SPARK PLUG OF THE MONTH

By Staff
1 / 5
Courtesy of Joe Fahnestock, Union City, Indiana 47390
Courtesy of Joe Fahnestock, Union City, Indiana 47390
2 / 5
Courtesy of Joe Fahnestock, Union City, Indiana 47390
Courtesy of Joe Fahnestock, Union City, Indiana 47390
3 / 5
Courtesy of Joe Fahnestock, Union City, Indiana 47390
Courtesy of Joe Fahnestock, Union City, Indiana 47390
4 / 5
Courtesy of Joe Fahnestock, Union City, Indiana 47390
Courtesy of Joe Fahnestock, Union City, Indiana 47390
5 / 5
Courtesy of Joe Fahnestock, Union City, Indiana 47390
Courtesy of Joe Fahnestock, Union City, Indiana 47390

Take a good lookin’ gal who can charm you with a smile when
the going’s rough – and an easy-going hubby whose Hoosier
dialect makes him sound sort of grumpy, but he isn’t, then you
have the whizz-bangin’est man-‘n-wife ‘secretary’
that any enterprising, gas-poppin’, spark-pluggin’ bunch
o’ hooligans could ever wish for.

Yes — just as it takes two to make that happiest of human
relationships known as marital bliss, it requires the combined
talents of this twain — Morris to do the bossing, Carolyn to do
the work – to keep things running smoothly at Tri-State. And should
you question the fact that Carolyn does the work and Morris Titus
the bossing — we’ll just let you in on this. It was Carolyn
who was awarded the coveted Tri-State Spark Plug of the Year Plaque
for 1972, while Morris felt lucky just being married to her.

But, all in all, Carolyn and Morris Titus do make one big cog in
the drivewheel that makes that huge machination known as The
Tri-State Antique Gas Engine and Tractor Association function
smoothly. And, for all this, they have the official sanction and
blessing of none other than President Woodrow (Woody) Turner and
all his board of directors, bar none.

Parking as we usually do, with Uncle Elmer’s boxes of GEMs
and IMAs, right beside the beautiful Tri-State Secretary’s
office, we see the frequent goings and comings of this Mr. and Mrs.
Titus secretarial team, trying desperately to read the pulse of the
big show by the looks on their faces. When everything’s
meshing, gear to gear, as it should, Carolyn will beam from ear to
ear while Morris will flick his cigaret ash and smile faintly as if
nothing could ever go wrong with ‘him and her’ at the helm.
But when the gears grind ‘n growl a little, Carolyn can lock as
glum as Morris (Heaven forbid). But a cheery little word from us
and Carolyn turns on that smile which makes the gears run quietly
again while Morris (Dear soul), flicks the ashes from his fag and
stalks off.

There is just something nice and wholesome about this Morris and
Carolyn Titus team that seems to pervade the entire Tri-State show
with an aura of harmony and good will. As thoroughly American as
the red, white and blue, they are happily devoid of the harsher,
stiff-necked, monotheistic attitudes of the prototype secretary
whose prerogative is barking out orders rather than smoothing out
problems. However, when the occasion arrives, and sterner attitudes
are required, the Morris-Carolyn secretariat can be sufficiently
firm to nudge the machine off center.

It was our insatiable curiosity about this utterly charming
hubby and wife secretarial duo that prompted us to hazard the cold
spring rains and muddy roads that led to their country lair, deep
into Hoosierland, far from the maddening crowd of modern housing
and the noise of traffic. We were bent on finding out, first hand,
whether Morris Titus was the ‘head’ and wife, Carolyn the
‘neck that turned the head’ — or vice versa. And we found
out, not to our dismay, that it was neither. Although at first
observation, seeing Carolyn in the act of pouring over the official
Tri-State correspondence and check books, while Morris watched with
approval, it appeared that Carolyn was the ‘head’ and
Morris the ‘neck that turneth the head’ at that moment.

It was a difficult enough task, just getting through on the
telephone for an appointment — between Scout Cub Packs and
meetings of confirmation and Sunday School classes. But finally we
made it.

Morris Titus shows Uncle Winston Keller his prize railroad
lantern–which was an old interurban type belonging to the Union
Traction Company that ran between Fort Wayne and Indianapolis,
Indiana. Morris has about seventy old railroad lanterns
representing about forty different roads.

‘We’ll be going to church in the morning and then we
entertain the Golden Rule Sunday School Class from the Eden
Methodist Church, at our place Sunday evening. You could come after
church and eat dinner with us,’ said the pleasant voice.

‘We could come in the afternoon, after dinner. But how do we
get to your place?’ I asked.

‘Well, do you have a paper and pencil handy? You turn left
and go south where 36 turns onto 9 and 67 which takes you around
Pendleton. Where 6 and 67 separate, at the State Patrol Post, take
9 to the left and you will be going straighter south than you were
going and you go through Eden — remember the Garden of Eden? — to
State Route 234. Turn left onto 234 -you’re now headed back to
the eat — and go four crossroads, about three miles to road 500-E
and turn left, going north,’ explained Carolyn, quite amused at
how mixed up I was becoming on directions. ‘You’ll drive a
mile and a half without seeing any houses on that road, then ours
will be the first one. There’s a big iron bridge just beyond,
so if you come to the bridge without seeing our house, then just
back up to the first house and there we are.’

