The staring contest

Old Amos was tight. He was a good man yet he was very careful with his money. Consequently, me Grandpa Joe would often send Amos out to buy this or that for the welding business. He knew Amos would get him the best deal. One story me Pops liked to tell involved such an event.

I can't remember now what it was Joe wanted, but he sent Dad and Amos after it because it would take two people to handle whatever contraption he wanted to buy. Dad drove, and then simply stood back to watch Amos at work.

Amos tried every way in the world to get the seller to back down on price. He begged, he pleaded, he pointed out flaws in the machine. The guy wouldn't budge. It reached the point where Amos stopped talking and began pacing. He would pace a few steps beyond the man and then return. On his return, Dad said, Amos would stop abruptly right in front of the guy and spend a few seconds just glaring at him. Then he'd walk on, return, and do the same thing. He must have been trying to intimidate him, was all Pops could think.

After as few minutes of this, during which the seller did exchange a quizzical look at the old man, the guy finally said, "Look, just give me my price. But I'll put a lower one on the bill of sale to help you out on the sales tax."

Amos would have none of that. "Now, listen here. I want to get the best price I can out of you," he explained to the seller. "But what goes on paper is going to be right no matter what we agree to." Amos then resumed his pacing tactic.

As I recall (I wish I'd have listened more closely to Pops' stories) they eventually agreed on a price and Dad and Amos took the thing to the Shop because Joe had to have it. But I sure would have liked to have seen that battle of wills, that staring contest.

Lack of Negotiation

Me Grandpa Joe, he didn't negotiate price. Oh, he'd occasionally allow his friend Amos to do so in his stead, so I'm probably playing a bit loose with this assertion. Still, Joe to my knowledge never himself negotiated a price.

I found this out on a trip through western Michigan with him, looking for a pump jack as I recall. I'm still not sure what a pump jack is but I know it had to do with the oil wells he once invested in, and I know they were big because we had to take his manual shift stake truck with the ten foot bed to get one.

Anyhow, after driving for two days, two days of me learning to drive a stick I might add (so there were a lot of fits and spurts and stalled engines as I was learning through trial by error) we ended up at his friend Ford's. Ford was his actual first name; I don't remember his last. Ford took us out into a field of various and large machinery, about in the middle of which was an old pump jack. It looked like an oversized grasshopper to me. Joe asked Ford what he wanted, and Ford told him. Joe took a drag on a cigarette, then just said kinda quietly, "I think I'll pass." We began the trip home.

Grandpa explained to me that a fella knows what his stuff is worth, and who was he to argue with that? I get what he means. I rarely negotiate myself, usually giving a simply yea or nay when dealing with a seller one on one. And it ain't like we can typically negotiate anyway: at Kroger you pay what Kroger asks for groceries or you walk on by. I suppose I was just a bit miffed that, after lurching across the state and staying one long night in a tired old hotel, the journey was for naught. In the end though, I respect his point. And it is hard to beat time with your Grandpa.

 

Amos's Turkey Day

The story may sound contrived, trite, or obvious. Yet it's a true story. I haven't even changed the names to protect the innocent.

Amos, you'll recall, was an old friend of me Grandpa Joe. You may remember also that he was considered tight. However true that might be, and I suspect that it's been a bit embellished by the myth-makers of family history, he didn't mind spending a few dimes on good causes. One such cause was St. Dominic's annual Fall Festival.

As should be expected at a large party celebrating autumn, among the games and spinning wheels was a turkey booth. You pick a number, you put your money or ticket on that number, the wheel is spun, and should that number come up, you have the entree for your Thanksgiving feast. Amos approached the booth, selected some number not 13 (he was also superstitious, remember?), and waited for the spin of the wheel. He anticipated nothing, but lo and behold, won a turkey on that first try.

Now, two things were at work that day. Amos was genuinely there to support the Church. But then, he also knew his reputation. He figured he couldn't just walk away with the bird. So he played a second time with a second number (still not 13). He won another turkey.

Then a third one.

And finally, a fourth one.

You may rest assured that Amos spread his largesse. He gave away three of the four turkeys. I've no doubt also that he made his way around the school gymnasium and spent his share of hard earned dollars to help old St. Dominic. But to hear me Pops tell it, the look on his face, the sheer mortification at winning four turkeys in a row at a charitable event, was priceless.

Surviving Superstition

I'm not sure the reasons behind it, but Amos Sheffield whom I've mentioned a few times once went through a spell where he needed many surgeries. For whatever other reasons of which I am also unsure, me Pops ended up the contact person for him. Amos had no children and what family he had were all living in Kentucky.

I should mention here that Amos was extremely, indeed fervently, superstitious.

