It's Been A While.....

 .....a good long while since I felt like writing. My health seemed to be going south really fast and along with the health issues came a deep, deep depression. I felt justified with the depression though because doggone it, I couldn't do anything I loved to do like mowing, raking leaves, cleaning out the gutters....you know, the stuff we all love to whittle away our hours doing. I couldn't even walk in my neighborhood. I tried, I really did but I couldn't make it happen. My old pal Charley, from around the corner, tried to help me go for walks but I kept falling down and it got to where he couldn't help me up anymore. On my last attempt, we were less than a half block from the house when I lost my balance and fell. The dizziness was so bad I couldn't help Charley as he tried to help me up. Finally we were both worn out. It was a sad sight seeing two old men sitting on the curb wondering what we could do. A teenage boy on a bike road by eventually and asked if we needed help. He got us both upright and standing and we slowly made our way home. Charley hasn't offered to walk with me since even though on my own now I can get all the way around the block. I'm so proud of myself. 

I put both my walkers up in the attic this past week. That's something else I'm proud of....putting those things away, out of sight, AND climbing the attic stairs to put them there! I think the doc has finally gotten the adjustment right on my shunt and so far no more hematomas have occurred. I'm beginning to feel like my old, lovable self again. I plan on taking on the yard work again this spring even though Debbie and the boys think differently. I am not too old to take care of my own yard! Period!

My memory is slowly returning and it's causing me to have some sleepless nights. I keep having recurring thoughts of the past which I think, "I should write that down!" Usually by the time I get up and find pad and pencil the memory has left me but some are staying around. I hope to share them with you if you're still interested in reading them. The following happened right here in good old downtown Hurst, Texas, when I was about thirteen. I had no use for girls but my mind was beginning to think they weren't as disgusting as I had earlier imagined. It was a difficult time and I wouldn't want to relive it, but back then it was all new and exciting. Those girls out there scared me half to death but I couldn't stop thinking about them.

Our junior high youth group from church had a Christmas party and I was talked into going by my friend, Harry. Harry had a way of getting us both into trouble so I went to the party with him warily. Before the party broke up one of the grownups commented that none of us guys were getting anywhere near the mistletoe. We all nodded, shook our shoulders, uttered "Uh" or "No way". We were pretty cool. Finally someone gave me a shove and there I was right under the mistletoe with everyone laughing and giving me a hard time. Before I could get out from under it a beautiful little lady named Peggy grabbed me and planted a big kiss right on my lips. It was my very first kiss. I was stunned. I got so flustered. I could feel my face turn bright red and the heat went all the way to my toenails. All the noise around me became a garbled echo in my head. Harry had to lead me over to the couch and set me down. That's all I remember about the party until it was time to go home. Harry's parents came to pick us up and we wandered out to the car along with others who were leaving. Peggy walked up to the car and asked Harry's parents if they would mind taking her home since it was on the way. Before we loaded up she grabbed me and kissed me again! I was in love!!! That ride home could have lasted forever.

Peggy and I both went to Hurst Jr. High so aside from seeing her at church I saw her throughout the day at school. I followed her around like a little puppy dog without having a clue how I was supposed to act. She was so cotton picking cute and she knew how to flirt. She strung me along at school and flirted with me at church. She even winked at me when I tried to help with communion one Sunday. I nearly dropped my trays. I was one wasted youth all during this time because I had never had anyone show me any interest, much less a good looking girl like Peggy. I sure hope everyone gets to experience what I did back in the early sixties with a beautiful girl picking me out from the herd of clueless guys to charm for a few weeks. 

Our courtship was short-lived of course. I had no idea how to act around a girl so I stumbled through the relationship on a daily basis. Eventually she got tired of me. I had no money, no imagination, and no way to get around aside from my bike or Harry's parents. Our love life consisted of two kisses, hand holding, day dreaming, and one date courtesy of again, Harry's parents. They were good people! I don't know how they wound up with Harry. That one date was to an old Mexican food place close by. I had never been to a Mexican food place before and had no idea what to order, what to do, or how to impress my date. It turned out I didn't have enough money to pay the bill so both Peggy and Harry's parents helped me out. It was a disaster. She lost interest in me shortly after that and I can't blame her at all. I still had a lot of growing up to do. Thanks for the memories Peggy. Wherever you are I hope your life has been wonderful!

