DRIVE IN

In the decades following the war, people who bought new cars and trucks opted to drive them home from the factory. This practice, for a time, saved the cost of shipping the vehicles and offered the new owner an opportunity to see some other parts of the country; take a vacation if you will. JC's dad brought a couple of new three-ton farm trucks home that way, and even piggybacked a couple of new pickups home for the dealer in the process. JC's Uncle Woodie, who ran a thriving dealership in the home town, and a good friend, Ronnie, took the train out and drove a couple of new cars home. That particular event could almost make a story in itself. Suffice it to say that there were a couple of days when progress was rather slowed because of those buildings conveniently situated at the side of the road with numerous neon signs in the windows. JC's Uncle Alonzo, who could compete directly with Jack Benny for being frugal (to downright cheap), decided to save some money and made arrangements to pick up his new car at the factory.

It was in the late forties, somewhere around 1948, and Lonnie received word that his new car was on the immediate schedule to go down the assembly line. Lonnie took the train to Detroit, stayed overnight and visited the factory the next morning. He even managed to wrangle a factory tour in the process. Even for a cattleman, Lonnie was fascinated with how quickly a car went from the bare frame to an actual vehicle being driven off the line fully assembled two hours later. He was a little disappointed not to actually see his car being put together but he was able to see a lot just like it so that part of the trip was worthwhile.

Lonnie's car was processed, he was handed an envelope which contained all the necessary documents and, the most important thing of all, the keys to his new pride and joy. All formalities out of the way, he happily slid in behind the wheel of his new acquisition and headed for the highway.

Lonnie had never been to New York City and since Detroit was a lot closer to the Big Apple than the sun bleached prairies of home, he thought he might just as well take the time and see what NYC had to offer. He made the trip in good time, the new car purring right along, running better and better with each passing mile. A couple of days on the road and he was in the famous city.

It was after dark and Lonnie got a room in a hotel just off a rather narrow street near the top of a steep hill. He had no choice but to park his car in the street, facing downhill. Taking the necessary precautions, like leaving the transmission in low gear and turning the front wheels into the curb, he locked the car and went into his room to retire for the night.

Being an early riser, Lonnie was up and ready to face the day. He was one of the first to enter the coffee shop where he was shown to a table near the windows. Out of habit he picked up a copy of one of the local newspapers and took it to the table with him. He was always one who wanted to be kept informed on current events, even the local ones. Who knew, there might even be something to take home to Coffee Row.

Apparently there had been a car accident on one of the city's streets the night before and the paper had the full story plastered across the front page. The driver of a small delivery truck had misjudged the corner as he turned down a steep hill. He was unable to avoid bumping into a car that was parked at the curb. The report mentioned that it was merely a bump, which didn't inflict any initial damage but still exerted enough force to cause the car's front wheels to jump up and over the curb.

Back in those days, car engines didn't have a lot of compression so it didn't take much to get them spinning over. Add to that the steep hill, and even a dead vehicle could get rolling at a fair rate of speed.

Well, here it was, a car innocently bumped from behind, jumped the curb and rolled for a short distance down the sidewalk. Since the wheels were turned to the right, the car tended to continue in that direction, eventually veering right over and crashing through the front window of a store. By the time it came to a stop, the car was completely inside the premises with only the rear bumper and the taillights sticking out.

Lonnie read the article and shook his head in sympathy for the victim. 'Poor bugger,' he thought, 'one helluva way to start his day; somebody crashing into his car and wrecking it.' He studied the picture some more and to his mild surprise, he noticed that the license plate was from out of state; in fact the car was registered in Lonnie's stomping grounds. 'Coincidence,' he thought as he read on, 'I'd hate to be in that guy's shoes, this far away from home and somebody wrecks his car.'

He finished his breakfast and checked out of the hotel. Bags in hand, he proceeded outside into the late fall weather. As he walked down the hotel's wide sidewalk, he glanced over to the curb where he thought he'd parked his car. He was sure that he'd left it up the street from the hotel's entrance but not that far away. But then, it was fairly late, so it could've been further away.

Too bad remote keyless entry hadn't been invented yet.

Down the street, three or four places down from the hotel, there was quite a commotion. A couple of police officers were directing traffic while a tow truck was dragging a late model sedan, glass shards littering its roof, out of a building. 'Must be the car from the paper,' Lonnie thought as he watched the progress. He was surprised that he didn't hear the racket from the accident the night before as his room faced the street.

The tow truck finally had the car clear from the building. 'Damn! That's the same model as my new car,' Lonnie thought. He then gazed at the empty space at the curb where he had thought he'd parked his car. It was then that he noticed black tire tracks on the sidewalk. They continued over to the yard of a neighboring building. Ruts in the yard formed a trail into the next yard, through a low hedge and into the fourth yard where they headed right up to the front of that store. A sickening feeling began to take over as Lonnie realized what had just happened.

'Damn! That's my car!'

Yes it was Lonnie's new car that had been the victim of last night's accident. Fortunately the damage was mostly superficial and, with the exception of having to get a wheel alignment, the car was driveable. It would later be fixed in a shop at home. The company that owned the delivery truck assumed responsibility so at least Lonnie wasn't out of pocket for the damages. Unfortunately he had to stay in town for a couple more days than he'd planned to, but he was able to make the trip home without any more collisions.