One day during the course of all Amos' health issues he had to have a surgery fast. It was a we need to know this instant, don't dwell on the answer, we'll lose him if don't operate immediately situations. Yet Amos himself was in a coma and could offer no instructions. Pops happened to be in the hospital and was approached about what to do. Operate, he of course told the doctors.

The surgery was done, and Amos came out in flying colors.

Well past any danger a couple of weeks later, Amos still lay in the hospital recuperating. Me Pops went to pay a visit. As they talked, Pops could see that Amos was calculating. Eventually he asked, in a fit of pique, "That was my thirteenth operation. Why'd you let them do it?" he demanded of Pops.

"What was I supposed to do?" Dad responded incredulously.

"When was the surgery?" Amos then demanded.

"I dunno. Two Fridays ago I guess."

"That was the Thirteenth!" Amos exclaimed. "You let them operate on me for the thirteenth time on Friday the 13th?"

"You're made it, didn't you?" Dad said with a wave of his hands. But I suppose when superstition gets a hold on you, it grabs tight.

Burnin' Gas

This is going to be one of those entries which probably isn't as funny as I think it is, especially as I didn't witness the joke. Still, I'll give it the old college try. After all, I did graduate from an old college.

I went to work early this morning to get a machine done for a fella who wanted it five days from yesterday (let's see how quick he actually gets to the Shop for it) and as I was leaving to come home for a bit the guy across the alley was trying to get his old van started. This he managed, but boy, was that thing burning gas. You could smell it, strong and engulfing the air all around. It was an odor I hadn't come across in years. Since back when we had a couple hundred old Hobart welders in fact. The smell of a motor burning too much gas is one you remember.

Anyway, it reminded me of a time when old Amos Sheffield was working for me Grandpa Joe. Joe sent Amos out to pick up a gas drive, a welder powered by a gasoline engine. When Amos got to the job site he himself smelled that smell. He knew the Hobart would need work once back at the old barn.

The foreman sauntered over to Amos as he hitched up the machine to his vehicle (a car, because Joe at the time didn't believe in pickup trucks) and remarked, "The old girl worked pretty well, but it sure was burnin' gas."

"What?" Amos asked incredulously. "You got one of our machines to burn gas? How'd you manage that? I gotta let Joe know about it. I can't believe you made one of our welders burn gas," and on and on, as me Pops would tell it, until the foreman finally smiled and said "Get outta here," and went about his business.

Yeah, probably not that funny a story. But Pops liked it.

Staring Contest

Old Amos was tight. He was a good man yet he was very careful with his money. Consequently, me Grandpa Joe would often send Amos out to buy this or that for the welding business. He knew Amos would get him the best deal. One story me Pops liked to tell involved such an event.

I can't remember now what it was Joe wanted, but he sent Dad and Amos after it because it would take two people to handle whatever contraption he wanted to buy. Dad drove, and then simply stood back to watch Amos at work.

Amos tried every way in the world to get the seller to back down on price. He begged, he pleaded, he pointed out flaws in the machine. The guy wouldn't budge. It reached the point where Amos stopped talking and began pacing. He would pace a few steps beyond the man and then return. On his return, Dad said, Amos would stop abruptly right in front of the guy and spend a few seconds just glaring at him. Then he'd walk on, return, and do the same thing. He must have been trying to intimidate him, was all Pops could think.

After as few minutes of this, during which the seller did exchange a quizzical look at the old man, the guy finally said, "Look, just give me my price. But I'll put a lower one on the bill of sale to help you out on the sales tax."

Amos would have none of that. "Now, listen here. I want to get the best price I can out of you," he explained to the seller. "But what goes on paper is going to be right no matter what we agree to." Amos then resumed his pacing tactic.

As I recall (I wish I'd have listened more closely to Pops' stories) they eventually agreed on a price and Dad and Amos took the thing to the Shop because Joe had to have it. But I sure would have liked to have seen that battle of wills, that staring contest.

Slap-happy Amos

Amos was one of me Grandpa Joe's good friends. I know I've spoken about him before: he's the gent who would always stop by and shake my ten year old hand as he shuffled along to visit me grandparents. One of me Pops favorite tales about him is as follows.

Amos had once owned and maintained an apartment building. He was in his fifties, maybe sixties, at the time. Anyway, at one point he had a tenant who was notorious for getting loud and obnoxious, arguing with his wife, and generally causing trouble. Amos threatened several times to throw him out if he didn't behave himself.

One afternoon Amos was dealing with a plumbing repair on the old building, carrying a ten inch pipe wrench. He was on a landing of a stairwell between floors when he heard the loudmouthed renter yelling at his wife. The next instant the man burst out of his apartment on the floor above Amos, screaming vitriol at his old lady. Amos ordered him to calm down. "What are you gonna do about it, old man?" he demanded loudly. Then he leaped at Amos.

