Hello, Diary. Our two old garage doors that opened when pulled sideways and met at the middle when closed —most of the time—no longer are our garage doors. They "bit the dust," so to speak. That's what Gabby Hayes says whenever Roy Rogers shoots a bad guy. "That consarned outlaw bit the dust, Roy."
"Sure did, partner." Roy nods, Dale Evans smiles, Gabby tugs at his beard, and Trigger, the palomino Wonder Horse, stomps his front hoof and takes a bow.
A pair of workers from Kellogg Lumber Company removed the old doors. No longer will Father have to put up with their banging nearly apart whenever we have a strong wind. The workmen laid those doors on the driveway so they wouldn't be in their way when they put together the new single door. I watched them do it. It took them quite a while, but they were able to put together all the parts of the "overhead" door. First, they had to attach large springs to each side on the inside of the garage.
The younger worker explained how it worked after I asked him. "With this overhead, you turn this handle, which unlocks it, and then pull. The bottom comes out and you push it up. Like this." The entire door headed inside the garage and rested below the ceiling.
"Why does it have those springs on each side?"
Maybe that was one question too many because all of a sudden he got kind of angry and yelled, "Say, Genius, do you think I'm a walking encyclopedia, or something?"
That's what he called me, Genius, because he didn't know my real name, I guess. I don't think he meant it in a nice way, either.
"No," I told him. "I'm just interested in how the door works."
"You're asking the wrong guy. Talk to Jake."
That's when the older guy said to me, "What d'ya think helps that door go up so easy like?"
"I don't know. That's why I asked."
"Well, those springs help. That door is made of hardwood and it's awfully heavy. Most folks—even me and my partner here, Art—we'd have a hard time lifting that door without the help of those springs."
"Oh, I see."
"So, what's your name?"
"Gordy. I'm Gordy."
"You're one of Doc's kids, ain't you?"
"Yes. I am."
"So, you're Gordy Hoffman, right?"
"Right." Jake reached out with a hand as large as black bear's paw. My hand became lost in it. He shook it. "Me, I'm Jake Zimmerman." He pointed to his helper. "And that fella there is Art, Art Van de Loop.'
"Hi," I said to Art.
"Howdy," he answered back. I guess Art wasn't so upset with me now that we knew each other's names.
"How old are you?" Jake asked.
"Nine and a-half. I'll be ten next May."
"I was ten once. You wouldn't believe it. Would you?"
"Oh yes, I believe it. All people begin as kids."
Jake grinned. "For a young 'un, you're pretty smart. I guess if I was a doctor's son I'd be smart, too, and I wouldn't have to be working for old man Kellogg, would I?"
"I don’t know. You could."
Jake smiled. I wished he wouldn't have. His teeth looked like hundred year old tree stumps in a marsh we pass by whenever Father takes us on a Sunday drive in the Oldsmobile to visit Ann Ashley in Arpin. Naturally, they were smaller than tree stumps but you get the picture, right? In order to get to Arpin, we drive through Vesper. That's where I lived after I was born in Riverview Hospital in Wisconsin Rapids.
Mother says my teeth are going to look exactly like Jake's because every time she made an appointment with the dentist, I wouldn't go. That guy is something else. Before he lets loose with his drill he asks me if I want him to use Novocain. You better believe I want him to use Novocain even though the needle hurts. It doesn't hurt as much as the drill. I say yes, but he doesn't use it. Why does the guy even ask me if I want him to use Novocain? Go figure. So, I won't go to him anymore, and Mother won't make any more appointments for me. Which is all right with me.
Back to Jake and Art.
Art wasn't really ready to get back to work. "Are you going to be a doctor just like your dad when you grow up?" he asked.
"No, I want to be a fireman and fight fires and save kids from burning houses."
'Well, that's good," said Jake. "We'll always need firemen to fight fires. Now, if you don't got any more questions, Art and me, we gotta get busy, or old man Kellogg is gonna be pretty darned upset if we don't finish today."
"We'd better move those," said Jake, pointing to the old "sideway" doors lying on the driveway. "Why don't you lean 'em against the side of the garage?"
"Ain't you gonna help?" Art didn't look too happy. "
"No."
"Did you say 'No'?"
"I did. Young Gordy will help ya. He's a strong kid. Aren't you Gordy?"
"I think so."
I grunted as I helped Art carry those old doors and lean them against the garage.
"See," Jake told Art. "All you gotta do is ask and kids will help, that is, if they're strong enough. Like Gordy there."
Sticking out my chest, I stood by the old doors. I turned and looked at them. Even standing sideways, they were taller than I. That's when I got "the" idea.
"Say," I asked the pair, "you ever see Spanky and Alfalfa and Buckwheat and Pete, the dog with a ring around its eye?"
"Heck, yes," Art said. "You're talking about the Our Gang shorts at the movie theater. Alfalfa can't sing worth a damn, but he tries in just about every movie I seen. I get a kick outta him"
"Yup," said the older man, "I seen 'em."
"Did you see Spanky's clubhouse?"
"Yeah," said Art.
"Do you think we can make a clubhouse out of these doors?"
"How so?" asked Jake.
"In the back of our garage." I pointed to one door. "This could be the outside wall. The rear wall of the garage would be the inside wall." Then, I pointed to the second door. "And that could be the ceiling."
"Uh-uh," said Jake.
"Why?"
"'I'm not saying your idea won't work, but you better get your old man's permission before we do anything like that."