We finally arrived, having successfully negotiated the labyrinth
of modern highways and mud-puddle country roads that led down road
500-E to the Morris Titus home. Actually we had made a complete
circle, heading toward home down that lonely, uninhabited road
where the big white house hove into view. (Morris Titus lives in
the White House?)

‘You really do live in the country,’ I said, when the
door opened to the friendly household of Morris and Carolyn Titus
and their two lovely children, Jane and David.

‘Yes – I wouldn’t live anywhere else,’ replied
Morris. ‘I used to live here a lot with my grandparents. Later,
when my grandmother moved to Pendleton, I stayed one night with her
in town and the noise ’bout drove me nuts, so I came back here
and never left.’

‘How about the noise of the gas engines at Tri-State?’ I
asked.

‘Oh, that’s music,’ mumbled Morris, in his dry
Hoosierland wit.

It took a little while, orienting ourselves to the utter
quietude and loneliness of the vast and beautiful country that
surrounded this happy home. The verdant beauty of the grassy
meadows and winding creek in springtime were so peaceful and devoid
of the real estate booms that have desecrated much of our American
countryside elsewhere. But even Morris Titus was fearful of the
modern invasion of his tranquility with nature.

‘Fellow moved a trailer into the woods up the way. Getting
too crowded,’ snapped he. It’s the only human to invade the
mile-and-a-half dirt road south of him.

‘You sound like Daniel Boone,’ was my reply. ‘He
complained about a new neighbor moving in a hundred miles
away.’

‘How did you two ever meet?’ was our first leading
question, as one thing led to another.

‘Oh I just lived across the bridge, the next house north of
here,’ said Carolyn, pointing out the parlor window.

‘That crick used to flood clear up to this place, years
ago,’ explained Morris. ‘Then the WPA came along and dug it
out from yonder tree, at a new angle and it no longer floods. Then
they built that bridge down the road.’

But neither flood nor mud deterred Morris in his courtin’.
Whether Morris met Carolyn on the bridge, each going half way — or
Morris walked across the bridge and right up to her Pappy’s
door, history won’t tell, but in love they both fell. Though
it’s not known whether Morris proposed, or did Carolyn, wedding
bells peeled forth from the village church tower and the two got
married (like Adam and Eve) in Eden.

But, unlike Adam and Eve, Morris and Carolyn live happily in
their Garden of Eden, despite the problems of being joint
secretaries to the big Tri-State Show. The year-long task of
writing checks for bills that come and go, the endless answering of
letters from Spark Pluggers, far and wide, about memberships and
engines they want to exhibit as well as flea markets and
concessionnaires in a mad race for space. All of which takes up
much of the spare leisure time of this twain –between doing scout
den duties and churchly chores and school teaching for Mom, as well
as the assembly line at Delco-Remy in Anderson, Indiana, for Pop.
Little wonder that Carolyn’s secretarial desk is sometimes
littered with a surplus of Tri-State show bills, inquiries and
official receipts. But with Carolyn to push the pen and Morris
looking over her shoulder, as boss, the two keep whittling away at
the mounting stack at staggering pace. And, should they not be able
to find a certain letter or receipt atop the desk, there are always
the half-dozen or more travelling cases and valises stacked over by
the wall which must be rummaged through.

Four generations here! Morris Titus shows off his favorite
engine, a one and three quarter HP Associated that belonged to his
Grandfather, and became his first engine. L. to r. Morris at the
flywheel. Grandmother, great-grand kids, Jane and David, and Uncle
Winston Keller. Morris has a total of some forty gas engines around
it.

And it goes on like this, day after day, week-end after
week-end, ’til the day they pack everything up and leave for
the big Tri-State Show where secretaries are expected to ‘keep
their cool’ despite the eternal din of popping of gas engines
and gas tractors. Little wonder we can read the pulse of the big
show, by studying the faces and paces of Morris and Carolyn Titus
as they come and go. One wonders how it all got started. But from
Morris came the story of Tri-State’s humble beginnings.

‘About nine years ago, I was show in’ a few of my gas
engines, about five, at Wauseon and a fellow by the name of Woody
Turner came along and we chatted. There were very few gas engines
there — it was so hot, seemed like 200 degrees in the shade. You
had to visit with friends or someone, else you’d just melt
together,’ reminisces Morris. ‘I said to Woody, ‘We
ought to start a gas engine show’. Woody sent out some letters
and I got one. It was around 12-below zero that morning when about
a dozen of us showed up at that meeting in the Portland, Indiana,
bank.’ recalls Titus, (but not to rob it).

From then on, the rest of the story is history. The Tri-State
Antique Gas Engine and Tractor Association grew like wildfire, year
to year, from their first small show at Fort Recovery, Ohio, till
1972 when its exhibits and trailer parking expanded the length and
breadth of the Jay County fairgrounds at Portland, Indiana. And
1973 promises to be even bigger, with more space required to
accommodate it.

