If you have lived in the Deep South during the Summer months, you will understand this post.
Growing up in Alabama, I became almost immune to the constant heat and humidity of the South. As I grew older, however, the heat was more noticeable. As a youth you are either unaware or unaffected by the heat. When you join the world of employment, the heat becomes oppressive.
My Dad owned a salvage yard (junk yard) for automobiles. I began working for him at an early age. I believe that he just tolerated me to begin with. As the years passed, responsibilities grew as my experience and skill improved. I graduated from door handles and chrome trim to fenders, transmissions, engines and suspension parts.
One particular summer, while still below the lawful age to acquire my license, my Dad allowed me to drive the "cut down" to carry parts from one part of the yard to the office. Our ferry vehicle was a "cut down" Volkswagen Beetle. In other words the body was removed, the frame reinforced, and equipment to remove stubborn parts was attached. I learned how to use an acetylene torch to remove extremely stubborn bolts and remove rear quarter panels to repair other vehicles. Removing the gasoline tanks was a priority when using the torch, to avoid the ignition of fumes or leftover raw gas. Welding became a passion for a few short weeks one Summer.
That Summer was special for another reason. My closest friend at the time was my age, or a little older. He would ride his bicycle over to my house in time for us to ride with my Dad to work. My parents always found it funny and strange that he had to hide his bluejeans at our house, since his mom didn't want him to wear them in public. Each day he would arrive and change clothes. Each evening he would hastily take a shower in our basement before he rode home.
Later in the Summer we were afforded the opportunity to use our "expertise" to get a junker running to drive around the place in our spare time. Pickings were slim since we couldn't take a car that had valuable parts.
We scoured the entire place for a couple of days. Among the wrecks and overused hulks were many different kinds of vehicles. A Chevy, possibly a Dodge, maybe an Oldsmobile, perhaps a Ford, no not really each of them had parts that were valuable to one of the customers. Just when we thought it was hopeless, we stumbled upon an English Ford. There was not a straight piece of sheet metal on the body. Only the floorboard was straight, but the rust had eaten large holes in it. Upon further investigation, it was discovered that only the transmission was worthy of use. We were devastated.
Determined to find a project car we consulted the Holland Interchange Manual, the bible of Salvage dealers. This tome gave the possible interaction of parts not normally used on the same brand of car. We both knew that Pontiacs, Oldsmobiles, Buicks and even Cadillacs used some of the same parts. Long before the scandal came out to the general public. Our investigation revealed to us the possible combinations that were available for interchange and our use. As we had explored our supply of wrecks, we noticed that both the English Ford and a Hillman Minx were actually built by the same company in England; the Rootes Body Corporation. Holding out hope we dug into the Holland to pray for the possibility of a fit. There on the same page it showed that both of these vehicles used the same power train. The Minx would no go, but the little engine sounded alright.
We spent the next several weeks swapping out the transmission from one to the other. Being very inexperienced, it took us about three weeks to perform a job that could have been done in a couple of hours. My Dad and Uncle Jack reveled in the thought that we were becoming mechanics. Eventually we made the change, hooked all the linkage up and cranked our ride. We decided to give it a short drive around the yard, only to discover that the Minx had not one sign of a brake. We tried to coast to a stop, but only collision with another wreck would slow the Minx down. Slowly we learned how to down shift quickly as to slow the car enough to stop.
The rest of that summer we tooled around the junkyard in our convertible Hillman Minx, stopping when we could. This past year my friend passed away after a bout with depression and ill health. A few years ago both he and his dad had strokes. We had become estranged by distance and changing pastimes. Upon his passing, I was unable to attend his funeral. I could not help but think of that hot Summer too long ago.
I wonder if he can wear his jeans in Heaven, if not it wouldn't be Heaven to him............
Growing up in Alabama, I became almost immune to the constant heat and humidity of the South. As I grew older, however, the heat was more noticeable. As a youth you are either unaware or unaffected by the heat. When you join the world of employment, the heat becomes oppressive.
My Dad owned a salvage yard (junk yard) for automobiles. I began working for him at an early age. I believe that he just tolerated me to begin with. As the years passed, responsibilities grew as my experience and skill improved. I graduated from door handles and chrome trim to fenders, transmissions, engines and suspension parts.
One particular summer, while still below the lawful age to acquire my license, my Dad allowed me to drive the "cut down" to carry parts from one part of the yard to the office. Our ferry vehicle was a "cut down" Volkswagen Beetle. In other words the body was removed, the frame reinforced, and equipment to remove stubborn parts was attached. I learned how to use an acetylene torch to remove extremely stubborn bolts and remove rear quarter panels to repair other vehicles. Removing the gasoline tanks was a priority when using the torch, to avoid the ignition of fumes or leftover raw gas. Welding became a passion for a few short weeks one Summer.
That Summer was special for another reason. My closest friend at the time was my age, or a little older. He would ride his bicycle over to my house in time for us to ride with my Dad to work. My parents always found it funny and strange that he had to hide his bluejeans at our house, since his mom didn't want him to wear them in public. Each day he would arrive and change clothes. Each evening he would hastily take a shower in our basement before he rode home.
Later in the Summer we were afforded the opportunity to use our "expertise" to get a junker running to drive around the place in our spare time. Pickings were slim since we couldn't take a car that had valuable parts.
We scoured the entire place for a couple of days. Among the wrecks and overused hulks were many different kinds of vehicles. A Chevy, possibly a Dodge, maybe an Oldsmobile, perhaps a Ford, no not really each of them had parts that were valuable to one of the customers. Just when we thought it was hopeless, we stumbled upon an English Ford. There was not a straight piece of sheet metal on the body. Only the floorboard was straight, but the rust had eaten large holes in it. Upon further investigation, it was discovered that only the transmission was worthy of use. We were devastated.
Determined to find a project car we consulted the Holland Interchange Manual, the bible of Salvage dealers. This tome gave the possible interaction of parts not normally used on the same brand of car. We both knew that Pontiacs, Oldsmobiles, Buicks and even Cadillacs used some of the same parts. Long before the scandal came out to the general public. Our investigation revealed to us the possible combinations that were available for interchange and our use. As we had explored our supply of wrecks, we noticed that both the English Ford and a Hillman Minx were actually built by the same company in England; the Rootes Body Corporation. Holding out hope we dug into the Holland to pray for the possibility of a fit. There on the same page it showed that both of these vehicles used the same power train. The Minx would no go, but the little engine sounded alright.
We spent the next several weeks swapping out the transmission from one to the other. Being very inexperienced, it took us about three weeks to perform a job that could have been done in a couple of hours. My Dad and Uncle Jack reveled in the thought that we were becoming mechanics. Eventually we made the change, hooked all the linkage up and cranked our ride. We decided to give it a short drive around the yard, only to discover that the Minx had not one sign of a brake. We tried to coast to a stop, but only collision with another wreck would slow the Minx down. Slowly we learned how to down shift quickly as to slow the car enough to stop.
The rest of that summer we tooled around the junkyard in our convertible Hillman Minx, stopping when we could. This past year my friend passed away after a bout with depression and ill health. A few years ago both he and his dad had strokes. We had become estranged by distance and changing pastimes. Upon his passing, I was unable to attend his funeral. I could not help but think of that hot Summer too long ago.
I wonder if he can wear his jeans in Heaven, if not it wouldn't be Heaven to him............
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