- Jan 2, 2008
- 37
- 10
And so it was that we were sitting there on North Shore Rd. with an ancient, broken Model T in the middle of the Southbound lane with the motor sorta sitting on the asphalt surface of the road. Fortunately, at that time there weren't many cars whizzing by as you'd have today and thinks were pretty sedate. The Sun was still warm, the soda (Nehi Orange I seem to remember) was still cold, the apple was still crisp and tart, so I did what any helpful child would do when an adult has a situation - I ate my apple and drank my soda.
My sister Valerie did what she did best, being older and smarter than I - she cried.
Grandpa just stood there for a few minutes looking at the engine lying on the roadbed like "Frankenstein" had suddenly developed a huge, obscene mechanical hernia and smoked a Lucky Strike. After I finished my apple, being the curious young twit that I was, even then, I took a closer look at the engine and found that while the motor was indeed lying smack in the middle of the road bed Henry Ford had apparently built these automobiles to survive about anything - The transmission and drive shaft were still attached and for all intents and purposes, unscathed. I mentioned earlier that the Model T had a number of curious design features - As it turns out, one of these features was the way the motor mounted into the auto - In a modern auto the engine sits on a set of stiff rubber and steel motor mounts which usually bolt to the frame of the automobile. In a Model T the engine hung suspended from steel and rubber straps, much like a muffler hangs beneath the car. I guess the theory was that this arrangement would deaden vibration from the motor. When these strap mounts aged and finally failed, the motor just fell out on the road with little or no warning, by and by, winding up here.
As I said Grandpa Percy didn't seem unduly perturbed - He finished his Lucky Strike and ground the butt into the pavement with the toe of his well-worn work shoe. Then he helped the still blubbering Valerie out of the back seat and gave her a hug and bade her go rest underneath this big Elm tree which sat with it's neighbors the Cedars and Jack Pines at the side of the road. He went to the trunk of the T and pulled out, among other things, 2 red flags on coat hanger wire which he stuck in the soft asphalt in front of and in back of the disable beast, a rusty, but serviceable carpenter's saw, One of these multipurpose tools for fence building which incorporated a wire cutter, a staple puller and a hammer, a well used scissor jack with its crank and a long crowbar. Seeing this I gathered that this might not have been the first time this had happened to Percy - It was just a little too pat .....
Grandpa walked to the side of the road where an old fence ran to the limits of our sight, silently guarding the summer wheat within and with the aid of the fencing gizmo and the crowbar liberated a fence post from it's entwining wire. He was careful to take the crowbar and pull the slack out of the fence wire and re-staple it to the nearest post. After all, borrowing a fence post was one thing, leaving a big loose hole in the fence was another - and he was, when all was said and done, a fellow farmer.
He eyeballed the width of the space between the frame rails in the engine compartment and sawed the fence post off with his old saw, and when that was done he smoked another Lucky.....When he was finished he wormed the long crowbar through a chink in the front sheet metal and got it underneath the front of the motor, and with a heave he levered the motor up off the ground a few inches. Then he sat astride the wrecking bar and told me to slide the scissor jack under the oil pan of the motor, which I did.
Grandpa then raised the motor up until it was about at the height it was before the fertilizer hit the windmill - Then he knelt down in front and eyeballed the alignment front to rear, looked at the height again and made a minute adjustment, and when he was satisfied he took the fence post he had shortened and got underneath the car and sort of wormed it into place so it was resting between the two frame rails - the engine was up off the fence post a little so Grandpa took the fencing tool and a big screwdriver and split some thin sections off the remaining piece of the fence post to use as shims.
When he finally had the shims in place and was satisfied he pulled a coil of bailing wire out of the trunk ( Just happened to have some) and cocooned the motor to the fence post and shims as securely as he could, tightening the bond with the fencing tool occasionally.
Seeming satisfied with this phase of the repair he turned his attention to the last injury Frankenstein had sustained - When the motor went South the rotating fan blade tore a fairly good size gash in the back of the radiator and all the time he was jacking and wiring the radiator was hissing and leaking. Well, he thought about it for a while then asked my sister
"Sue, (Her name was Valerie Susan) you have any gum in there?"
Grandpa knew full well that she was a Bazooka bubblegum addict and usually looked like a major league pitcher with a plug in her mouth - Reluctantly she surrendered her wad and Grandpa rummaged around in the trunk and found an old inner tube from which he cut a strip about the size of the rip in the radiator core. - He plastered that rubber patch to the radiator with the bubble gum, working the gum around the edges into the fins of the core - Then he took the gallon pickle jar of Lemonade Grandma Evelyn had packed us for lunch and filled the radiator with the lemony liquid.
Tools were collected and stowed in the trunk, Val restored to her position of honor in the back seat - Grandpa behind the wheel - and me...I had another Winesap. Grandpa pushed the starter button down into the floor and the old engine rolled over and caught and sat there chugging and wheezing just like it had before the fall. Percy gave a little sigh and turned to me and said
" See Robbie - Tougher than a damn cat - couldn't kill em' if you were tryinâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji] to..."