Election Day...

 Here it is....the much anticipated "mid-term elections". I hope everyone reading this has voted, or will vote before the day is done. Debbie and I cast our ballots on the first day of early voting. That isn't a real screamer of a headline normally. We always vote but this election is so critical to our nation at this time. Our once great nation has fallen victim to special interest demands and evil schemes. I am not political. I have voted on both sides of the Parties in the past so I'm not pushing any specific agenda. However, if my simple little brain, housing a defunct computer chip shunt, can see what's happening in this country I'm sure it is, and has been obvious to all you smart people out there. 

I don't care how you vote. It's none of my business but if you don't care how things go and don't bother to vote, I will assume you have no children or grandchildren to worry about. Things appear to be swirling swiftly down the proverbial toilet bowl and I'm worried about the world we are leaving behind. Ours has not been a stellar generation and this election is one of the last in which we can feel that we really contributed to the future. Most of our heroes are gone now and we are the old people who should be spilling out vast wisdom to the younger generations. Sadly, we haven't shown much wisdom and the younger generations aren't listening anyway. There is no one to blame but the parents who raised these youngsters. That be us.

I tried and tried to write something humorous today but I just don't have it in me. We need to take the time to know the candidates and look beyond the rhetorical words to see who they really are. We need honest, wise, brave leaders. Party affiliations aside, we don't have that in Congress. My prayer is for that to change in Washington. 

Sorry for the seriousness. Like I said, I really tried to be humorous. Maybe tomorrow....

So That's Where You've Been...

Okay, I told Debbie I was posting a story today even if the creek does rise...which it won't at this time of year. I've had my coffee, read my Bible, pleaded with the Lord to take control of this mess, brushed my teeth, and found some soothing music to enjoy. All set....here goes..

My last post was in February, and I apologize for this, but it isn't my fault. I have a strict policy of never writing while I'm depressed. Those who've known me long and well understand this and also recognize how long a period of time can pass before the darkness goes away. Depression hasn't been my entire problem this time though. In April I decided to fall in my garage while sweeping sawdust. I hit my forehead on the corner of my work table and knocked myself out. I woke up after fifteen minutes (a fact relayed to me later) on my belly with my face pressed onto cold concrete. My first thought was, "Why in the world did I decide to take a nap on the garage floor?" I tried to get up but couldn't lift my head off the floor. I yelled for Debbie. She didn't hear me. I yelled "Help" and nothing. I yelled "Free chocolate" and no one came. I finally managed to reach my phone and called Deb. She came running and immediately called Cody, our neighbors Charley and Susan, 9-1-1, and the Salvation Army. All but those rascals at the Salvation Army came running. They told Debbie she would have to put me on the front porch and wait until one of their drivers was in the area.

I was in a bad way, enough so that I didn't argue when the paramedics insisted on carting me to the ER. In fact, I don't remember anything about the ambulance ride or my introduction to the ER staff. I also don't remember anything before hitting my head....it's a complete blank. I could have been pushed but a poltergeist would have had to do the pushing. I don't really think that happened. I just didn't know at the time why I fell. Of course I now know my balance issue and other problems weren't just my imagination. I spent three days in the hospital nursing a severe concussion, huge knot on my forehead, two black eyes, and a nice headache.

Well, that was supposed to be the whole story before I got started on my slap your knee funny story I was about to tell, but my sad tale didn't end there. I had to see a neurosurgeon who diagnosed me with Normal Pressure Hydrocephalus, or NPH. I know! I never heard of it either! And of course the doc, my wife, and both sons took this as serious information and insisted on more tests, more CT scans, more MRI's and more time in the hospital. It's been a tough six months since then, including enough CT's to cook bacon, hospital time, and brain surgery. Supposedly my problem was fixed when a hole was drilled into my brain and a shunt (formerly known as 'foreign object') was installed. It did work though. I didn't realize how bad I had gotten until it was fixed. I felt 25 years younger! Good old neurosurgeons! Can't beat 'em....but, and this is a big but...

