The other day when I started looking heavenward - to plan getting the sheet metal down from the ceiling - I noticed (really taking a close look for the first time) this - written on the back side of the skin.
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And I thought, "well I'll be, Lil' Queeny's birthday". I was only seven years old back then. And that's the model number of course - an M102T. For an 8.5'. Interesting.
And that reminded me about a childhood family vacation we took to (among other places) New York City when I was 10 (Dad and I wanted to go fishing, but we were out-voted). This is what I meant a few days ago when I said, "remind me to tell you about my Dad and the 100 foot rope he was too cheap to cut".
When a Mom and Dad in OUR economic bracket plan a family vacation to New York City (the "hopes and wishes" choice of the eldest theater-talented daughter - who had graduated from HS that year - and would likely stop attending future family vacations), they don't fly, not with four girls and a boy! You go in a station wagon, even if it takes 18 days! And you don't eat out everywhere and sleep in motels every night; you camp along the way. And that includes the three burner Coleman camp stove, WITH one-gallon can of white gas! (Mom says it was too big of a pain after the one and only use on THIS trip, so we ate lots of breakfast cereal - and corned-beef sandwiches for lunches). And you should have seen the folding plywood bed Dad built in the car so only he and mom had to sleep out under the stars.
One of the funniest sights you'll ever see is a New York City hotel bell-hop holding a small gas can with his pinky, while looking in dis-belief at seven people racing around a station wagon, transferring EVERYTHING from the bulging tarp in a car-top carrier to the interior of the vehicle, so that the car would fit in the hotel covered-parking lot!
You see, interior space was already spoken for to stow people and bedding. My little sister and I got pretty adept at pinching off ever so small pieces of foam mattress from our prone positions in the back and using same to decorate the rear sections of the two High School aged sister's hair-dos seated just in front of us. But my! Didn't they look pretty, at every stop we made as they turned this way and that to display how cute they were to any nearby boys their age (never thinking about what they sported in their hair until it was too late). And I won't speak of the time I was the cause of my same oldest sister pulling out her entire eyelash for one eye just before a date.
So on the roof of the car we carried the luggage (and the stove and the gas) in an open-topped expanded-metal car-top carrier about 4'-5' square and 6-8" high on rubber suction cups and straps that held it down to the rain-gutters. Dad covered it with a tarp and roped it all down. Bungee cords were just coming out and kind of new-fangled. Dad was a traditionalist.
He'd pull one leg of that rope tight and throw the rest of it over to the other side, where I'd catch it and hold it snug until he came over and pulled it in good, looped it through another opening in the carrier, and throw it back over to the first side, where we'd repeat our little father and son dance. Kind of like manual jacks on a TC.
Being 10 years old, I just thought that's how it was supposed to be done. It never dawned on me to cut the rope. Not until much later.
But Dad was a child during the Depression and joined the army when he was 17 (he lied about his age) during the enlistment hype of WWII. There was no point in cutting a 100 foot rope when after such a trip you could use it for other purposes! There was no extra money laying around to unnecessarily buy a new rope whenever you needed one. Not when you had a mindset of multiple-use for a single object - something I'm happy he passed on to me.
And besides, he and I needed SOMETHING to do while the girls got pretty in the mornings.
Dad eventually got him a 1972 12.5' TC on single cab Ford F250, just about the time I started driving. I'd meet up with him and Mom and two sisters on camping trips a couple of times, but one by one, we each left the family vacations until it was just Mom and Dad going.
That's when he finally graduated and got his Motorhome - a Pace Arrow Class A - a brand name he just loved as he described "Pace Arrow" with such a look of happiness on his face and a right hand that shot out like an arrow flying down the road. And that's when he gave over the truck camper to DW and me and our little family.
He didn't get to use that MH for more than a couple of years before health moved him out of that lifestyle completely.
And eventually that TC was too far gone, so I dismantled it and saved much. That's the one where I first saw a Hadco 410 fridge (the same unit as found in Lil' Queeny). I retrofitted our 1960 canned ham with lots of the TC parts. Water tank and pump, fridge, etc.
I still have hand-sized coils of 12 volt wiring from that camper in a coffee can on my shelf, albeit much fewer in number than they once were. I will probably even use some of that wiring on Lil' Queeny. The leather sling tip I'm using as a handle on that one cabinet door is from his 30-40 Krag hunting rifle (the strap had finally rotted and became unusable).
It was Dad who instilled in me those building blocks that make me who I am today - him and Mom both, and how to use and re-use. He never said, "Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without", but he lived it.
He did say, "well beat me daddy with a twelve foot pole and call me short-stuff" (and many OTHER colorful phrases) but those are not for this post.
On this job I've had a few opportunities to get into his personal hand and small power tools. This was his toolbox that sat right outside the back door in the garage for the roughly two decades I spent growing up.
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Too cool huh?
He got that in trade (full of tools) from a man who had no cash, but needed car repairs at a time when Dad managed a small service station well before I was ever born. I guess the guy worked for Boeing.
I've still got many of his tools, some back inside the box and others laying on one work bench, while I try and decide just how to organize and/or display them in my shop for use and/or reflection.
Last summer, when we had my elderly mother with us for several weeks, and while showing her my progress on the camper, she said, "your Dad would be proud of you". She'll be back again soon for a short visit - maybe her last, as she's getting more and more frail.
Well, I thought I heard on an MSN.com news story recently that heaven was getting a terminal, a sort of divine Internet Cafe, if you will. If so, I hope Dad took the lessons and has been able to follow along with these posts. And I do hope you're proud of me Dad.