And Lonnie, he opted to pay the freight charges on his next new car and stay home.  

THE SURPRISE PARTY

JC married late in life. Into his early thirties anyways. When he did enter into that (back then) act of lunacy the greater majority was left wondering just what the heck he was thinking of. Actually no one thought that marriage was wrong for JC; they just thought his choice of companion left something to be desired. Like, she clearly wasn't a match for JC and she had a couple of kids who were no doubt victims of a turbulent past. Consequently they had problems of their own, the worst, thinking that the world owed them a living. Although his then better-half initially attempted to keep a peaceful co-existance, things soon fell to pieces.

Surprisingly enough, it did last almost fifteen years which was quite an achievement as previous attempts (for her) hadn't made it past five. Of course that could also mean that the first family patriarchs were smarter. Anyways, the marriage from hell was over and JC was quite content to live the rest of his days on his own.

That is, until the cupid shot a real arrow (this time) and JC suddenly found himself in a romance that would forever change his life.

Mattie was the type of woman that JC only dreamed of sharing his life with, but that was as far as it went. It seemed that JC's friends were the ones who were lucky enough to find a woman like Mattie. So when the real Mattie came into his life, JC found himself wondering if this was really happening to him, or if it was some sort of a mirage.

But Mattie was (and still is) JC's devoted wife and JC became her foremost priority, as Mattie became JC's.

Well, to back up a bit, JC hit the half century mark alone. He would be closing in on 51 by the time he met Mattie. 'I didn't mind hitting 50,'  he told Mattie one time, 'I just didn't want to celebrate it by myself. But it looks like I did, and I survived.' That comment got Mattie thinking and what she came up with was something no one is likely to forget for a long time.

It was nearing the end of September. JC's brother was coming up from Montana and his sister was headed down from Edmonton. Since Max and his lady friend were never far away, and the weather was nice, JC and Mattie thought it would be a good idea to have everyone come over to their house for a barbecue.

They planned it for the Friday when everyone would be in town and little else was said. Of course Mattie was into it full throttle, buying groceries and doing up a large kettle full of chili, not to mention salads and everything else that goes with an outdoor barbecue party. They had picked up a couple of beef tenderloins, chicken breasts, weiners and hamburgers, and JC, who had become quite skilled at grilling anything non-vegetarian, cut up steaks and prepared everything for the grill.

Surprising how JC never clued in on things like that tremendous pot of chili, or when he and daughter, Kammi, sampled it for lunch one day, only to have Mattie get after them for not saving the chili for the get-together on Friday. However, she simply made up another batch, added it to the existing one and nothing more was said.

I guess in retrospect, JC did think it was a little strange as to why there was such a gigantic kettle of chili when there was just Max and Shirley, LB, his brother, who brought Sara, his daughter. JC's sister, Dana, and her husband, Grant, rounded off the guest list with the rest being Mattie, Kammi, and JC. There was going to be a lot of chili left over for lunches...

Friday came around soon enough. JC came home from work and found Mattie, other than being glad to see him, spiriting him off to the bedroom to at least change his shirt that perpetually reeked of diesel fumes. JC did as he was told and came out clad in a clean work shirt. Mattie scooted him right back into the bedroom with instructions to put on more of a party shirt. 'You're home now, wear a nice Hawiian shirt; save those drab old gray work shirts for work.'

JC did as he was told and came out, clad in a loud golf shirt. No comment to the contrary so he headed out to the deck and fired up the grill, allowing it time to warm up before the guests arrived.

Max and Shirley were the first on the scene and JC kept up a lively dialogue with them whilst checking the grill to make sure that it was ready for the meat. Dana and Grant showed up soon afterwards and since they'd be staying in the spare room downstairs, they stashed their luggage in the room and came right upstairs to join the rest.

Somewhere between trips out to the deck, a couple of local friends, AJ and Olga, showed up. 'We were driving by,' AJ said, 'we just decided to stop in.'

JC was more than happy to see them; they had been there when JC's life had derailed a few years before and were still there when JC and Mattie were getting together. 'We're just about to barbecue some steaks,' he said. 'Stick around and I'll get them on.'

Back out to the deck. The grill was ready and JC came back in for the meat. The doorbell rang just then. 'JC, would you mind getting that?' Mattie asked sweetly. 'I'm busy with this salad.'

JC muttered something about having to get the meat on the grill but went to the door without much complaining. He opened it to find lifelong friend, Dennie, and his wife, Dolores, along with Gord, who had been JC's classmate/co-class clown from first grade right through till high school graduation, standing on the step.

JC was caught completely off guard. Dumfounded would be a more suitable term. Here were three of his best friends from his old home town, people he hadn't seen for years, showing up right in the middle of a family party. Is this a bad time? Gord asked.

Now I have to interject right here and let everyone know that there is a difference of opinion as to exactly what happened next. JC claims one thing and Mattie insists that it went somewhat differently. I suppose they'll never completely agree on it but either version is bizarre to say the least. Let's start with JC's version:

'Uh,' JC stammered, 'uh--we're just having a family get-together and... Aw, hell! I don't send my friends away--ever! Come on in.'

