I’m not sure our family was big into crafts. Of course, we had basic Southern-style meals growing up, and I have fond memories of my mother’s fried chicken, potato salad, and coleslaw (the recipes are in a box somewhere). I also think I have a quilt that my paternal grandmother made for each of her grandchildren. But when I think of things that are homemade, I think of my dad.
He grew up on a farm during the Great Depression, when knowing how to make and repair things—from clothes to farm machinery—was a necessity. He left the farm to learn airplane mechanics and eventually worked on the Bell Aircraft assembly line, building P-39 fighters. After the war, he got a job at General Mills, eventually rising to the level of millwright. He was responsible for keeping the machines that made Cheerios, Lucky Charms, and so many other tasty cereals from my youth running.
But his mechanical skills weren’t limited to the workplace. He did all that and more at home.
His skills were evident in the way he kept our washing machine running for decades. Motor burned out? Head to the electrical supply store and get a replacement with the same specifications. Universal joint on the car making a loud hum? Find a new or used one, put the car up on a couple of stumps, and crawl underneath to replace it.
His most impressive emergency repair happened while he was driving me back to school one Sunday. Suddenly, the exhaust pipe rusted through, producing a loud chugging sound. We stopped at a service station, but there was no mechanic on duty. My dad asked me to drink a can of Coke, which he then used as a sleeve to wire the exhaust pipe back together.
But that wasn’t all. We were a camping family, and he built a cupboard that attached to the table with C-clamps. Our roof rack was homemade, too, with wooden slats bolted to metal angles. His most ambitious project was rebuilding our two-story porch.
The metal posts weren’t exactly authentic, but the structure was sturdy. And when it came time to remodel the kitchen, he built the cabinets himself using birch-finish plywood and a circular saw.
I don’t have any of his handiwork, but he did give me some tools of a quality that’s hard to find these days. One was an old-school Craftsman 3/8-inch drill. But the other drill is one for the ages: a Thor 1/2-inch drill made in the 1950s, with a back yoke and an extra top handle. It draws four to six amps.
But what did I inherit besides the drills? Apparently, the do-it-yourself urge.
I may not have replaced a washing machine motor, but I have replaced washing machine water pumps and inlet valve assemblies. No car universal joints, but I did replace a brake master cylinder. The only cabinets I’ve built were for a toy kitchen for my daughter.
And that Thor drill? I was building a backyard shed and needed to drill holes for spikes in landscape ties. My 3/8-inch cordless drill wasn’t up to the job, so it was time to bring out the Thor and a 50-foot extension cord. Drilling those holes was like drilling through butter. Building the shed from a kit was another matter!
So, whenever I tackle another home repair, furniture-refinishing job, or caning project, I think about the mechanical skills passed down through the generations—and the urge to do things myself. Maybe the artifacts weren’t passed down, but some of the tools and the desire to tackle just about any task were.
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