...the shunt was set too high for removing the excess spinal fluid in my brain. After a few weeks of outstanding good health I went for a followup CT scan. That same day I got a call from the surgeon's PA asking how I was feeling...any dizziness....any headaches....numbness?? Nope, I felt great. The PA then said this was quite surprising. I needed to have someone drive me to the hospital immediately. Reservations had already been made and they were expecting me with needles, tubes, uncomfortable bed, and all the other stuff associated with hospital time. It turns out the shunt was removing the spinal fluid so fast two voids had been created in my brain. One 'ventricle' had shrunk and one had completely collapsed causing the brain to pull away from whatever the little protective sac around the brain is called. I was bleeding internally. Oh my goodness. That was a bit unsettling. Over the next several weeks I was placed on limited activities, which meant doing absolutely nothing but sitting. I had several more scans while adjustments were made unsuccessfully. I was still bleeding. Finally, they had to turn the shunt off. Actually, a shunt can't be turned off. The drain tube has to be crimped to block any more drainage. This involved an incision in my neck which is still hurting as I write.

After the shunt was turned off I slowly drifted back to my old self with my balance problem, dragging my left foot causing a shuffle no dance song will ever be written for, and a speech problem from vocal chords taking an extended medical leave. 

And this is where I've stayed for weeks. Debbie deserves a medal for all her help and support. She makes sure I try to stay as active as an immovable object can stay. She takes me to church as long as I stay close to her. She even takes me out to eat occasionally because my appetite is still perfectly healthy. Sadly, I can't remember the funny story I was going to tell. Sorry about that. It's completely gone from my defective brain. Memory loss is another fun symptom of NPH. I had forgotten to mention that earlier.

Oddly, I'm not depressed over this situation I find myself in. I'm perfectly content sitting and watching the  world go by. I know I will eventually be fixed again and life will go on. I still get to enjoy my family, especially those not so little grandkids. I enjoy reading and watching old movies. I just can't seem to remember too much about my earlier years right now. If I can't get those memories back I will get depressed eventually...but not today. Today all is good. I'm going to shuffle on in to the den, hug my wife, eat some lunch, and ...take a nap. I wasn't going to include the nap thing but Debbie will probably read this. Honesty is the best approach. Love to all!!

Mike Wouldn't Lie...

 I spent the first five years of my life living in River Oaks. If you don't know, River Oaks is next door neighbors with what used to be Carswell Air Force Base. Carswell AFB was next door neighbors to what was then called Convair, also known as the bomber factory. Carswell and Convair got along so well as neigbbors they shared landing strips. Bombers would take off for tests of the bomber itself for Convair and Carswell would have bombers take off to test the flight crews. They probably had cookouts too but we never got invited to them. 

I loved hearing and watching all the big planes, and some fighter jets, taking off every day and into the night. The spookiest sound from those big bruisers was the B36. The B36 had a mournful sound that vibrated all the way to the soul. The windows would rattle, the floors would shake, and some small children would scream in terror.....okay, I only screamed once when one went over our house late at night. I would have stayed scared had my dad not explained that it was just the sound of freedom. After that I loved to see and hear them. I guess if there is ever a trivia test in heaven and the question of "What was your favorite airplane during your childhood?", I will readily answer, "The B36".

My dad and my uncle OC (his parents were tired of naming children I guess) both worked at Convair. OC was my cousin, Mike's, dad. Mike was my best friend. I've talked about him before. Go back and read earlier stories. Mike knew a lot more about Convair than I did. OC was more involved in the day to day of the place and my dad was just learning how to be an electrician and electrical installer on the bombers. We were both proud of our dads. OC had several years more seniority than my dad because my dad had to go off and fight Koreans shortly after returning from fighting the Japanese. My dad didn't have anything against the people of Asia. He just made the mistake of staying in the Army Reserve after the war was over and uncle OC didn't. He was finally able to settle down to a factory job and ply his electrical skills...which were limited until he was trained.

Mike and I talked about bombers, fighters, and the mighty men who flew them all the time. Mike wound up working for Convair, aka General Dynamics, aka Lockheed his entire career. He was smarter than me then and still is. He got busy getting two degrees, one in math and the second in engineering. I got busy going to junior college and dating every pretty girl I came in contact with. I came out of it with an associate degree in mid-management, experience as an excellent Spades player, and wonderful memories. I didn't get busy with education until later in life. I still got my bachelor's degree in business early enough to make good money most of my career but that late start made a lot of difference in life.

