How I came to be - from TC

I'm a country kid - mostly grew up on a wheat farm in Kansas, and later lived right in Kansas City. I was surrounded by Uncles that fixed everything... My "Country" Grandfather could make ANYTHING, and thus, my playgrounds were the scrap-iron pile and old machinery; lookout posts atop hay stacks provided my view of the world... later, my Uncle Bill gave me that first galena chip, with which to make a crystal set, and it began my life in electronics. My Dad was the academic and culturist. Pop loved to read, and was a wizard at math, history, and such. He taught me the value of books, and as he'd been an only child (like me), he understood how a kid's imagination could serve him well, when there was no one around to play with. Pop could NOT fix stuff. I do recall that being married to my Czech country-girl Mother, he got better at it. I vividly recall him carrying a vise home. He'd bought it for himself, and carried it home on the streetcar, thence walking 2 miles to our house. He was immensely proud of that vise, as it immediately opened up huge horizons on what could be done with it. The tool of a MAN... yes, that was it. Why, one could create wonders beyond the imagination - with only the assistance of a couple of tools and a VISE. Ahhh, the power dripped from the description of it. It's soft s-q-e-e-z-e on a piece of wood, and the solid "clunk" as the handle slid through the shaft, when released. I still HAVE that original grey vise, as it represents something of the WORLD, owned by a mere mortal. Yes, Dad had a vise, but alas... never could fix things or cars, or stuff like that... he could however, make the BEST DAMNED WORKBENCHES in the world. They never swayed, they never jiggled, you could sit on 'em, and beat on 'em, and they'd survive... that was my Father's triumph... workbenches.

My "City Grandfather" was in the optical business, and by the time I was 5 years old, I could assemble a pair of glasses, fit them to the customer, and use a lensometer to determine a prescription from an existing pair of glasses... why the heck I never went into THAT business is one of the senseless wonders of my history... what an idiot. My "City Grandfather" was a man of great skill, but little patience. Loose objects around Grandpa, when in a fit of frustration, took on the properties of artillery projectiles. He was not above hurling wrenches, pencils, rulers, or anything else, if angered by some inhuman process. He never hurt any person, but Grandpa's rage against inanimate features of our universe was unbounded, under the right circumstances. As such, it was a favorite family story of Grandpa retrieving an axe from the garage, when confronted by the locked kitchen door, and he with no key (Grandma was out). He battered the door into veritable splinters with the axe, only to find the offensive skeleton key, quietly reposing in the lock, on the inside of what had been the door. When a neighbor informed him that all he would have to have done was to put a newspaper under the door, then push the key out with a pencil - pull the paper, and retrieve the key... Grandpa, it is rumored, yelled an epithet worthy of a 40-year sailor.

Grandpa's number one tool, outside of his small optical pliers and screwdrivers, was the HAMMER. No obstacle was too stout or great for my Grandpa Dailey's HAMMER. If you knew about my City Grandpa, you clearly understood why he should NOT have been allowed near a hammer. It is for this reason, that car repairs were not known to Dad or Grandpa (the city ones here) - they would throw up the hood - peer stolidly under it for a half-eternity, then exclaim that "it's bad! Call the garage!" Pop could quote Virgil and Homer, but the wonders of a spark plug were beyond his valley.

I suspect that being an Infantry Sgt (C company - 148th. Infantry - 37th. Division) in WW-II had provided all the "excitement" necessary, and Pop far preferred the company of a stamp album, or me and the dog, aside a quiet creek on the farm... a Red Dot panatela crimped between his teeth, as we'd simmer a Folger's coffee-can of water over a small fire, into which a handfull of coffee had been dropped... there WAS no finer coffee than that... must have been one of those "infantry grunt" things.

I had a good "kidhood"... I was loved... I was spent time with... I was taught of the world... the one close, and the one far away.... it led to my motto - which is still displayed on the fridge'

April 20, 2008