Wild Tools Can’t Be Broken

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.