I got off track...I do that occasionally. I think its due to....wait a minute, I'm getting off track again. As I said earlier Mike and I talked about our dads' jobs real often. Sometimes though we discussed other things...things like, how to build a better stink bomb by using doodle bugs as part of the recipe, who was the best TV cowboy, or who got more spankings by our dads the previous week. My dad was tough but I think Mike won that contest. I did complain that I couldn't figure out how my dad knew everything I did while he was at work. He got onto me all the time about climbing on the mailbox post. How did he know??!! Once while he was replacing another broken post I watched closely to see if he had installed some kind of device to monitor my actions. I never found a thing the next time I climbed up there to get the mail. I mentioned this to Mike once when we were comparing notes. He told he knew how our dad's knew everything because his dad had told him. It was evidently a common fact that Convair had a giant telescope where dads could spy on their little miscreants. Poor old uncle OC must have spent most of his workday on that telescope because he had three little boys and my dad just had two. I have to say two of OC's boys made Mike, my brother Glenn, and me look like saints most of the time but we still got our share of spankings. 

Once when I was spending the night with Mike we were playing on his swing set. I was trying for a new height record on the swing and didn't notice Mike had vanished. I realized it finally and started looking for him. Then I heard a whisper from under some bushes, "If you don't want to watch me get a whupping you better get under here with me. Daddy's home!" I don't have any idea what Mike had done that day but he did indeed get that whupping. I was scared til bedtime uncle OC was going to get me next.

I miss those simple days.

Just One Cigarette Butt....just one...

Simplicity.....ah, simplicity. Life is only complicated if you choose to make it that way. I tell everyone who asks that I live a simple life because I choose to.....little does anyone know it's also because that's all I can do. My life has always been like a stream running down from the hills. There is no map for where the water should go. It just follows the path of least resistance. I'm not necessarily proud of that fact but then, I have relatively few regrets.

I do regret hating math so much. I regret hating math so much that while sitting with my college adviser I told him I would take any degree that didn't require college algebra. He told me there were no degree plans that didn't include college algebra. At this point I should have given it all up but that was before I learned the art of following the path of least resistance. I went to college for three years, avoiding college algebra the whole time, until there were no other classes I could take without the requisite college algebra. My education kind of stalled out at this point and after searching for other degree plans I dropped out for a while....a long while. I wasn't too upset about this because every full time job I had required a college degree and I HAHA, did not have one, snigger snigger. 

When I watched Jamie, my oldest son, walk the stage at Texas A&M to receive his degree in accounting, I became embarrassed with myself. I resolved then to get back in school and graduate before Cody, my youngest, walked across that same stage. I achieved that goal exactly one semester before Cody graduated. Had I not approached that stinking algebra requirement with a determined vengeance I wouldn't have made it. I started back to school with the first algebra required course in my old degree plan. I aced it with an A in the class. I did this because the first night of class (which was a night class made up of old losers like me) the prof asked how many were in the class at this point of life because of algebra. Every student raised his hand. (It is proper to say 'his' because the class was all men. According to an expert, my older sister, women just naturally understood algebra.) I'm sorry for wandering so much. I didn't get enough sleep last night. Anyway, on the first night of that class, the prof told us we wouldn't go any further until all of us understood....and appreciated algebra. It worked! I walked away from that first class wondering why it took so long to get it, especially since I used algebra every day in my work.

Well, that was a bit of a detour but wasn't it fun? I thought it was. The story is supposed to be about simplicity. I am a bit of an expert on simplicity. I've never tried to keep up with the Joneses...or the Smiths or anyone else. If my needs were met and my family safe, I was content. Years ago Debbie commented that she wished I wasn't so cotton-picking content. After a train wreck of a year in 1993, I decided Debbie was right. I needed to be more aggressive about our future so I got busy and advanced up the corporate ladder until I was one step above my ability to perform. There I stayed until I retired....at which time I resumed my quest for simplicity.

Examples of simplicity for me include sweeping the driveway and curb after mowing because it makes me feel good. My Dad was a stickler for neatness and his home and yard always resembled a military base. I liked that look and have tried to keep it up in my own home and yard. I don't like the noise of a leaf blower and the simple act of sweeping allows me to pursue my favorite pastime, day dreaming.