JC and Mattie hadn't been together all that long and he wasn't sure if Mattie was all that interested in seeing JC's friends, especially those showing up unannounced like this. In a previous life JC's friends (and his family for that matter) though they were always welcome at any time in as far as JC was concerned, to his former spouse, they were about as welcome as a tax audit. There had been occasions when his former had simply locked herself in the bedroom leaving JC to entertain his friends alone. Then he got the third degree for days afterwards. Consequently JC was nervous at the sight of his friends. The ultimate question: Would Mattie be upset if JC invited his friends who were fifty miles away from home, standing on his doorstep at suppertime no less, in for supper and a visit? JC made a decision and that was for his friends to stay...

Now for Mattie's version:

'Uh, JC stammered, 'uh...'

'JC,' Mattie said. 'This is a party...'

'I know,' JC responded as if he was in a trance.

'This is a surprise party...'

'I know,' JC repeated himself, still being the deer in the headlights.

'This is a surprise party for you; I invited all your friends.'

Upon hearing that, JC turned around. He saw the decorations that had suddenly sprung up everywhere in the house. Dana had put them up on the walls, the bannister, the furniture and almost on the people who were already there. 'For me?' he said almost incredulously. 'Oh my god!' To his friends, he said: 'Come on in. I never turn my friends away.'

JC insists that whichever version is used, he said: 'I never turn my friends away.'

Some claim that Mattie's version is funnier but JC is still pretty sure his version is more accurate. However, it seems that those who were there tend to favor Mattie's story...

The guests continued to stream in until the house was almost bursting. Mattie's sister, Jill, showed up with her family. Her son, Jonas, took over the grilling chores thus preventing JC from hiding his embarrassed self from the rest of the crowd.

Val, Gord's wife, showed up with a gigantic birthday card she had made for JC and backdated it to his fiftieth birthday (JC had a reputation of not being a hurry for anything anyways). Using numerous candybars for props the card told a funny but true story about JC's life and how it intertwined with his friends. Everyone enjoyed it.

The food was dished up and quickly consumed, including the chili. Mattie brought out a cake, the frosting of which bore a picture of JC. How she had managed to keep that out of sight, JC will never know.

The party went on till late that night. Everyone had a good time although JC was still in a state of shock, which, I might add, he is still in to this day. Afterall, no one ever threw a party for him.

Until then...

JC kept the giant card and even though the candy has long since been consumed, the wrappers remain in place to tell the story just the way Val wrote it. To this day, he still endures the occasional dig about the time he almost sent his special friends away from his own surprise party. And, to this day, he still argues about it.

But on the other hand, it was a surprise party, and there's nothing better than a party that surprises everyone.

TO CATCH A THIEF

In pre 80s small town America, cafeterias were nonexistant and lunchboxes/lunchbags were mandatory, unless the student could go the entire day without something to eat. Starting somewhere in middle school, then progressing into high school, the usual corps of lunch thieves established itself then grew into a perpetual machine all its own. Keeping a watchful eye for the most likely sources of goodies, the squad of vultures (usually 2 to 3 in number) scanned the lunchboxes as they were secured into the lockers then, at the most opportune moment (i.e. when the victim was out of sight), they swooped down devouring everything, leaving only the wax paper and the paint on the lunchbox. Lunch thieves were a fact of life and most got dealt with in one way or another. JC once caught a guy, red-handed, rummaging through his lunchbox. He promptly showed the thief the error of his ways by making a dent in the locker door with the thief's head.

Cross JC off the list of possibles; he's too dangerous...

About ten miles up the road was another community which contained a school complete with all the things to ensure the usual pecking order within the student ranks. And that included the gang of lunch thieves.

Monte was a little small for his age but lots of hard work on the farm made him tough and wiry beyond most of his peers. He didn't stand for any fooling around but, like so many others, he was powerless to stop the rampaging lunch thieves as they, being the cowards they were, struck when no one else was around. Bette, Monte's mother, was a good cook and baker and always supplemented her boys' lunches with fresh baking in the form of cake, cookies, butterhorns and brownies. Unfortunately that made the boys' lunches, especially Monte's, a prime target. Sometimes Monte would come home ravenous because the thieves had stolen his entire lunch.

One could assume that Monte was a tough kid but one of the worst mistakes that the thieves made was underestimating Bette.

Bette came from a large family of tough, hard-working kids and she also went to school where she learned what it was like to have her lunch stolen. When her treats repeatedly disappeared, her mother made some blueberry tarts then got word to the teacher and principal, telling them that there was a problem, adding how to identify the perps. Like everything else the tarts were stolen but the teacher simply made all the kids stand up and smile.

Blue smiles--busted...

What do for her own kid? Bette smiled as an idea began to formulate. She went into the kitchen, clad herself in full battle regalia (apron and spatula) and got to work. She got out the mixing bowls, the pans, the ingredients and started mixing. Eggs, butter, white sugar, cocoa powder, vanilla extract, all purpose flour, a dash of salt and even some chopped walnuts went in to make this the best batch of brownies ever. While the oven was preheating, Bette went into the bedroom and emerged with that special ingredient that would make this batch stand out like no other. She unwrapped the foil packages and dropped the dark cubes into a saucepan, heated them until they were completely melted and folded them into the mix, stirring it well, then poured everything into the pans which were promptly put into the oven. While the batch was baking she even mixed up a chocolat frosting into which was mixed more of that extra special ingredient.