He ground the gears and let out the clutch and we were on our way, and presently arrived at Cuba Lake Pavilion.
continued in the conclusion
My sister Valerie did what she did best, being older and smarter than I - she cried.
Grandpa just stood there for a few minutes looking at the engine lying on the roadbed like "Frankenstein" had suddenly developed a huge, obscene mechanical hernia and smoked a Lucky Strike. After I finished my apple, being the curious young twit that I was, even then, I took a closer look at the engine and found that while the motor was indeed lying smack in the middle of the road bed Henry Ford had apparently built these automobiles to survive about anything - The transmission and drive shaft were still attached and for all intents and purposes, unscathed. I mentioned earlier that the Model T had a number of curious design features - As it turns out, one of these features was the way the motor mounted into the auto - In a modern auto the engine sits on a set of stiff rubber and steel motor mounts which usually bolt to the frame of the automobile. In a Model T the engine hung suspended from steel and rubber straps, much like a muffler hangs beneath the car. I guess the theory was that this arrangement would deaden vibration from the motor. When these strap mounts aged and finally failed, the motor just fell out on the road with little or no warning, by and by, winding up here.
As I said Grandpa Percy didn't seem unduly perturbed - He finished his Lucky Strike and ground the butt into the pavement with the toe of his well-worn work shoe. Then he helped the still blubbering Valerie out of the back seat and gave her a hug and bade her go rest underneath this big Elm tree which sat with it's neighbors the Cedars and Jack Pines at the side of the road. He went to the trunk of the T and pulled out, among other things, 2 red flags on coat hanger wire which he stuck in the soft asphalt in front of and in back of the disable beast, a rusty, but serviceable carpenter's saw, One of these multipurpose tools for fence building which incorporated a wire cutter, a staple puller and a hammer, a well used scissor jack with its crank and a long crowbar. Seeing this I gathered that this might not have been the first time this had happened to Percy - It was just a little too pat .....
Grandpa walked to the side of the road where an old fence ran to the limits of our sight, silently guarding the summer wheat within and with the aid of the fencing gizmo and the crowbar liberated a fence post from it's entwining wire. He was careful to take the crowbar and pull the slack out of the fence wire and re-staple it to the nearest post. After all, borrowing a fence post was one thing, leaving a big loose hole in the fence was another - and he was, when all was said and done, a fellow farmer.
He eyeballed the width of the space between the frame rails in the engine compartment and sawed the fence post off with his old saw, and when that was done he smoked another Lucky.....When he was finished he wormed the long crowbar through a chink in the front sheet metal and got it underneath the front of the motor, and with a heave he levered the motor up off the ground a few inches. Then he sat astride the wrecking bar and told me to slide the scissor jack under the oil pan of the motor, which I did.
Grandpa then raised the motor up until it was about at the height it was before the fertilizer hit the windmill - Then he knelt down in front and eyeballed the alignment front to rear, looked at the height again and made a minute adjustment, and when he was satisfied he took the fence post he had shortened and got underneath the car and sort of wormed it into place so it was resting between the two frame rails - the engine was up off the fence post a little so Grandpa took the fencing tool and a big screwdriver and split some thin sections off the remaining piece of the fence post to use as shims.
When he finally had the shims in place and was satisfied he pulled a coil of bailing wire out of the trunk ( Just happened to have some) and cocooned the motor to the fence post and shims as securely as he could, tightening the bond with the fencing tool occasionally.
Seeming satisfied with this phase of the repair he turned his attention to the last injury Frankenstein had sustained - When the motor went South the rotating fan blade tore a fairly good size gash in the back of the radiator and all the time he was jacking and wiring the radiator was hissing and leaking. Well, he thought about it for a while then asked my sister
"Sue, (Her name was Valerie Susan) you have any gum in there?"
Grandpa knew full well that she was a Bazooka bubblegum addict and usually looked like a major league pitcher with a plug in her mouth - Reluctantly she surrendered her wad and Grandpa rummaged around in the trunk and found an old inner tube from which he cut a strip about the size of the rip in the radiator core. - He plastered that rubber patch to the radiator with the bubble gum, working the gum around the edges into the fins of the core - Then he took the gallon pickle jar of Lemonade Grandma Evelyn had packed us for lunch and filled the radiator with the lemony liquid.
Tools were collected and stowed in the trunk, Val restored to her position of honor in the back seat - Grandpa behind the wheel - and me...I had another Winesap. Grandpa pushed the starter button down into the floor and the old engine rolled over and caught and sat there chugging and wheezing just like it had before the fall. Percy gave a little sigh and turned to me and said
" See Robbie - Tougher than a damn cat - couldn't kill em' if you were tryinâ€[emoji]8482[/emoji] to..."
He ground the gears and let out the clutch and we were on our way, and presently arrived at Cuba Lake Pavilion.
continued in the conclusion
