Adrian’s Blog

Do Not Hit A Police Car

It was wintertime and snowing. The streets were icy. In Glasgow, the railroad tracks are elevated above one of the North/South streets. They are elevated not because the railroad tracks go up, but because the street is constructed to go down and under the tracks. The decline is short and somewhat steep with both cross streets, on each side of the underpass, very close to the emerging hill.

I was hurrying back to the shop and climbing up the hill from under the railroad bridge. Since the hill was steep and the street lacking full traction, this involved more than a usual use of speed. A farmer on the cross street ahead of me did not stop at his stop sign and instead headed for a collision with my vehicle. Trying to take evasive action, I swerved as far to the right as I could to miss him and his oncoming vehicle. I had only partial success.

I hadn’t quite made it through the intersection when his left side head light and my gas filler spout met, sharply introduced themselves, and continued on their respective ways. The headlight was broken, and the filler spout cap came off. The impact slid the rear of my company vehicle to the right and the front of my vehicle headed at an angle to the left.

At this point, it is important to know that ahead of me, on the left, observing the whole proceedings was a police officer waiting in his car. Due to extraordinary skill on my part, I was able to miss the police vehicle and come to a stop on the right side of the street. I stepped out of the cab of the vehicle to see fire spouting out of the gas filler pipe.

Thinking quickly, I grabbed my work cap off of my head and stuffed it into the filler spout, snuffing out the fire. I walked back to assure that the people in the other vehicle were O.K. The police officer was there already, speaking with the farmer. He decided that the crux of the problem was not one vehicle running a stop sign, but that I had been driving too fast. He said I nearly hit his police car. Then he added, “You never hit a police car.”

I was fined $5.00. O.K. $5.00 doesn’t sound like a lot, but it was in the early 1950s. I grudgingly paid for it. When I got home, my wife asked me why I was late. I told her what had happened. She was used to my tall tales and didn’t believe me at first, at least until I had to pay the fine.

Watch Out For Hatchet Jobs

In Glasgow, there was an elderly couple that owned a Grocery Store/Residence in town and a residence south of town. The residence south of town was a rental. One day I was called to go out to the rental south of town for a remodel job.

Part of the building had been taken down and was being rebuilt. The owner was a fellow that used his favorite tool, a small hatchet, to do all his work; Sawing, nailing, measuring, prying, nail pulling, everything he could possibly do with his little all-purpose tool. When he took down the portion of the building he was remodeling, he had cut the power with his tool. Literally.

I asked if it had sparked when he chopped the wires off. He replied, “No. But the fuses all blew.” Consequently, the wires were all too short to tie onto, and it took quite a bit of work to get new wires from the fuse box and tie them into all the chopped wiring.

Later, the company was called to go to the Grocery Store in town. It too was being remodeled. The boss tasked me to do the wiring at the Store. Remembering the power cut off in the rental property, I told the boss that I better get there early before he started up his hatchet.

I spent the day in the attic, in the basement, in the living quarters, and in the store. Early the next morning the boss called me at home. He asked me if I felt alright. I told him I felt fine and asked him why he was curious.

He told me that the early morning hours had brought the ambulances to the store/residence and the elderly couple had been taken to the hospital. There was a gas leak in the building and the couple had been overcome by fumes.

All that day I felt a little wired, er, weird. I didn’t know if I was really alive, or if I had just been awakened too early.

I never found out if the couple lived or died. I don’t know if those buildings are still standing.

Ever since I have thought to myself, “Did I do something wrong, or was this just another hatchet job?”

I learned to watch out for those customers.

Ewald and I kept working together for about a year. Then North Dakota passed a law that all electricians had to be licensed. Since neither of us were licensed that ended our endeavor. While Ewald went to southern North Dakota and became manager of a local R.E.A. district, I drifted around the country for some time, mostly working as itinerant farm help.

In 1951 I got married and needed steady employment. I went to work for an electrical contractor in Glasgow, Montana. The criteria for employment were “Have you done electrical work before?”  “Yes.”  “O.K. You’re hired.”

The first thing the contractor told me was to “get 100 feet of ½ inch conduit (EMT) and 50 feet of ¾” conduit.” I went across the street to the warehouse. I had never seen conduit before. I took out my ruler and measured across the diameter of the conduit. The sticks in one stack measured slightly less than 1 inch across the opening. The sticks in the other stack (there were only two sizes) measured slightly less than ¾.” I confidently went back to the boss and told him, “I found 100 feet of ½ inch, but only 30 feet of ¾ inch.”

He said, “O.K., put them in the pickup and follow me.”

So, I was introduced to commercial wiring.

I worked for four years in Glasgow, gaining experience in residential, commercial, and industrial wiring methods. One time I was sent to a small shack on the north side of town. The power company had ordered the homeowner to have his house rewired or they would shut off his power.

From the meter to the house there were two individual #12 wires poked though a knot hole to the first light. There was no dis-connecting means. I put on a new service and rewired the entire building. All the while the homeowner (a rather large, robust man – about two sheets to the wind) was loudly complaining it cost too much, and he could do his own work just fine. When I turned the power on, he stopped in his tracks in the middle of the room and said: “Hey, the lights are brighter now.”

I learned a good lesson about resistance.

During this time, an official from the State of Montana came around and wanted us to register as trainees. After four years I received my license as a journeyman and master electrician. I was now an official “Electrician.”