The boys came home from school and were immediately greeted with the smell of fresh baking. They ran to the brownies and were told not to touch them as that batch was for a special occasion in town. They were then directed to a batch that was just emerging from the oven.

Brownies one day, Toll-house cookies the next; chocolate cake after that. Over the next three days Bette packed Monte's lunch and cautioned him not to eat the treats and that she'd bring in some fresher ones before lunchtime. When Monte questioned her she just told him that the batch already in his lunch was to identify the thieves once and for all. Well, each time Monte went for his lunchbox the brownies were gone but the perps had at least left his sandwiches. But Mom came to the rescue because just as the kids were leaving for lunch break, she was there with a package for Monte.

A few days later, Bette was in the supermarket. She ran into some other housewives/mothers from her home town and it was interesting how the conversations went.

'I had to keep Dennis home for two days so far. He's got Diarrhea so bad...' '...I'm going to have to take Trent to the doctor. He woke up in the middle of the night with the Hershey Squirts; he couldn't even make it out of bed before his system erupted. Now he's so dehydrated...' '...Kristen won't come out of the bathroom; she's so sick...' 'Well, Justin couldn't even make it from the bus to the house; ...it was running down his legs...'

Gross!

Bette just kept as straight a face as she could. 'My boys are fine but I just keep telling them not to accept any food from anyone else; you just never know what ailments kids might be bringing from home.'

As the old saying goes: Exlax cleans like a white tornado. Maybe Bette should've used only one packet instead of the whole box. But then, if kids don't remember the consequences of their actions, they are forced to repeat them.

BOYS WITH APRONS

JC once said that sometimes he would rather forget that he attended school because school didn't hold many fond memories for him. In fact he avoided every class reunion for 30 years for that reason. But that all ended when his class held an impromptu reunion that more commemorated their collective fiftieth birthdays than an actual reunion. He never could figure out what set that reunion apart from what he'd heard about the others but somewhere along the way, his classmates forgot about how well everyone was going, instead being glad everyone was still in relatively good health and carrying on with life. There was a lot of reminiscing and rehashing of events that would remain in their memories for the rest of their lives. JC could finally see that the good outweighed the bad by a long shot. And one of the memories was about an actual experiment that the school board decided to try. It would be better known as the day when the boys turned over their shop coats to the girls who reciprocated by giving the boys their aprons.

For the last four weeks of ninth grade, the boys headed into the Home Economics room and Ms. Dorothy (same Ms. Dorothy as 2nd grade, as well as 7th grade health class) while the girls headed for the Industrial Arts room and Mr. Jim.

Now, had Ms. Dorothy known what she was about to endure she might've had second thoughts but then, she'd raised three boys herself (and mostly by herself) so she had a pretty good idea what she was getting into. So she planned out the course and did her level best to curb those testosterone-charged man-cubs.

The first thing she attempted to teach the class was how to act like gentlemen. They had to learn to sit properly, and how to pull a chair for a lady. She sat herself at the table demonstrating good posture and crossing her ankles while telling them that, contrary to the instructions that the boys had read in Sex to Sexty, a favorite publication at the time, especially for the boys, a real lady crossed only her ankles, revealing nothing to the masculine gender. One by one, the boys had to stand, pull the chair for Ms. Dorothy and in a respectful manner, help her get seated. Then, due to a shortage of time, the boys had to pair off and seat each other whilst pretending that they were seating a lady.

Well, somehow JC and Gord got paired up. That's very interesting as those two were an uncanny comedy duo. They were best friends forever and knew each other so well that they could tell what was on the other's mind; that is as long as it was something devious. Their first comedy routine started a couple of years before during a class that was supervised by a substitute teacher. JC was very talented at making loud flatulating noises by cupping his hand under his armpit and bringing his arm down on it forcing the air out of the little pocket his hand made. Gord sat in front of JC and their act was to have Gord lift his leg right when JC popped one. It was so authentic and timed so perfectly that Ms. Truman, upon hearing that ignorant sound, caught Gord with his leg up and thus sent him out of the room. When the sound persisted Ms. Truman realized that somehow JC had something to do with it and he was sent out of the room with instructions to get to the bathroom. Well, two years later the act made an abrupt change to how they could ham up what Ms. Dorothy told them to do. It wasn't to see just how subtly they could yank the chair out from under the other one; that was so old. They quickly found out that shoving the chair forward knocking the other's legs out thus causing them to drop in a heap on the chair was more fun. That provoked the rest to join in the fracas and a whole lot of adolescents had the time of their lives.

Ms. Dorothy just shook her head.

The boys also learned table manners--as if they weren't taught proper manners at home. They had to sit up straight, use the utensils properly and politely ask for whatever they needed; they could not reach for it, nor could they stand up and reach even further. There was a time they made pancakes. Gord quickly consumed the stack on his plate then called out to JC. 'Hey, JC, toss me a pancake... please?' JC promptly tossed a pancake like a frizbee across the table where it landed almost squarely in Gord's plate.

