Out of Gas Again

One of the contractors I worked for supplied me with a company pick-up. Yes, it was a 1945 Ford, but at the time it was only about 12 years old. Since for a time we were wiring a movie theater across the street from the shop, I would leave the pick-up parked at the shop and walk to the theater job.

At times I would get called away from the theater to do random small jobs. I would walk across the street, take the pick-up out, do the small job, return the pick-up to the shop, and walk back across the street to the theater.

There was a small gas station where the contractor had set up an account. We could fill up with gas and the bill would be sent directly to the contractor. We didn’t have to worry about it. Just keeping the rigs filled was all he asked. I would leave the shop, pass the station on my way to whatever small job I was going to – with my mind on the job I was headed for.

I would forget to gas up.

After completing the short call, I would return the pick-up (past the gas station) to the shop and hurry back to the theater. This went on for a couple of days with the gas gauge getting lower and lower.

One day I was working in the theater when my boss came over and asked to use my pick-up as his was being repaired.

I said, “Sure, it’s your pick-up. The keys are hanging in the office.”

When I went in that night he took me to task. He said, “I pay for the gas. I pay for the time it takes to put gas in the pick-up. Why can’t you keep the pick-up filled with gas?”

I apologized and told him I had just forgotten. I asked if he had to walk far. He said, “No, I was just in front of the station when it ran out and I coasted up to the pump. I want you to keep this thing filled with gas!”

A couple of weeks went by, and it happened again. I was at the theater, and he needed my pick-up. I forgot to tell him it was low on gas. That night when I went in, he never said a word. I noticed the next morning the pick-up was full of gas.

A couple of weeks went by and I noticed it was low on gas. This time I didn’t forget. As he filled the tank the attendant told me that my boss was “rather perturbed” with me because I ran my tank too low.

I said, “He told me he was just in front of the station when he ran out and he coasted in.”

The attendant said, “That was the time before. This last time he was clear across town.”

I noticed that my boss never asked to use my pick-up again. I think he gave up on me.

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.