him. I noticed that he had tipped over his water bucket so I thought I would refill it. I stooped over to pick it up and wham… I got knocked flat when Billy charged up and butted me in the behind. It turns out that “little” Billy had learned how to use those horns and loved butting anyone dumb enough to turn their back on him. Grandpa was laughing so I knew I had been set up. Grandma heard the commotion and came out and chewed on Grandpa and told him  he should be ashamed of himself. Grandpa just laughed more and said “that darned Billy has got me a dozen times!”

I saw Billy a few more times but one day I got there and Billy’s pen was empty. When I asked Grandpa of Billy’s whereabouts, he just said “he got me one time too many!”

Dave Thomas
April 26, 2013

 

Fired!

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If you read my story “AVS Honey”, you will remember that in 1950, after I graduated from 8th grade, I had a 3 or 4 week period before I was to spend the summer in Arizona with my Grand-dad. I told you about the AVS Honey job because it was interesting and it was fun. I almost forgot that for 3 or 4 days prior to AVS Honey, I had a job in a filling station. Maybe I’m blocking it out of my memory because I got fired. Here’s how it happened.

In Kansas, you could get a restricted driver’s license when you were 14 years old. As a result, the schools offered a driver’s training course to 13 year old 8th graders. I took the course and learned the rudiments of driving and how to take care of a car.

Bill Nutter and Ray Tarman took over the management of a Socony-Vacuum (later, Mobil) station. This is the station that had been run by a man named “Heavy” Stevens at the south end of Augusta where State Street and Walnut Street come together.

Just before school was out, my Mom happened to see Bill Nutter down town and visited with him a little. After Bill told about his new business, Mom told him about me needing a short term job and asked if he could use me at his new place. Bill said it so happened that he had hired a college kid for the summer but this kid wouldn’t be out of school for another 3 weeks or so. He told Mom that he could use some help until the college kid showed up and that I should come down and talk to him. I hurried down and talked to Bill and he agreed to hire me.

Back in those days, the gas stations or filling stations were more correctly called “service” stations. A customer pulling into a station for any amount of gasoline expected to have their windshield washed, oil checked, and radiator water level checked. And, if requested, the air pressure in their tires would be checked. Beyond that, if requested, the attendant would grab a whisk broom and sweep out the car.

The work stuff didn’t bother me. I could do all the necessary things or sweep the driveway with no problem. My shortcoming proved to be that I didn’t know enough about cars or engines. Bill or Ray would be working on a car and I would have to interrupt them so they could help me locate something. The first day, it was a cab-over truck and I couldn’t find the dipstick to check the oil level. The next day, I couldn’t find the gas cap on a customer’s car. Earlier models were easy to find. They were normally in plain sight, a shiny chrome thing sticking out of a rear fender. The manufacturers were just starting to get tricky and hide them behind little doors in the rear fender wells. However, on my second day at the station, I had no idea where the gas cap was on this guy’s car. Trying to look “cool” (rather than stupid) I walked into the grease rack and asked Bill where the thing was. “It’s behind the license plate”, he says. “No kidding?”, I say. Sure enough, there it was.

The 3rd day, I was really intense. I wasn’t going to miss anything. The morning went well but in the middle of the afternoon, here comes this late model Cadillac. The driver told me to “fill it up” so I got the hose and was ready to start pumping gas. I’m in trouble again…I can’t find the gas cap! I checked the fenders, the license plate, and the trunk with no luck. Finally admitting to myself that I had failed again, I went in and got Bill out from under the hood of a car and asked him to show me where the gas cap was on a Cadillac. Bill doesn’t say anything but walks over to the left side of the car, takes hold of the tail-light and swings it up and out of the way. There’s the gas cap! The tail-light lens is hinged! That was just too damned cute for words. Who puts a gas cap in a tail light? I gassed up the car and got the man on his way.

At quitting time that night, Bill told me that I just didn’t know enough about cars and they wouldn’t be able to use me after all. I understood and there were no hard feelings.

Dave Thomas
 February 12, 2016

 

The USS Constitution

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USS Constitution-Boston 2

Picture Courtesy of Chief Flora, USN Retired.

This picture spans the time from 1797 when the U.S.S. Constitution, Old Ironsides, was launched until now, 2011. Old Ironsides, the sailors on the dock, and the Blue Angel aircraft and their pilots are all on active duty in the U.S. Navy. Old Ironsides was never de-commissioned and is the oldest active duty warship afloat in the world. She is berthed at the Charleston pier in Boston harbor. Her crew is made up of active duty officers and enlisted men of the U.S. Navy.

Another point of interest for me is that our ancestor, William Sprague (my 7th great grandfather), and his brothers helped build the town of Charlestown in 1629.