Bullseye!

Of course Charlie had to get into the act too.

Now, before I go any further, I have to say that Charlie was the class whipping boy. He was an only child; kind of spoiled; never had to work; unco-ordinated as he could get. He had a bit of a short fuse too and that made him all the more fun to tease. One time, after cleaning up the kitchen unit, JC was rinsing out the sink with that handy-dandy sprayer that was so popular back in the 50s and 60s. He glanced over the partition into the next unit to see Charlie standing there all alone. JC called out to him and when Charlie turned, JC let fly with a blast from the sprayer.

The spray caught Charlie right in the zipper area of his pants making a wet fan shape that could easily have been mistaken for an accident. That sparked a round of adolescent laughter that subsided only when Charlie asked Ms. Dorothy if he could go home.

'Why do you need to go home?' Ms. Dorothy asked

'To change my pants.' Charlie responded.

'What's wrong with your pants?'

'Can't you see?'

Ms. Dorothy glanced at them and smiled. 'Oh they're just a little wet; they'll dry right out.'

'But everybody is going to tease me; they'll say: "Look at Charlie, he peed his pants!"'

Ms. Dorothy had a hard time keeping a straight face. 'Aw they don't look like you peed 'em; they look like you piddled in 'em.'

Charlie spent the rest of the period standing in front of the stove, oven door open, oven on high, in hopes that there would be enough heat to dry out his pants before next period.

Anyways, back to the pancakes and table manners. Charlie asked Don to toss him a pancake. Don responded similarly to the way JC did and frizbee'd a pancake to Charlie. The trouble was, Charlie had such a deep pool of syrup on his plate that the pancake splashed syrup all over the table and Charlie's shirt.

Don wasn't very popular with Charlie but then, he wasn't very popular with Ms. Dorothy either.

Yes, teasing Charlie was fun for the moment but JC and Gord have since had their regrets about all the abuse they heaped upon their classmate.

The Home-Ec room had some unwelcome residents that had moved in and proliferated during the ten years that the room had been there. Those little furry rodents got into the cupboards and cabinets leaving those little black seeds wherever they went. The girls from 11th Grade had their class in the morning just before the noon lunch break, with the uncouth ruffians coming in right after. Consequently, getting near lunchtime they (the girls) were getting hungry and thus looking for something to munch on. One of the girls happened upon a bag of macaroni which she opened and poured into a kettle along with water and set on the stove to boil. The others all chipped in and helped by preparing some cheese and adding just the right amount to make the traditional staple of macaroni and cheese, which they scarfed down as fast as they could.

Ms. Dorothy came in and could immediately tell that the girls had been up to something other than practicing sewing. Of course she asked them what they had cooked. The girls 'fessed right up and told her about the bag of macaroni. Well, Ms. Dorothy made a grimace and told the girls a story:

'I was going to throw that macaroni out. I saw that a hole had been gnawed through the bag and there were a bunch of mouse turds inside.'

She didn't have to say anything more. Let's just say that the girls suddenly lost their appetites...

I think it was the day the boys learned to cook pork and beans in such a way so as to remove the gaseous nature of the dish thus making it totally boring. They were seated at the table munching down the concoction when one of them glanced over to the cabinet under the sink. 'There's a mouse,' he said excitedly, and the whole table vacated, the boys grabbing any kind of bludgeouning device they could get their hands on and joining in the hunt.

The mouse scampered into the broom closet which unbeknown to it was a dead end. Rod opened the door exposing the poor mouse to the ten hunters. It barely made it to the linoleum floor when JC brought his cast iron skillet to bear and slammed it down on the prey. He lifted the pan up to reveal a bloody spot on the floor but no mouse. A close examination of the skillet showed that the carcass was stuck to the bottom.

Yes, he would later develop a method to kill mice by using ether which was somewhat less messy but maybe a little more dangerous. I might add that that story has already been covered in another entry in this blog.

Thus school wasn't all that terrible. There was always something to look back on and be able to laugh about. Interesting enough that JC and his friends now enjoy getting together to rehash some tales from the days when things were slower and simpler, friendships lasted for life, and that some of Ms. Dorothy's efforts to teach them some manners and culinary skills actually paid off.

TEST FLIGHT

Airplanes, like anything else mechanical, require maintenance to keep them in proper flying condition. In reality, they don't need a whole lot more than the average family car does but let's just say that if airplanes were maintained the same as the average car, there would be a lot more of them falling out of the sky; it's a lot easier and safer to guide a car to a stop with a dead engine than it is an airplane. One could safely say that if cars were kept up the same way as airplanes they would be a lot more reliable and somewhat safer.

An airplane is required by law to be inspected and overhauled by qualified personnel at specific intervals. If those maintenance schedules are not followed, the pilot/owner can get into a lot of trouble, not to mention losing life and/or limb.

The various airforces throughout the world practice maintenance with military precision. Scheduled maintenance is performed to the letter and when the job is completed, all personnel involved with the work that was done are required to sign off (endorse) on it. Of course, the only way to completely accomplish that is to test it under flying conditions. That means everyone involved climbs on board for a test-flight and evaluation. I might add that it also tends to curtail sabotage should one of the maintenance personnel have a bone to pick with one of the regular flight crew.