Another example of simplicity is choosing where to go on vacation. After year's of hit and miss vacation ideas I decided that sitting on my patio in a rocking chair and admiring Debbie's Texas garden was better than packing up to go anywhere. I have no travel in my bucket list....in fact, I really don't have a bucket list. Why fill up a bucket with things that will cause stress until they're achieved?

Oh, and here's the thought that caused me to begin this story. When we first moved into our house here in north Hurst, I was out sweeping my curb after mowing. I swept up a cigarette butt right at the start of my driveway. It irritated me at first but then there was another one the next week...just one little cigarette butt. This has continued for as long as I've been sweeping here at Highland Crest Drive. One little cigarette butt every time I sweep. My boys, in an attempt to keep me alive longer now forbid me from working in my yard. I wondered one day if the lawn crew had ever noticed that cigarette butt. I walked out to the end of my driveway the day the crew was supposed to arrive and there it was....one simple little cigarette butt. The scenarios in my daydream movies conjure up all kinds of ideas about who puts it there, why my driveway...and on and on. You see, if I didn't live a simple life I wouldn't have time to think about it. I probably would have never noticed it after the first time I saw it but now, every time I go to the mailbox or walk down the street to see my old friends Charley and Don, I check on that cigarette butt. It's always there. I should write a book.....

Imagination and Rodeo Clowns

What started out to be a warm Sunday morning has now turned into a cold, gray, and windy Sunday afternoon. Debbie and I came home after church and brunch today with happy thoughts of her working flower beds and me working in my wood shop. Of course we had to take care of a traditional Sunday activity we like to call "nap time" first. Since Debbie gave up this practice several years ago it's up to me to keep the tradition alive. I never sleep more than 45 minutes during my nap. I don't know why. Even if I have nothing at all planned for the day I can't seem to stay asleep for more than 45 minutes. As I wandered back into our den after my nap I found Debbie stretched out on the sofa with the remote in her hand. I was about to ask why she wasn't outside when I glanced out to see the change in weather. Not wanting to get caught up with a movie I went on outside.

It wasn't all that cold in my shop but it was getting that way quick. I decided I would go shopping instead. It's getting dangerously close to Christmas and I haven't bought a thing yet. I went out to my truck, climbed in and decided it was too windy to go shopping. I ran a couple of errands instead then came on back home. As I got out of my truck I noticed the really sweet lady across the street trying to rake leaves. Afraid she had gone bonkers I figured I better go over to check on her. The leaves were blowing off the trees and the roof faster than she could keep up. My carefully worded inquiry into this craziness was explained as she told about her little girl wishing for a big pile of leaves to play in as she was taken in for a nap earlier. The little girl is an amateur napper and was still asleep. Her mother was out in the cold wind trying to make her little girl's wish come true. That was so sweet I had tears in my eyes. No, I'm not a sentimental sissy. I just got dust in my eyes from the wind...yeah, that's what it was. I would have helped her rake up a big pile of leaves but I didn't want to take away from her special time....so I went back home wishing I had already stocked up on fire wood. Today would have been a good day for a nice fire in the fireplace.

I was reminded of a similar cold, gray, and windy day sixty plus years ago when my brother Glenn and I had watched the televised rodeo at the Fort Worth Fat Stock Show. We really enjoyed the bull riding because those bulls could launch an unsuspecting cowboy pretty far into the air. There were clowns who would distract the bull while the cowboy shook off the cobwebs and staggered out of the rink. We loved those clowns. We loved them so much that after the rodeo was over we went outside and played "rodeo clown". We liked to name our made up games. In our minds we were two sage rodeo clowns who knew how to really work a bull. We would squat, then jump up and run while dodging the imaginary bull. We would grab its horns and jump up over the bull. If we got in a bind we would run and dive headfirst into the barrel. The bull would ram the barrel of course and we would get thrown out and land on the cold ground. I can't remember having so much fun. We played all afternoon and came inside just before our Dad got home from work. We weren't supposed to play in the front yard. We had a big back yard for playing but had we played back there no one would have been able to watch our brave but humorous antics. We walked inside and found our older sister Cindy sitting on the sofa and looking out the big picture window. She asked us, "What exactly were you two morons doing out there?" We couldn't believe she couldn't see we were rodeo cowboys risking our lives to keep the bull riders safe. She said we looked silly at best and insane at the least. She was so embarrassed for us. I guess she didn't see the charging bulls like we did. Girls don't have any imagination at all. I feel sorry for them.

