In Memoriam

In Memoriam

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One of the patriarchs of our hobby, MR. M. H. (DICK) SEIBERT of Hummelstown, Pennsylvania, passed away April25, 1996 at the age of 91. Dick was known to engine men throughout Pennsylvania and started many young men restoring and exhibiting engines. A long time member and volunteer at Rough and Tumble Engineers, Kinzers, Pennsylvania, Dick was honored by the Association and his peers for his influence and positive contributions over many years of service. He loved the sound of engines, and often set up on weekdays just to greet visitors and share his enthusiasm.

Like many who are active in the preservation and display of early machinery, Dick grew up in the heyday of technical change. He was born in Union Deposit in 1905 and worked many years for Hess Ford in Hershey where he learned basic engine mechanics and repair of starters and generators. Later he sold and repaired home appliances at Spire Electric, and then worked as a machinist at Plouse Machine in Hummelstown.

It was second nature for Dick to design and build; he was one of the first to build an Olds engine from castings supplied by Paul Breisch and encouraged dozens of friends to seek Paul out and learn for themselves the joy of model building. Dick built gas engines, steam engines and even an Edison dynamo. His Parsell and Weed gas engine, incorporating homebuilt fuel pump with visible overflow, adjustable compression, mechanical oiler and magneto, has to be one of the most photographed engines in the region.

Dick is survived by his son Harold, and a host of fellow enthusiasts who are thankful to have known him and to have benefited from his friendship.

Submitted by his family and many friends.

This announcement is in remembrance of LESTER K. SNOOK, age 87, of Pataskala, Ohio, who passed away February 12, 1996. He was retired from the Jaeger Machine Company, Columbus, Ohio. He was a member of The Hocking Valley Steam and Antique Power Club, a lifetime member of Tri-State Gas Engine and Tractor Association, Inc. of Portland, Indiana, and Stump town Steam Threshers Club, Inc.

Submitted by Charles Snook, 13265 Ivy Street, Thornville, Ohio 43076.

On March 29, 1996, BILL BAKEMAN left this world at age 82.

It's hard to talk about the death of one of the greatest influences of your life. So, I'll talk about his life.

His yellow retriever, Brandy, first introduced us. At the Sandy Creek Fair, where an engine show was held every year, Brandy was manning her usual duties begging chicken from the town's annual barbecue. Not far off, Bill was brewing up a pot of his famous summer squash, a special hazy August after noon's suicide batch. It was a special occasion. The Limburger Club was to have a meeting that evening and Bill was the charter member.

I quickly learned Bill's Limburger Club duties and how highly regarded this position was, as Bill and his caravan lifestyle carved itself into my life. Years of engine shows passed, Canton to Canandaigua and back again, and I found myself cursing an occasional 'Holy ol' teapot' when discouraged. Bill taught me everything I know today about gas engine etiquette. I learned never to offer chewing gum to a tobacco connoisseur, for a fresh chew, Bill said while tapping his cheek, was better all 'round and an offense to think otherwise.

In his cabin in the Boylston woods, where black flies grew as big as your well, they just got bigwe drank black coffee from a rusted pot, read the latest gossip columns, and spoke out about the injustices of the world, mainly inflation. Who but Bill would have enough guts to dicker the price of a $1.59 hot dog and walk away with it for just one dollar? Only Bill could pull that one off. Believe me, that P & C manager knew she'd messed with the wrong man when she raised the cost of the doughnuts to forty cents each!

But Bill did get those doughnuts at the same thirty-five cents later that afternoon. Not the dull plain ones, but the fancy sprinkle kind. Sprinklers, we felt they should be called. Bill would store them in his beloved but dented tin box. (It was right and just to call it the 'Sprinkler Box.') There he'd put them in the refrigerator, so the sprinkles would get nice and crunchy. But usually he forgot to take them out and they just got soggy. Often, you were left to wonder just exactly from what summer he'd first purchased them, but the thought was there, so you ate the stale sprinkler anyway. The thought was there in everything Bill did, that was what mattered.

He was so many characters, and I love them all. He was the inspiration for most of my writing.

But your camp is empty now. Instead of Tug Hill, you rest on Onondaga Hill, a lonely place like your lonely camp. No more jokes. No more saving of the best camping spots between the food stand and the springhouse. No more stories. No more flowers on Brandy's grave. The river behind your camp sings a low mourning.

There is no death, only a change of worlds. You and Brandy are together now. And I bet Saint Peter has already acquired a taste for sprinklers!

Submitted by Nancy Henderson, 14 Henderson Rd., Sandy Creek, NY 13145.