Stew was in the Air Force for the duration of WWII and a little beyond. Although he was stationed at several different fields during his career, the type of aircraft he worked on the most was either the twin-engined Avro Anson or the Cessna Crane with a dusting of DeHavilland Gypsy Moth's thrown in for variety (that's another story). Stew's field of expertise was that of an aircraft electrician which meant that if it generated, used, or conducted electricity, Stew was the one who would be called to fix it. He found himself stuffed into the tightest of places, either an engine nacelle, under the dash, or down the fuselage chasing down a short or an open circuit, or else attempting to connect the wires to the terminals of a component that some engineer hid behind something major and thus couldn't be reached by anything larger than a gnat.

Stew once told JC about such an incident where a generator failed on a radial engine on one of the Ansons and one of the other electricians removed it for repairs. Stew performed the actual repairs to the generator and handed it back. The electrician who removed it was rather small in stature but he discovered that reinstalling it was next to impossible as it was stuffed way up inside the engine cowling and one could either fit his hand in the opening or the generator but not both--how he even got it out of there would forever be a mystery. Somehow the electrician managed to get the generator maneuvered into place and even properly secured to the gearcase but he still had to connect the wires to the terminals. He slid the eyes of the wires where they belonged but then the lock washers and securing nuts had to be attached and that's where everything fell apart.

He tried his best but failed; his sergeant tried but failed. With the two of them about to give up, the sergeant summoned Stew to see if he could manage. Stew came out, took a look at that tiny crevice then, without comment, smeared a bit of good old spit onto his index finger then pressed the first washer into the fleshy part of his fingertip. The washer sort of stuck there and Stew gingerly slid his hand up around the bulk of the generator and managed to set the washer onto the terminal. He followed with the nut. It took a great deal of effort but he was able to not only attach all the wires but also thread the weatherproof harness over them and finish the job.

Trainer planes got a lot of (more often than not) hard hours added up in a very short time. Consequently there came several times in the service life of an airplane when major work was needed. All jobs were broken down into intervals based on a specified number of flight hours. Different components needed attention at different times but there came the time when everything needed to be rebuilt at the same time; the engines, electrical components, radios, instruments, airframe and skin all came apart. The different components each got shuttled off to the various shops where the specialists quickly overhauled them.

This particular Anson went through such an exercise. The airplane was completely dismantled and the components stripped down, examined, evaluated, overhauled, put back together and certified. All components were reinstalled on the airplane where they awaited the final endorsement, the actual test flight. The job was completed in true, proficient, orderly, military manner, and in good time at that. Nothing was allowed to slip past, even with a trainer, because training aircraft often endured more abuse than those in combat--listening to JC recount his own experiences of his flying lessons gave testament to that. The job completed, the flight crew and the maintenance crew wedged themselves on board and the tests began.

The engines were started and warmed up. Everything OK. The charging and lighting systems were all functioning properly, so Stew could relax a bit. The engines showed proper oil pressure and the mixture and throttle controls were functioning properly--so far, so good. One by one, the systems were checked off; the airplane was allowed to taxi, during which more checks and rechecks were performed, showing everything well within limits. Finally, they were given clearance to take off.

The Anson left the ground and headed for the clouds. Further checks were conducted, all showing business as usual. The airplane flew straight and level, the elevators, ailerons, and vertical stabilizer all doing what they were supposed to. The trim controls were also functioning the way they should. In fact, the airplane was flying so well, the pilot decided to perform a climb at full power.

He firewalled the throttles and eased back on the column, guiding the aircraft upwards at twenty-plus degrees. The occupants all had to find something to hang onto to keep themselves from sliding towards the tail and possibly causing a sudden unbalance of the plane. All they could see ahead of them was sky.

There was no warning that something could be wrong; it happened so suddenly. A loud thump and a crash on the port side, accompanied by a ball of flame from the engine nacelle and the aircraft lurched to port. Those who saw anything caught a glimpse as the port-side prop and crankshaft exited the crankcase trailing a shower of debris and oil. Fortunately, the pilot was experienced and immediately shut off the fuel to that engine while simultaneously bringing the Anson back to level flight.

Most twin-engine aircraft are designed to fly on one engine. They won't be able to take off but they can fly straight and level, and land with little difficulty. The trim tabs are designed to help the pilot hold the plane in control without too much strain. In this case, the Anson flew with few problems other than having more than twice the normal number of passengers jammed into the fuselage like so many sardines. Luckily this incident occurred over the vast prairies of Southwestern Alberta so all they had to do was head back to base and land--hoping that the wind wasn't blowing at gale force (common to the region) making a landing with one engine very tricky.

Luck would be with them this day because they made it down in one piece, except the airplane, of course. An initial check proved that the front crankcase half, the part that bears all the thrust from the propeller, had given way (probably due to a tiny flaw that managed to escape detection despite the rigorous testing when the engine was apart) and the spinning prop just took off with the crankshaft and many other pieces, leaving a couple of cylinders and the gearcase attached to the airframe. Of course, there was a complete investigation, part of which required a scavenging crew to be sent out along the flight path to retrieve the propeller, the crankshaft and all the pieces that came out with them.