Cold, gray, and windy afternoons make me think back on being a kid and what all we did to keep from being bored on those days. On days like this I am embarrassed a lot.

Just Brakes....and headlight rims

 When I turned sixteen my dad bought what I considered to be my car although it was bought for the whole family to share. Aside from my dad, my older sister Cindy was the only licensed driver in the family. The car was a three speed transmission with overdrive...on the floor. My sister ruined two really good clutches trying to learn how to drive it. When my dad found out she had been driving around town in third gear he banned her from driving it. She wasn't disappointed. He did however, buy her a car of her own and it had an automatic tranny. It also had a 348cu in. engine with a 4 barrel carburetor. She couldn't afford to drive it much but at least the family second car was safe. Her's was a 1958 Chevy Impala painted kind of brown, almost orange....you know the color if you remember Chevy's from the 50's. I don't mind admitting I was a bit irritated that "my" car was a nearly worn out 1953 Studebaker Champion painted baby blue.....it had a straight six in it with a maximum speed of about 45mph. It also had 4 wheels on it but that is where the comparison ended. I digress....

This short story is about maintaining old cars. At the tender age of sixteen I had helped my dad rebuild the motor of an old Chevy pickup for my Grandpa, helped pull the clutch out of a Studebaker (see above), not once but twice, and helped rebuild the transmission of the same Studebaker. I had never done anything on my own. My Dad, who was a mechanical genius, had supervised everything I had done on a car. After the arrival of the '58 Chevy though he kind of lost interest in the Studebaker and told me to keep it running. I was tickled to be in total control of "my" own car. Daddy said Cindy was a girl and shouldn't be working on cars so he did all the repairs, all the washing, all the waxing....he was in love with that Chevy.

Stepping back a bit I have to say I saw the Studebaker sitting in the driveway for the first time when my parents drove Cindy and me home from a two week stay in Belton. We had gone down to help my aunt Dovie, who was slowly dying from cancer. I think Cindy helped my aunt and uncle quite a bit. I helped my cousin Donnie stay in trouble. I considered this a help though because we were never causing trouble at home. Donnie had a car and we used it...a lot. Anyway, when we turned the corner into our neighborhood and I saw that Studebaker sitting in the driveway, I was dumbfounded. I couldn't believe I had a car, even if it was a dull gray odd looking thing...definitely not a Chevy but by golly it was a car!

The next morning my dad went back to work and I got busy washing and waxing that car. I realized as I applied the wax that the color wasn't gray. It was light blue with an ivory colored top. It was beautiful! I bet I put four coats of wax on that Studebaker that day. My little brother Glenn helped and by the end of the day that car was glistening. My dad came home from work and was surprised the old gray car he bought wasn't gray at all. He was almost as happy as Glenn and I. 

We tinkered, we tuned up,  we washed and waxed some more until we felt an ownership of the Studebaker. We didn't know at the time the Studebaker would still be a part of the family today. My brother has it now at his home. He still likes to work on old cars...I don't! It's been in our family for 55 years. 

As I was the official caretaker and only driver of the Whoopy, as it was dubbed by my dad,it was my job to maintain it. I kept it clean and polished. I would even go out and wash it in February in the bitter cold if it needed washing. I kept it tuned up and repaired mechanically except for one thing. I didn't have a clue how to work on brakes. The first time it was up for inspection I proudly drove it up to Barbara's Texaco and got in line for the inspection. When I finally made it to the front of the line the brakes were smelling funny. Kind of a burnt smell. Oh well, go ahead and inspect this baby! The mechanic got in, fired it up, raced the engine a little then took off. When he came to the line where he needed to hit the brakes, the wheels screeched, the left front wheel completely froze up, and the car did a beautiful 180. Since the car was now facing me I was able to see what caused the metallic bounce, roll, bounce bounce, roll to a stop, and lie there sound the car emitted when it stopped. The headlight trim had come completely off the fender and rolled across the parking lot. 

