CHRISTMAS 1995 This year I'm sharing two stories that two uncles on mom's side of the family told me when I was young. Both uncles were obviously good story tellers and I was at an impressionable age, because I can remember the words and the settings of these stories as though I heard them only yesterday.
The first story was told by my Uncle Tony. He was a natural leader and organized a dozen or so families who bought 10 wooded acres within easy driving distance of Chicago, where they built cabins. From the main road you drove onto a gravel loop where the cabins lined the perimeter, leaving the center as a common area with trees and a clearing. Every Saturday a bonfire was started at dusk in the common area, with a circle of logs surrounding the fire providing seats. As the sky darkened, people came from their cabins for community singing and story telling. Uncle Tony was in the army in the First World War and started the singing with one or two army marching songs. The story telling began when the group grew tired of singing. By this time, the fire had died down to a mass of brightly glowing coals, providing enough light to see the faces of the people seated around the fire but nothing further out. Uncle Tony told stories with great animation, and we kids hung on every work. I remember one story in particular.
When Uncle Tony was mustered out of the army, he and a friend decided to go to California from Chicago, traveling by Model T Ford and camping at night. The roads were mostly unpaved, there was little traffic, and the landscape was pretty barren of civilization. Few road markers and road signs existed. Uncle Tony described stopping at sunset, pitching a tent, and building a fire to cook dinner. There wasn't a single house light as far as the eye could see. He kept a rope in the Model T. "Why?" he asked us kids. He used the rope to make a circle around the tent, and because any marauding snakes would never go over a rope, Uncle Tony and his friend could sleep safely. Filling stations were far between, so he kept extra cans of gasoline on the running board. Occasionally, he used all his extra gas and worried the Ford would stop before he could get more fuel. If this happened, what would he do? He didn't have enough food to last more than a day. At one point on the trip, they picked up a hitch hiker. He proved to be a thief who crept away after they were asleep with some of their best possessions. But Uncle Tony always used his pants, with his wallet wrapped inside, as a pillow, so the thief did not get his money.
The second story also involves a Model T. In the Model T era (1909-1927) most Americans either loved or hated Fords. They loved them because Fords could travel over rougher roads than other cars (most roads, outside of those in cities, were unpaved), and they cost far less. They hated them because Fords were so lightly built they suffered more damage in collisions with heavier cars, and their controls were unlike those of any other car: no gear shift or accelerator pedal, and headlights that were only as bright as candles when the car was at idle, becoming bright only at top speed (35 mph). My Uncle Jim was a lifelong, dedicated Ford mechanic, so to him only Ford made automobiles; other car companies made junkers. He never missed an opportunity to express his feelings, even to us kids. He told this story of something that happened to him, repeatedly assuring us it was all true.
Shortly after the First World War, Uncle Jim worked as a Ford mechanic in Chicago and decided to visit his parents, who lived on a farm near Sarona, a small town in northern Wisconsin. At that time, northern Wisconsis was quite rural: unpaved, rocky roads through forest with land cleared for an occasional farm. When he was about 50 miles from his parents' farm, a front wheel turned up a large, sharp rock and it his the underside of his Model T with a loud BANG! To his anguish, he discovered that the rock had punctured the oil pan, creating a hole so large all the engine oil poured out before he could stop the leak or catch any of the escaping oil. Making the situation worse, Uncle Jim was so confident in the Ford's reliability that he didn't carry the "knuckle buster" wrench, the plier and screwdriver Ford included in a tool roll under the front seat of each new Model T. His only tool was a pocket knife. He remembered passing a farm a short distance back, so he walked to the farm house. The farmer owned only horses, so had no oil of any kind. After a few moments thought, Uncle Jim asked if they would sell him a bar of soap. The farmer's wife gave him a bar, refusing payment.
Within a half hour after returning to his car, Uncle Jim cranked up the Model T and was on his way. Three hours later he arrived at his parents' farm, where he removed the punctured oil pan and had it brazed up at the blacksmith's shop in Sarona. With the oil pan removed, he inspected the engine and declared it to be in perfect condition. How had Uncle Jim made the car drivable using only a pocket knife and a bar of soap? Let me know if you think you know the answer. Otherwise, I'll tell you in next year's letter.
Jim (aka "Fat")