As Mr. and Mrs. Secretary of the Tri-State Show, Morris and
Carolyn Titus manage to ‘keep their cool’ with such things
as this big trailer load of antique gas engines popping all day
just outside their secretary’s window. This is just one of the
many exhibits that annually show at the Tri-State grounds,
Portland, Indiana.

It’s clear that ‘Pop’ Morris Titus looks over the
shoulder and does the bossin’ and ‘Mom’ Carolyn does
the pushing of the pen, the work ‘n all that. But together the
two make a wonderful combination known as the Tri-State
‘Secretary’. The double works as a single.

Notice the plaque on the wall, shown between Morris’s arm
and Carolyn’s head is the 1972 Tri-State Spark Plug of the Year
Plaque that Carolyn brought home last year. The whole family was
very proud of ‘Mom’.

‘This winter we have already received letters from West
Virginia, Texas and Californai from people wanting to come,’
says Carolyn Titus.

Although Carolyn has been awarded a Spark Plug of the Year
plaque from Tri-State, which she proudly displays behind her desk,
along with Morris’s trophies — we feel it was rewarded for the
wonderful way she ‘plugs’ for hubby and ‘sparks’
him into motion, more than it is for her outstanding Hazel Ertel.
She knows everything about them,’ smiles Carolyn, rolling her
eyes over to Morris for approval of her statement. ‘Oh, I know
what the flywheel is and a spark plughwen I see it.’

Just then Morris was telling us about his some forty antique gas
engines, and devotion to gas engines.

‘Yes, I like gas engines, but not like seventy old-time
railroad lanterns he had out in one of the sheds, when the back
door opened and in walked his grandmother and uncle. It looked like
a family reunion was in the offing, and with the Sunday School
Class from Eden arriving only two hours away!

Like a shepherd with a flock of sheep, Morris led us out to the
long, white shed to show us his engines. There was his
International Tom Thumb, a Cushman, a Woodpecker, two Rock Islands,
a tiny antique boat motor of unknown origin, a Fairbanks, a Taylor,
a New Idea, and a very old Maytag, to name a few. But the one he
prizes most is the one-and-three-quarter horsepower Associated,
serial 331843, which was his first and has some family nostalgia
about it.

‘This was Grandpa’s engine,’ explained Morris.
‘I used to stay out here a lot with my grandparents, and I went
along with Grandpa many a time to watch him pump water with this
engine over at the west farm.’

It made a fine family portrait of four generations, posed around
that Associated Gas Engine — Great Grandmother, Uncle Winston,
Morris and the kids.

Overhead hung an array of seventy antique railroad lanterns,
representing forty different roads.

‘The one I prize most is this old interurban lantern from
the Union Traction Co.,’ explained Morris to his Uncle Winston
Keller who, by way of Morris’s political pull became a judge at
the Tri-State Old-time Fiddlers’ Contest. They used to nickname
that road, the L.E.&W. – some folks called it the ‘Leave
Early & Walk’,’ chuckled he.

All the time we were there, not a single car drove down White
Pigeon Road, as it was called years ago. ‘Used to be only one
car came down this road a day,’ pined Morris, ‘But now
sometimes as high as two or three come by. Even one’s too much
traffic t’ suit me,’ says he.

Before our visit drew to a close, we had the answer to our one
pressing question. We were convinced that Morris was the
‘head’ (that looked at his engines), and Carolyn was the
‘neck’ (that turned the head back to work) when the
Tri-State secretary’s desk was piled high and waiting.

To these lovable two — the Tri-State ‘secretary’,
Morris and/or Carolyn Titus, we offer a choice seat in our Hall of
Spark Plug Fame. But, being the gentleman type, we know Morris will
stand back of her chair, while Carolyn does the sitting.

‘I’m mighty proud of her,’ mumbled Morris, blushing
a bit. ‘After all, she’s a graduate of Ball State
University.’

Let’s hope I’m not blushing, next time I ‘study
their faces’ at Tri-State -in case I’ve ‘writ something
wrong’ in this story. And Morris orders me back to Eden to
confess.

Here’s the ‘cage’ that Carolyn and Morris Titus work
in as ‘secretary’ of the Tri-State Gas Engine and Tractor
Show at Portland, Indiana. Notice it’s ‘heavily
guarded’ in front, so Carolyn and Morris can’t escape.
That’s daughter, Jane, inside with them. Actually, the
‘cage’ is a very attractive mobile unit, which Walter
Baldauf (left) helped to build, and Woody Turner (president) helped
design. Baldauf and Turner don’t really look like such
‘tough guards’. Like Carolyn Titus, seated right behind the
window, Walter Baldauf also owns one of the coveted Tri-State
‘SPARK PLUG OF THE YEAR’ awards. (By the way, that
Tri-State auto plate looks exactly like the one stolen off my
‘Joe Dear’ — makes a feller wonder, doesn’t it?)

  • Published on May 1, 1973
Online Store Logo
Need Help? Call 1-866-624-9388