In Memoriam

By Staff
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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,

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

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

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

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Preserving the History of Internal Combustion Engines