I feel very fortunate to have a piece of wood from the hull of the U.S.S. Constitution that was cast into a small paper weight. In the 1970’s I was Vice President and Plant Manager of a small manufacturing firm. We fabricated printed circuit boards and also had a department that produced front panels, nameplates, and signage. I was responsible for sales for the company and in that capacity called on the Director of the Aerospace Museum in Balboa Park, San Diego, Lt. Col. Ed Carey, U.S.A.F., Retired. I became acquainted with Col. Carey and the men who restored aircraft or worked as docents at the museum. One day, the Colonel showed up at our shop and said he needed help with a personal project. He had once been in Boston with his family and wanted to pay his respects and take a tour of Old Ironsides. He called, made an appointment, and at the proper time showed up in Class A uniform with his family. As they toured the ship they came to an area where some rotting timbers were being replaced by a crew of skilled craftsmen. Col. Carey, within earshot of other tourists, asked the Naval Officer conducting the tour if he might have a piece of the rotted wood as a souvenir. The officer apologized and said it wasn’t possible. As they completed the tour and were leaving the ship, the Colonel and his family thanked their tour guide and the Officer of the Deck. Colonel Carey saluted the flag and the O.O.D. as is the custom and the O.O.D. returned the salute and handed Col. Carey a sack containing a sample piece of the wood removed from the hull.

After telling me this story, the Colonel said he was going to take pieces of his wood sample and cast them as small paper-weights and wanted a small aluminum nameplate to identify the source of the wood. He provided camera-ready artwork so I made the nameplates myself, over a lunch hour, and provided them at no charge as a goodwill gesture from my company. A couple of months later Colonel Carey showed up at our shop and presented me with one of the paper weights containing an original piece of Old Ironsides. I kept it on my desk and showed it to every visitor to our plant.

Dave Thomas
June 1, 2011

Old Iron PW

 

Grandpa and the Rocking Chair

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My grand-dad was Albert Adelbert Thomas, known to his family as “Del” and mostly to others as “A.A.”. I got to know him best in 1949 and 1950. At that time I was 13 and he was about 85. I saw him daily due to my paper route. I delivered the Wichita Beacon and Walnut Street where Grandma and Grandpa lived was a large portion of my route.

We had a regular routine for my daily visits. I would usually show up around 4:30 P.M., give or take 15 minutes. Grandpa would be sitting in the living room in his rocking chair and listening to the radio. Grandma would be in the kitchen preparing a snack for me. Grandma, “Etta”, was 77 at the time and she felt it was her duty to feed me every day because “a young boy is always hungry”. It was ok with me because Grandma’s snacks were always delicious and usually amounted to a bowl of her home-canned peaches, bread and butter, and a glass of milk.

I would come in the front door, hand Grandpa his paper and go on to the kitchen to see Grandma. I’d sit at the kitchen table and while I ate, we would each tell our stories about the happenings of the day. After eating I would join Grandpa in the living room and listen to whatever serial was playing on the radio. As I recall, the radio networks began playing the 15 minute adventure serials at 4:00 P.M. and continued until 5:30 or 6:00. Some of the shows I remember were The Green Hornet, The Shadow, Roy Rogers, Sergeant Preston of the Yukon, and Jack Armstrong the All-American Boy.

Grandpa loved the noise and the action and as the sound effects grew louder and more hectic he got more and more excited. The stories were gripping and as they developed to the point where the fights started, Grandpa was all fired up and ready for action. His rocking chair would start going back and forth faster and faster and he would start waving his arms and shouting “Get the black-hearted devil” or “Set the dog on him” or whatever words were needed. A few times, Grandpa rocked faster and faster until his rocking chair tipped over backwards. The first time I saw this, I had just come through the front door and saw it happen. I yelled for Grandma and she came running in from the kitchen and saw that he wasn’t hurt. She said it had happened before and when she was by herself she just rolled Grandpa out of the chair and had him get on his hands and knees and then stand up. She said it was hard for him to do so since I was there to help, we would just lift up the back of the chair and set it upright. Well, I wasn’t so sure about that. I don’t know how big Grandpa was but I would guess that he was over 6 foot and probably weighed 240 or 250. I was a 13 year old pip-squeak that hadn’t had the final growth spurt to make him man-sized. Grandma was 77 years old and wasn’t very big. I didn’t know it at the time but Grandma, like all pioneer women, was stout as an ox. We got behind the old man and straining for all we were worth, finally got him upright. He was no worse for the wear and since he couldn’t curb his enthusiasm, I saw it happen one other time. As the Shadow says, “danger is lurking everywhere.”

Dave Thomas
April 23, 2013