That venerable Anson was once again restored to flight status and trained many more crews who would be deployed to the European Theater to man the likes of Wellington, Halifax and Lancaster bombers, amongst other heavy aircraft. Stew would remain in the Air Force until his discharge in 1946. He would then farm for a few years then move on to various jobs, eventually ending up as the setup man/delivery truck driver for the dealership where JC worked.

UNCLE'S WORLD WAR II

When war broke out in Europe, many Canadians answered to the call and joined the ranks of volunteers that were headed for Europe. My Uncle Elwood felt the need to serve and headed for the Air Force. He took most of his training in Alberta but eventually found himself moved eastward from base to base until he, along with two thousand other soldiers boarded the RMS Queen Elizabeth and shipped off to England.

He was assigned to RAF 408 Squadron where he was put to work as a navigator on Lancaster bombers. They flew night bombing raids, many of them ranging as far in as Berlin. Missions like those lasted over seven hours in duration and conditions were grueling at best. Sometimes they returned minus as many as thirty planes and crews, and once the loss was over fifty. Often assigned as Lead Navigator the twenty-six year old flight sergeant guided the crews to the target every time, only once making an error that allowed them to drift a mile off course. Fortunately he was able to make the corrections early enough so that they didn't lose any time.

Furloughs were few and far between but Elwood was able to take full advantage of his time away, even managing to meet and marry the woman he would have as his companion for over forty years.

On June 28, 1944 things would change for some time though. Elwood, now promoted to the commissioned rank of Flying Officer, was sent with his squadron to bomb Doodlebug (unmanned V-1 rocket) assembly/launching points and marshalling yards in the north of France. German resistance was heavy and a lucky burst from the cannons of an FW 190 fighter set off the incendiaries in the Lanc's bomb bay. In no time fire raged through the entire ship and the order was given to abandon the plane. All those who could bailed out.

They would find out later that the bombardier had perished in the plane as he was in the process of arming the bombs when they were hit.

Elwood made it safely down and landed in a field of barley. He had to lay low during the day and travel by night because the German patrols were intent on finding any survivors. He eventually made it to a farm where the farmer cautiously hid him in a shed. Elwood thought he would be turned over to the French underground and sent back to England but two days later, the shed door opened and there stood the farmer, along with two German soldiers.

Uncle Elwood spent the rest of the war as a POW in the far eastern reaches of Germany. His self-assigned job in camp was to keep the other prisoners in his barracks in line and try to keep morale up as despair could be overwhelming at times. He was allowed to send letters out but wasn't sure that they even reached their destinations for several months. However, his hope never faded. The Red Cross packages actually showed up with a lot more regularity than would've been expected and the prisoners were always glad when they did, as they always contained cigarettes which at that time were considered a necessity. They were also good for barter as the German guards found cigarettes in short supply and were eager to trade favors for smokes.

Elwood would remain a prisoner until hostilities ended in Europe in 1945. After approximately a year of incarceration the gates were opened and the prisoners were told they could leave. In reality the guards themselves were anxious to leave as they found out that the Russian army was making its way rapidly across Germany and they wanted to put as much distance between them and the Russians as possible. Needless to say, they kept up a fast pace.

By the end of that summer Elwood was reunited with his beloved Gabrielle who also introduced him to his firstborn son, whom he had no idea was even on the way at the time he was shot down.

All but one of Elwood's flight crew survived the crash and all of those, except Elwood, were able to make it back to England to eventually fight again. The bombardier never had a chance.

Elwood's contribution to the war may have been small compared to some, but in the time of war, the efforts of everyone were needed and appreciated no matter the size. He attended reunions of his squadron including numerous trips back to England over the next forty years. He often talked about how things had changed so quickly after the war was over. In as little as twenty years it was as if there had never been a base there at all.

408 Squadron and its flight crew members dwindled over the years with Elwood, whom I understand to be the last member of his crew, passing on in the summer of 2011 at the age of 93. I've found it rather unsettling that despite Uncle Elwood being a native of Southern Alberta and a veteran of WWII, I've never seen his name or picture on the special veterans' edition of the local newspaper but his family knows that he served with distinction and did his job to the fullest. And as I do each year at this time, I remember Flight Sergeant/Flying Officer Elwood W. Stringam and all those who served with him. And I thank them for the sacrifices they made.

LET US NEVER FORGET. TODAY IS REMEMBRANCE DAY/VETERANS' DAY. WE WILL ALWAYS BE INDEBTED TO THOSE WHO SERVED.

BARN RAISING

JC wasn't immune to helping out someone who needed help. Even if the task was more of a lost cause, he couldn't stand idly by and watch someone get himself into the glue. He had to pitch in. So when Edgar came up with the idea to resurrect an old barn, JC was there.

Sort of.

The barn was located a couple of miles south of Warner at an old homestead that was settled by who would later become Edgar's in-laws. In fact when the old folks passed away, Edgar's wife inherited that piece of land from the estate. There was also a sizeable house on the property but we won't get into that at this time.

This old barn was larger than was usually found on the average farmstead. It had to be at least sixty feet long by forty feet wide. Built back in the teens it could accomodate eight draft horses, complete with tack and maybe even provide enough room to park a carriage down the center. To say that it was well-built would be a gross understatement--at least when it was in its prime. Like so many buildings of the period it was built to last.

