Dayton Daily News & Radio’s ‘Joe’s
Journal’
Granted every maharaja has his mahout and every well-appointed
Englishman his very proper Jeeves — but just what, when a little
help is needed, does ye Spark Plug have up his sleeves?
Oh, there’s always Bill or Hank standing by, whenever the
big fly-wheel needs a yank. And usually there’s George or Jess
hangin’ ’round the work-shop in winter when the
engine’s down and things in a mess. True, there’re always
plenty of guys to lend an arm when help is needed — or give advice
whether or not it’s heeded. But what about those extra little
niceties, above and beyond the call of duty, like oiling up the
bearings and polishing the brass trim along the rod and ’round
the rim? For once the big engine’s put back together and doing
her stuff at the reunions, it’s always the spit ‘n polish
‘n shine in the summer sun that contributes most to a Spark
Plug’s fun.
When Grandpa gets bit by the gas engine bug, and the disease
really ‘takes a-holt,’ eating away at the grand paternal
wallett as more and more cast-off old hunks of junk begin piling up
in the family woodshed, to be worked on, then it can well be
affirmed that ‘gramps’ has taken off on that long and
winding trail that might someday lead to those noble and vaunted
chambers known as the Spark Plug Hall of Fame. But, before finally
arriving at the place, well wager he’ll be judged guilty of
picking up a couple of Pipsqueak Spark Plugs along the way to sort
of share and bask in the glory thereof.
Like, for instance, Spark Plug Harold Hirshey of Geneva,
Indiana, who had plenty of fun running his big 5-horse-power
International at the Tri-State Gas and Tractor reunion in Portland,
last summer. But he had even more fun, not having to bother a
tinker with such fussy things as oiling up or wiping grease or
smudge. For Spark Plug Hirshey had fetched along his own special
crew of tag-along pint-sized grease monkeys who sort of took over
the more menial tasks of lubrication, engine wiping and brass
polishing while all Grandpa had to do was thrust his chest out and
watch the darned thing run.
Whenever Grandpa got a little tired or bored watching his own
engine run, he’d shut things down a spell, take a stroll over
the Tri-State grounds to munch a hot dog or take in the other
exhibits and see how the other fellows were getting along. Upon
returning, there was the ‘crew’ — oil-can in hand pointed
down at the bearings and grease rag wiping the smudge that had
collected in the out-of-way cracks, and crevices inaccessible to
the larger, adult hand.
Grandpa chuckled — and rightly so — for certainly he had
discovered the ideal set-up that made him the envy of all the other
Sprak Plugs on the grounds.
‘They’re my grandsons,’ laughed Hirshey as he
proudly watched his special crew of Pip-Squeak Spark Pluggers
laboring tirelessly at keeping Grandpa’s big engine polished
and shining in the strictest tradition of Gasoline Alley. ‘Dave
is six;, Phil is eight,’ chuckled Gramps.
‘Look how it shines, Grandpa,’ Dave Vorhees, the
younger, wiping oil from the big red fly-wheel spokes while Phil
Vorhees, the elder, reached for a bearing with his tilted oil-can
spout.
‘Wait, Grandpa, till I get this cleaned out,’ yelled
pipsqueak Dave, while from pipsqueak Phil came this, ‘Grandpa,
do you think I’ve got enough oil in here, or should I give it
some more?’
‘Now, Grandpa, will you help us start it up?’,
choroussed the twain.
But Grandpa had other ideas, discovering other places that
little hands hadn’t yet polished or wiped clean and giving
gentle reminders that a task, once begun, should be completed
before allowing little boys to take time out to play. For Grandpa
Harold Hirshey, whether he’s read it in books or not, knows
full well that the rules ‘n regulations that were good for the
kids of his day are likewise good for what ails the rising
generation in the social order of today. And what made Johnny a
good boy then, is what makes Johnny, or Dave or Phil a good little
boy in this day and age.
‘I THINK I’VE GOT ALL THE GREASE OFF THE ENGINE,’
says pipsqueak Spark Plugger, Dave Vorhees, putting final polish to
the big International flywheel. But Grandpa, Harold Hirshey, seems
to wonder whether or not that oil can young Phil is handling will
hold out the rest of the afternoon at Tri-State Gas & Tractor
Reunion, Portland, Indiana.
‘I see a couple o’ places you missed with that rag
around the fly-wheel spokes,’ reminded Grandpa Hirshey,
pointing with his knurled knuckles toward a couple of overlooked
grease spots that young Dave’s oil rag hadn’t wiped
clean.
‘Grandpa — I thought those were shadows,’ pipped
piqsqueak Dave, his ‘wipin’ arm’ slowing down
noticeably with each swipe of the rag.
‘I’m gettin’ tired,’ squeaked pip-squeak Phil,
fidgeting an empty oil can and yawning a bit drowsily.
Quicker than a katydid could tune a fiddle, they were off,
heading toward the tall timbers at the other end of the Tri-State
reunion fairgrounds. ‘Were they boys or men?’ I debated as
I followed their footsteps, amused at their engineers’ caps,
overalls and the long red bandannas hanging from their rear
pockets.
But, when I looked up and saw that they were heading straight
for the building with the sign that read ‘MEN’-I was sort
of convinced that Dave and Phil, six and eight, with a full
day’s work of polishin’ and greasin’ Grand-dad’s
big engine had suddenly felt like they were men, badly in need of
wash-bowl and soap.
As a man — or a boy — thinketh, so is he. And thank you,
Harold Hirshey, for helping those grand-kids to grow up in a few of
the simpler virtues of working and earning their fun by way of such
unsophisticated endeavors as polishing brass and oiling the gears
of a big gas engine.
For that’s just the way that a Spark Plug and his two
pipsqueak Pluggers o’ grandsons should work ‘n play
together — whether it totals up to three boys or three men, the
sum is always Spark Plugs — three.
AFTER A DAY’S WORK ON GRANDPA’S BIG INTERNATIONAL
ENGINE, Spark Pluggers Dave and Phil, six and eight, looked like
men in engineer’s caps, overalls and with the red bandannas
hanging from their pockets. And, according to the sign, they were
MEN! (Badly in need of wash bowl and soap.) A tired concessionaire
at rear seems to have folded up the table cloth willing to call it
a day too.
