click here for part 1 of this piece : The Engine
I fast-forward a couple of years. I was a student at Calvert Hall, playing football & baseball (skills that I think my grandfather helped cultivate). I was a teenager and the trips to the shore became less frequent. I didn't see my grandfather, well, at least not like I used to. And when I did see him, it certainly didn't have the same value as it once did. It never felt like the time I hooked a catfish, he reeled it in, and I got credit for catching the big one.
Then came the summer before the start of my Junior year. I felt like I was starting to come into my own. I had a girlfriend, and I was only months away from getting my learner's permit. Needless to say, I had a busy social schedule, and I needed money. I needed a job. And at fifeteen, not necessarily the easiest thing to come by.
At this point, my grandfather was advancing in age; 76, and the toll of an active life was starting to show, though only a little. I asked, well, maybe my mom asked for me, if he needed a hand. He agreed, a couple days a week for a couple hours a day, $5 an hour. He no longer maintained his shop; I am not even sure if he was maintaining his boat. He was working out of his Ford pickup, and I was going to ride along.
He never really said much, and during that summer he didn't really say much, and I didn't say much either. I went out with him a few days a week, a couple hours a day, $5 an hour. I mean, it's not like I was appreciting to become a boat mechanic; I was prepping for college after all.
That summer I did learn what a manifold was, I learned what a bilge pump does, and I learned, I definitely learned what a barnacle is. I learned how he lost his front teeth (he wore dentures); all I was sure I would never need again.
Looking back today, though, I remember a few other things. I remember that it was that summer I learned how to change the oil and a tire on a car. I learned, I mean, he made me do it, as he was there watching over, and in those days when we didn't have work, there you have it, Auto Maintenance 101.
"Don't cross-thread the nut", "Lower left, Upper right, Upper left. . .", he would say. Again, more stuff I would never use. Then one day, I am not really sure what month it was, he decided that the engine on his truck needed a tune-up. He proceeded to grab a large box wrench, and with very little discussion, he went to work in the rather large cavity under the hood. I just stood and watched.
He would turn the timing nut (I think it was a nut), and then he would place the wrench, one end to his ear and the other end to the block. I believe he was setting the timing. I vaguely remember something about "top dead center." And he went that way until he was happy with the set-up.
Now, I still don't know if this was common practice for a skilled mechanic, but at the time I was simply amazed. Maybe this is how the word "tune-up" came into being. He was checking the engine's pitch and going from there.
I don't really remember what I said, but I engaged him on this, and to this day, I remember his response. "If you have work you must do," he said, "Stop. And think about it. Figure out a plan of action. And do it." And there you have it, Life Lessons 101.
Well, I have never become proficient in auto maintenance. I never went down that path. I mean, I have changed air filters, spark plugs, even a starter, but I am simply not a car guy. I don't change my own oil anymore; however, just weeks ago, I did have to change a flat tire on my wife's car.
And now, with a family of own, I do not spend much time on the Chesapeake Bay. But I do think back to those times, when my grandfather was still alive. He passed in 1993. And I look back with a little bit of regret. Why didn't I push him to talk? He told me a handful of good stories in his lifetime, at least, some I heard. But you know, I can't help but wonder what else this guy, who never finished grade school, could have told me. If I simply would have asked.
Such is life, I guess they say; "If I only. . .". And I move on quickly. I mean, as I sit and listen to my grandmother answer my wife's questions about her husband. I smile and silently thank him. Not only was he my grandfather. But he was my first mentor, Cedric Dellone.
And I wish I could run as smoothly as he once did.
I fast-forward a couple of years. I was a student at Calvert Hall, playing football & baseball (skills that I think my grandfather helped cultivate). I was a teenager and the trips to the shore became less frequent. I didn't see my grandfather, well, at least not like I used to. And when I did see him, it certainly didn't have the same value as it once did. It never felt like the time I hooked a catfish, he reeled it in, and I got credit for catching the big one.
Then came the summer before the start of my Junior year. I felt like I was starting to come into my own. I had a girlfriend, and I was only months away from getting my learner's permit. Needless to say, I had a busy social schedule, and I needed money. I needed a job. And at fifeteen, not necessarily the easiest thing to come by.
At this point, my grandfather was advancing in age; 76, and the toll of an active life was starting to show, though only a little. I asked, well, maybe my mom asked for me, if he needed a hand. He agreed, a couple days a week for a couple hours a day, $5 an hour. He no longer maintained his shop; I am not even sure if he was maintaining his boat. He was working out of his Ford pickup, and I was going to ride along.
He never really said much, and during that summer he didn't really say much, and I didn't say much either. I went out with him a few days a week, a couple hours a day, $5 an hour. I mean, it's not like I was appreciting to become a boat mechanic; I was prepping for college after all.
That summer I did learn what a manifold was, I learned what a bilge pump does, and I learned, I definitely learned what a barnacle is. I learned how he lost his front teeth (he wore dentures); all I was sure I would never need again.
Looking back today, though, I remember a few other things. I remember that it was that summer I learned how to change the oil and a tire on a car. I learned, I mean, he made me do it, as he was there watching over, and in those days when we didn't have work, there you have it, Auto Maintenance 101.
"Don't cross-thread the nut", "Lower left, Upper right, Upper left. . .", he would say. Again, more stuff I would never use. Then one day, I am not really sure what month it was, he decided that the engine on his truck needed a tune-up. He proceeded to grab a large box wrench, and with very little discussion, he went to work in the rather large cavity under the hood. I just stood and watched.
He would turn the timing nut (I think it was a nut), and then he would place the wrench, one end to his ear and the other end to the block. I believe he was setting the timing. I vaguely remember something about "top dead center." And he went that way until he was happy with the set-up.
Now, I still don't know if this was common practice for a skilled mechanic, but at the time I was simply amazed. Maybe this is how the word "tune-up" came into being. He was checking the engine's pitch and going from there.
I don't really remember what I said, but I engaged him on this, and to this day, I remember his response. "If you have work you must do," he said, "Stop. And think about it. Figure out a plan of action. And do it." And there you have it, Life Lessons 101.
Well, I have never become proficient in auto maintenance. I never went down that path. I mean, I have changed air filters, spark plugs, even a starter, but I am simply not a car guy. I don't change my own oil anymore; however, just weeks ago, I did have to change a flat tire on my wife's car.
And now, with a family of own, I do not spend much time on the Chesapeake Bay. But I do think back to those times, when my grandfather was still alive. He passed in 1993. And I look back with a little bit of regret. Why didn't I push him to talk? He told me a handful of good stories in his lifetime, at least, some I heard. But you know, I can't help but wonder what else this guy, who never finished grade school, could have told me. If I simply would have asked.
Such is life, I guess they say; "If I only. . .". And I move on quickly. I mean, as I sit and listen to my grandmother answer my wife's questions about her husband. I smile and silently thank him. Not only was he my grandfather. But he was my first mentor, Cedric Dellone.
And I wish I could run as smoothly as he once did.