"Why?"
"Cause me and Art ain't gonna help you with any clubhouse unless we get Doc Hoffman's permission first."
"Sure did, partner." Roy nods, Dale Evans smiles, Gabby tugs at his beard, and Trigger, the palomino Wonder Horse, stomps his front hoof and takes a bow.
A pair of workers from Kellogg Lumber Company removed the old doors. No longer will Father have to put up with their banging nearly apart whenever we have a strong wind. The workmen laid those doors on the driveway so they wouldn't be in their way when they put together the new single door. I watched them do it. It took them quite a while, but they were able to put together all the parts of the "overhead" door. First, they had to attach large springs to each side on the inside of the garage.
The younger worker explained how it worked after I asked him. "With this overhead, you turn this handle, which unlocks it, and then pull. The bottom comes out and you push it up. Like this." The entire door headed inside the garage and rested below the ceiling.
"Why does it have those springs on each side?"
Maybe that was one question too many because all of a sudden he got kind of angry and yelled, "Say, Genius, do you think I'm a walking encyclopedia, or something?"
That's what he called me, Genius, because he didn't know my real name, I guess. I don't think he meant it in a nice way, either.
"No," I told him. "I'm just interested in how the door works."
"You're asking the wrong guy. Talk to Jake."
That's when the older guy said to me, "What d'ya think helps that door go up so easy like?"
"I don't know. That's why I asked."
"Well, those springs help. That door is made of hardwood and it's awfully heavy. Most folks—even me and my partner here, Art—we'd have a hard time lifting that door without the help of those springs."
"Oh, I see."
"So, what's your name?"
"Gordy. I'm Gordy."
"You're one of Doc's kids, ain't you?"
"Yes. I am."
"So, you're Gordy Hoffman, right?"
"Right." Jake reached out with a hand as large as black bear's paw. My hand became lost in it. He shook it. "Me, I'm Jake Zimmerman." He pointed to his helper. "And that fella there is Art, Art Van de Loop.'
"Hi," I said to Art.
"Howdy," he answered back. I guess Art wasn't so upset with me now that we knew each other's names.
"How old are you?" Jake asked.
"Nine and a-half. I'll be ten next May."
"I was ten once. You wouldn't believe it. Would you?"
"Oh yes, I believe it. All people begin as kids."
Jake grinned. "For a young 'un, you're pretty smart. I guess if I was a doctor's son I'd be smart, too, and I wouldn't have to be working for old man Kellogg, would I?"
"I don’t know. You could."
Jake smiled. I wished he wouldn't have. His teeth looked like hundred year old tree stumps in a marsh we pass by whenever Father takes us on a Sunday drive in the Oldsmobile to visit Ann Ashley in Arpin. Naturally, they were smaller than tree stumps but you get the picture, right? In order to get to Arpin, we drive through Vesper. That's where I lived after I was born in Riverview Hospital in Wisconsin Rapids.
Mother says my teeth are going to look exactly like Jake's because every time she made an appointment with the dentist, I wouldn't go. That guy is something else. Before he lets loose with his drill he asks me if I want him to use Novocain. You better believe I want him to use Novocain even though the needle hurts. It doesn't hurt as much as the drill. I say yes, but he doesn't use it. Why does the guy even ask me if I want him to use Novocain? Go figure. So, I won't go to him anymore, and Mother won't make any more appointments for me. Which is all right with me.
Back to Jake and Art.
Art wasn't really ready to get back to work. "Are you going to be a doctor just like your dad when you grow up?" he asked.
"No, I want to be a fireman and fight fires and save kids from burning houses."
'Well, that's good," said Jake. "We'll always need firemen to fight fires. Now, if you don't got any more questions, Art and me, we gotta get busy, or old man Kellogg is gonna be pretty darned upset if we don't finish today."
"We'd better move those," said Jake, pointing to the old "sideway" doors lying on the driveway. "Why don't you lean 'em against the side of the garage?"
"Ain't you gonna help?" Art didn't look too happy. "
"No."
"Did you say 'No'?"
"I did. Young Gordy will help ya. He's a strong kid. Aren't you Gordy?"
"I think so."
I grunted as I helped Art carry those old doors and lean them against the garage.
"See," Jake told Art. "All you gotta do is ask and kids will help, that is, if they're strong enough. Like Gordy there."
Sticking out my chest, I stood by the old doors. I turned and looked at them. Even standing sideways, they were taller than I. That's when I got "the" idea.
"Say," I asked the pair, "you ever see Spanky and Alfalfa and Buckwheat and Pete, the dog with a ring around its eye?"
"Heck, yes," Art said. "You're talking about the Our Gang shorts at the movie theater. Alfalfa can't sing worth a damn, but he tries in just about every movie I seen. I get a kick outta him"
"Yup," said the older man, "I seen 'em."
"Did you see Spanky's clubhouse?"
"Yeah," said Art.
"Do you think we can make a clubhouse out of these doors?"
"How so?" asked Jake.
"In the back of our garage." I pointed to one door. "This could be the outside wall. The rear wall of the garage would be the inside wall." Then, I pointed to the second door. "And that could be the ceiling."
"Uh-uh," said Jake.
"Why?"
"'I'm not saying your idea won't work, but you better get your old man's permission before we do anything like that."
"Why?"
"Cause me and Art ain't gonna help you with any clubhouse unless we get Doc Hoffman's permission first."
RSS Feed