Unity?

The economy began to slow in Glasgow, making it necessary to go elsewhere to find work.  In 1956 the business of the contractor I was working for faded out.  I took my little family (by now we numbered three) and our mobile home about 160 miles west to Havre, Montana.  I went to work for one of the four local electrical contractors there.

For the next thirteen years I managed to work for all four electrical contractors in Havre.  I was also hired to work for one of the electrical contractors in nearby Great Falls.  Great Falls, Montana is a mere 100 miles away.  I also worked for a contactor out of Helena who was installing wiring for Minute Man Missile silos.

I vividly remember my first day working on a missile site.  I was given a hard hat to wear (what in the world is this?).  As I climbed the ladder in the first silo I tipped my head back to look up and the hard hat fell off and landed on a guy below.  My foreman looked at the guy and said; “We’re drawing them green now.”

The foreman was a fun guy to work with.  One time we were heading back to the temporary headquarters trailer and he wanted to stop for a beer.  We went into a bar where a pretty lady and her little girl (perhaps 6 years old) were also ensconced.

All the men in the bar; construction workers, farmers, cowboys, etc, were gravitating to her.  She asked if anyone knew a man (she used a specific name) that she had danced with one time.  No one knew him.  She observed that he smelled nice, …. And that he was a sheepherder.  ….  All the men de-gravitated from her.  My foreman said; “Let’s get out of here before a fight starts.”

Arriving back at the work trailer he told all the other guys about this pretty lady that liked the smell of the sheepherder.  One of the guys jumped up and started out in a hurry.

“Where are you going.”

“I’m gonna find me some sheep (excretion) around here somewhere!”

One day the local union fined me and my employer.  I had transported company tools in my personal vehicle.  (What was that about?)  Before my hearing I hurried back to Havre and told the business agent what happened.

I told him; “Maybe I better get my Union Card.”

He asked me; “Do you have $50.00?”

I did.

For the next 20 years and a little more I was a member of the electrical union.

Wild Tools Can’t Be Broken

For a period of time my younger brother Marke worked with me.  Sometimes Marke would stumble into some serious situations.  In those years, before contacts were available to the general public, he wore very thick glasses.

One time while we were wiring a basement, I was drilling holes in the rafters overhead, using a ½ inch drill with an 18 inch wood bit.  I drilled the last hole, pulled the bit back, and turned it to the side to examine my work.

Unbeknownst to me, Marke was standing about 18 inches away from me.  That wild drill bit was still coasting and caught his glasses next to one eye and flipped them across the basement.

When I realized how close I had come to drilling out his eyeball I nearly fainted.  The bit hadn’t touched him.  He didn’t feel a thing.  The glasses were not broken.  It was a quick early lesson on Personal Protective Equipment and care while operating driven equipment.

On a different job, Marke and I had the task of wiring a house together when I received a call to go to another job.  I left him there and went to a saloon where there was some problem in need of resolution.

The saloon had an open sump in the basement.  A “plumber” needed an outlet for a sump pump he was installing.  (His name was also Adrian, but he spelled it Adrain, which I thought was appropriate for a plumber.)  The open sump had given a very “earthy” smell to the location, especially without a lid.

I quickly had an outlet ready for him and we plugged in the cord for the sump pump.  It didn’t work.  Without hesitation, and in quick succession, the plumber grabbed a screw driver – from my open tool box, plunged his hands into the open sump – up to his elbows, and adjusted something (unseen) on the sump pump.

The pump began to work.

He then grabbed a nearby gunny sack (apparently anything lying around was open game for him) and wiped off his hands and arms … and my screwdriver … and tossed the screwdriver back into my tool box.  I don’t remember what became of the gunny sack.

I then went back to the first job where Marke had been working on his own.  (There was no regulation then about leaving a Trainee without a Trainer.)  When I got there I told him what the plumber had done.  It was all humorous until he needed a screwdriver.

Marke approached my tool box and started to reach for a screwdriver.  He stood there with his hand poised and called out; “Which screwdriver did that guy use?”

Apparently it’s all fun and games until someone contaminates a screwdriver.

Wiring the Wrong House

When the REA was bringing power to the farm homes, a lot of people began doing electrical work, resulting in unusual happenings.

In one instance two houses were being built about a block apart.  One contractor had the bid on one house.  Another contractor had the bid on the other one.  The crew from the first contractor finished with their work and left.  When the crew from the second contractor arrived at their job, the reported back that the house was already wired.

The first crew had wired the wrong house.  Not to worry though, contractors in those days were not so demanding.  They got together and decided to switch jobs and do the work in the name of the other contractor.  I have seen some rough competition between contractors, but in those days it was all new and everyone got along better.

One time a contractor was working on a fine old house.  One fellow was in the basement with a drill, drilling through the floor into what they thought was a wall.  (By the way –  this was not a cordless drill.  It may not have even been a powered drill.)  When he thought he was through the floor and into the wall cavity, he began pushing the drill up and down and calling; “Can you see it?  Can you see it?”

The guy up above was watching for the bit to come through and saying; “No I can’t see it.  No I can’t see it.”  Then, off to the side, in the middle of the floor, he caught sight of an old fashioned flat iron (one used for ironing clothes – usually heated on a wood stove) jumping up and down.  Moving the flat iron exposed the moving bit from the fellow down below.  They had missed the wall by several feet.

How do you patch a hole in an old fashioned hard wood floor?

On another occasion an electrician was drilling up through the floor, again thinking he was coming into a wall.  He also missed the wall.  He did come up through the floor of the dining room.  This guy managed to drill into the leg of an old oak table.

I guess that one could be covered up by just leaving the table where it was.