The wait for an inspection back then was long. The later in the year it got, the longer the line got. I think the cutoff date for an inspection was April 15, but I might be thinking of something else important that day. Whatever the cutoff was, I was getting the Studebaker inspected one week before the deadline. I asked the mechanic if he would go ahead and pass it. I promised to get the brakes fixed. For some reason he didn't seem to believe me so I picked up my headlight rim and drove on home....slowly.

When my dad got home he asked how the inspection had gone. I told him every gory detail. He said, "Well, you better get those brakes fixed before the end of the week or you'll be walking." I said, "I don't know how to do a brake job!" He told me I better learn quick. He was a real cutup that way. He told me to go down to Kragen's Auto Parts, tell them the make and model of the car, and ask for new brakes for the front. "You probably don't need to do anything to the back brakes." He then told me to "jack up the car's front end, and pull off one wheel. Do not try to work on both wheels at the same time!" he warned. I thought this was odd since I couldn't even work on one wheel, much less two at the same time... so I asked why? He patiently told me "BECAUSE I SAID SO! THAT'S WHY." At this point my mother interjected, "Now Leroy, he doesn't know how to do this. Don't yell at him." Sweet lady my Mom. He did finally tell me the secret of a successful brake job. He said, "When you pull off the wheel you're going to see hooks and springs, and lots of other crap that all goes together a certain way. If you will take off one piece at a time and lay all the parts down in order you will know how they go back." If you still can't remember you can pull the wheel from the other side and see how it goes together." Now, that made sense and I knew I would never have to ask that specific dumb question again.

The next morning, I jacked the front end of the car up, blocked it all securely and took off that first wheel. Well, that's how it should have worked. Unfortunately, the wheel was stuck because the brake shoes were stuck to the drum. (Remember burnt smell mentioned above?). I pulled and I tugged and I beat the drum with a hammer for two hours. I was frustrated so I walked away from it and ate some lunch. When I went back out I told myself it was just a car. It didn't have a brain and it wasn't fighting me for control of that left front wheel. It was just stuck. I hit that drum as hard as I could with my hammer. Then I gave it another tug. I felt some movement so I pulled really hard one more time. The wheel came off!! So did the brake shoes, the springs, the hooks, all the stuff I was supposed to remember how to put back. After I found all those little parts I started trying to put it all back together. I did not have a clue!! I had a slight moment of panic before I remembered that other wheel! I went around and removed the tire and outer wheel. I tenderly and lovingly held the drum in my hands and prayed everything would stay in place when I pulled that drum off. It slid off with no resistance. Prayer is a powerful thing. I now had a perfect example of how it was all supposed to go back together. I won't bore you with all the details of a brake job done before disc brakes were invented. Just suffice to say it took about 4 hours to put that first brake back together. I did the next wheel in about 45 minutes start to finish. I had walked through brake hell and survived. 

I set the car back down on the ground and went in to change clothes. I was wearing brake dust from top to bottom and didn't want to stain my 13 year old upholstery. I then went back out, started up the Whoopy with pride that I was now an accomplished brake mechanic. I put the transmission in reverse and backed down the driveway to the street. When I was ready to stop and slip it into first I put my foot on the brake pad and rode it all the way to the floor. Instead of having bad brakes, I now had no brakes at all. I crept back up the driveway and parked it. I needed more help. It was hard to ask for but I had to. Daddy was pretty good about it though and promised to help me fix it on Saturday. It seems when you do a brake job, it's important to "bleed" the brakes. I did not know cars had blood but apparently so. After my dad showed (and helped) me bleed the brakes, the brake pad was solid. I was a happy guy. I drove back down to Barbara's to get it inspected. Two days working on the brakes and when I got to Barbara's the mechanic asked if I had done a brake job. I proudly said yes and he slapped a sticker on the windshield. He didn't even test it but he probably should have. The next few days the brakes didn't feel just right and on the next Saturday morning I pulled into the Foodway Grocery store where I worked. The store was at the top of a long hill. As I got close to where I wanted to park I touched the brakes. There was nothing there. I did not panic though. I scanned the parking lot for the oldest car I could see and ran into it. That stopped me. 

To this day that old Studebaker still gives us trouble with the brakes. My dad went all through the system and found nothing. Glenn has done the same several times with no results. The old car is sitting in one of his garages now because he can't find out where the brake fluid keeps going. Maybe I should pray over it.