'-and the rest is history!-'


| September/October 1989



Engine

This is the engine and Dad who started it all.

Lacey Goldman

10634 Oakford Union Lake, Michigan 48085

We usually drive from the east side of Michigan to the west side about once a month to see Mom and Dad, and the kids see Grandma and Grandpa. What this really means is that the wife and I go through all of my boyhood memories to see what we can drag home this time. The kids raid Grandma's cookie jar and Grandpa's change pockets and venture out to see what lumber they can scavenge from Grandpa's kindling pile to build another fort with. That way they can leave something to be rememberd by and it gives Grandpa something to do for three days after we leave.

Upon arrival this particular weekend in September, 1985, and after exchanging greetings, hugs and kisses, Dad directed us all to the garage. There, where the fort building supplies used to be, was this strange looking chunk of rusty, dirty iron that had these wheels on either side of it that looked like Paul Bunyan's frisbees.

'Who mistook your garage for the local landfill?' was my first question. Dad explained that this 'landfill material' was an antique gas engine that had broken down the day before its' owner went into the Army-in 1941! This thing had been a winter resort for the local chipmunk union in the back of an apple orchard that didn't even produce apples anymore and the owner said that if Dad could dig it out of the ground it would be his. (Where was this Dad when I was trying to dig out twenty-inch tree stumps: heck, he could have had all of those!) Dad proudly told me that he was going to restore it and make it run again. Now I have to tell you that this man is educated, a decorated veteran, a retired successful business man, and probably the closest thing to the perfect father and husband that ever walked the face of God's green earth. His accolades and achievements belong in Who's Who. But being a victim and participant of the 60's, I have to tell you that I truly believed, at that moment, that this man had been smoking his social security checks!!!

'Why? What for? And what do you do with it?' asked my wife, Phyllis, very politely. (Of course you have to realize that this woman would tell a drought stricken farmer that his August ten-inch-high corn 'looks pretty good this year'.)

'Because it needs it-because I want to-and I can use it to run an orchard sprayer, a pump jack, or a corn sheller.'