Unfortunately everything has a time limit.

The years of unrelenting prairie winds, blistering hot summers and biting cold winters had taken their toll on that old barn causing it to develop a noticeable lean--about twenty-five degrees--toward the east. Miraculously the roof was still straight and maybe that was the reason Edgar was so determined to salvage the place.

'I can have a contracting crew come over and reinforce the barn, tighten up the walls and the roof, a coat of paint and it will be as good as new.' Edgar declared.

Well, JC applauded Edgar's enthusiasm. But Edgar still had to get a crew together to get the behemoth pushed up straight. Then they would have to get some sturdy braces in place amongst other things so they would be ready for the contractors (Walt, the local handyman to be exact) a couple of weeks down the road.

JC had a better idea though. He suggested that Edgar buy the local fire department a case of whiskey--the standard fee the department charged for demolition duties--and have them practice fire drills. Like, set the building on fire, put it out, then light it again. After the building was completely reduced to ashes all Edgar had to do was dig a large hole, push the remains of the embers in, cover it up and build anew.

Now I might add that JC and Edgar, despite their families being friends for three generations, had some episodes of less than congenial feelings. There was a time when Edgar bought a new-fangled TV set with a remote control. His old dial-a-channel set was still in excellent condition and he sold it to JC who wasted no time getting it home and set up. Then came that fateful day when the new-fangled TV set broke down and had to be sent away to the repair shop. Edgar, being the TV addict he was, ended up dragging the old fifteen inch black and white portable TV, the one with the fuzzy, snowy picture, out of the attic and set it up.

It might have been during the Olympics or some other special event when JC was over for a visit. He strained his eyes for over an hour in an attempt to identify the blurred images as either playing basketball or sweeping snow off their individual doorsteps. Whatever the case, JC finally announced that he was headed home to watch the program in color.

Needless to say, Edgar wasn't impressed; he was even less impressed with JC's brainstorm about hiring the fire department. He might have even acted a little annoyed. No, quite annoyed would be a more accurate guess. The very suggestion of demolishing that stately symbol to the prairie farm life was an atrocity. Hell, with a couple of tractors and loaders, and a load of poles for braces, that crew could have that barn standing plumb in less time than it would take to drive to the city and back.

Yeah, I had a car like that too...

JC had access to a tractor and loader; he also had a big mouth for volunteering to help. Edgar had a tractor and loader of his own so they agreed to meet at the homestead early on Saturday morning to get started.

The job commenced at eight. The crew, consisting of JC, Edgar, Edgar's son, Gord, and grandson, Kelly got right to work. Two tractors a few feet apart, loaders raised and buckets tipped down as far as they could go in order to expose their smooth backs to the walls, gently began to push. Edgar led from the northeast corner pushing the wall a few inches and JC followed. Braces in place, Edgar backed away and maneuvered around to take up a position a few feet south of JC. They kept up the pace until they reached the south end of the barn then started over again.

About five in the afternoon the barn was actually standing straight, just as Edgar said it would; although anyone who participated in such madness had more than a few thoughts as to how much time it actually took. But JC had to admit that it looked pretty good sitting there in the afternoon sun; it showed some potential, finally being returned to it's stance of forty or so years ago. All it needed was for Walt to perform his magic and brace it up properly.

JC still had an uncertain feeling about it though but didn't feel like raining on Edgar's parade so he kept his mouth shut.

At least three weeks had gone by and still no sign of Walt. Walt had phoned Edgar, promising that he would be there as soon as he finished remodeling a house in town. And please don't give up on him.

It was early summer and we all know that summer brings one thing besides lots of sunshine and biting insects: Thunderstorms. There was quite a series of them that summer and there were some lightning displays that were far superior to the fireworks of the Calgary Stampede. Not a spectacular amount of rain fell but it was definitely better than none at all, but that wind sure picked up.

Now that old barn had endured a lot of wind from the west and the north over the years and probably would've stood proudly against either one for many years to come if it was still leaning at it's former position. It could've withstood wind from the west and north with the braces in place but there was one thing that was never considered:

What if the wind blew in from the east?

Oh, don't be silly; that's a lot of nonesense. The wind never blows from the east in this region.

One fateful Saturday night a thundershower blew in. The lightning was spectacular and the thunder was so intense it almost drowned out JC's mother's quilting party. The rain came down in sheets, giving the parched land a large drink of rejuvination, making everyone happy.

And then the wind switched to the east...

It came in gusts, fifteen to twenty knots at first then it intensified to forty to fifty knots. It might have even reached sixty before the storm moved on. The wind was strong enough to push the east wall of the barn away from its braces which readily fell down. It was even strong enough to push the building past center. After that it wasn't much effort at all; a mouse crossing the floor of the hayloft could've been enough to change things forever.

The barn tipped completely over toward the west and with a tremendous crash, collapsed to the ground in a cloud of ancient hay dust.

JC, was that just one case of whiskey for the fire department?

JC can't recall if the firemen were called in to finish the job or not but the barn eventually disappeared leaving no trace that such a building ever existed. And it even bothered JC a little to see it gone. Maybe Edgar was right. After all it was a piece of history that deserved a chance to be strong again.