Amos swung the wrench and cracked the guy on the side of his head. Stepping to his left, Amos smacked the other side of the guy's skull as he flew past onto the bottom landing. The fella crashed into a heap.

A woman in a lower floor apartment looked out and, seeing the trouble, grabbed some towels and bandages to attend to the profusely bleeding attacker. "What happened?" she asked incredulously.

"He called me an old man, so I slapped him," Amos explained. He then went about his business.

And whether he moved out or became a better man, Amos had no more trouble with the bad renter.

Amos Prevents Murder

I've spoke of Amos Sheffield before. He was a good friend of me Grandpa Joe. 

Old Amos was a bit of a kidder. Yet that could sometimes defuse a situation, employed rightly.

One day he was traipsing down the street in the old neighborhood and came across Ilene, who was married to a guy named Ben. Amos knew them both, so he and Ilene stopped to chat.

Turns out Ilene and Ben were on the outs. They'd had a spat, and she stormed out of the house. That's why she was trolling around herself. "He gets me so mad sometimes, I could just kill him," she said to Amos with a shaking head.

"Oh, now, that's serious stuff, killing a fella," Amos remarked. "You gotta careful about that."

"Of course, if you're serious we can get a couple of guns and see to it," he added dryly.

Ilene burst into laughter. "All right, Amos, I'll just go back home and talk to him."

"That's good thinking," concurred Amos.

Black Friday 2019

No, I'm not going to write about shopping excess or the irony of people wanting more after a day of supposing to be thankful for what they already have. I mean, it's been done by others. And by me. A lot. Or at least enough. In fact I have three other ideas for today, so I'll throw them all at the wall and see what sticks.

I appreciate my son carving the turkey yesterday. I always detested that job. It's nasty, indeed just plain yucky, and is one of two things which could make me vegan if I had to do it regularly. The other is a trip to rendering plant, which I spoke about here:

https://thesublimetotheridiculous.blogspot.com/2018/10/render-under-somebody-else.html

So thanks Chuck!

Today we put up the Christmas tree and other holiday decor. It's good to have same said son and his family here to help, because it's just more fun with the kids (even if they are all in their thirties). We've long hit the remember-this-ornament-remember-that-one stage. It's more fun with more folks involved.

Number three, number three, paging idea number three...oh yeah. It was to be a remembrance of me Grandpa Joe's old friend Amos and his overabundance of Thanksgiving good luck at a Church festival years ago. But it turns I wrote about that last year. You can read about it here:

https://thesublimetotheridiculous.blogspot.com/2018/11/amoss-turkey-day.html

And now you have it: the three ideas I had to blog about today. It's kinda the written equivalent of a clip show I suppose. But people like clip shows, don't they? I know lazy writers do...

Amos and Alice

Yep, Amos and me Grandpa Joe were good friends. They'd visit frequently, Amos stopping by at me grandparents', Joe and Alice's, house regularly for coffee and talk. Amos also worked for Joe for years at the old welding rental shop. And like friends do they would help each other out with things. Within reasonable bounds, of course. No need to go above and beyond the call of duty.

One day me Grandma Cosgriff decided she wanted a new stove. She went out to the appliance store, found what she wanted and paid for it. This left only for Joe and Amos to go get it. Dutifully, they took a truck from work and went to fetch the new stove.

Then somewhere along the line they broke it. Not badly; it was still safely operational. It was a superficial injury: they had managed to crack off a piece of the porcelain which coated one of the knobs for a burner. Well, what can you do? With I'm sure an aw hell from me Grandpa, they took it on home.

Once home, they got the appliance off the truck and up onto the porch. Yet As Joe went to brace the front door open, Amos turned to leave. "Where are ya goin?" me Grandpa demanded.

"You're on yer own now Joe. I ain't about to face Alice's wrath with her new stove broken," Amos explained as he reached the gate.

I don't how Joe got the stove the rest of the way. And I'm sure me Grams wasn't all that angry.

Thirteen thirteen

I'm not sure the reasons behind it, but Amos whom I spoke of yesterday once went through a spell where he needed many surgeries. For whatever other reasons of which I am also unsure, me Pops ended up the contact person for him. Amos had no children and what family he had were all living in Kentucky.
I should mention here that Amos was extremely, indeed fervently, superstitious.
One day during the course of all Amos' health issues he had to have a surgery fast. It was a we need to know this instant, don't dwell on the answer, we'll lose him if don't operate immediately situations. Yet Amos himself was in a coma and could offer no instructions. Pops happened to be in the hospital and was approached about what to do. Operate, he of course told the doctors.
The surgery was done, and Amos came out in flying colors.
Well past any danger a couple of weeks later, Amos still lay in the hospital recuperating. Me Pops went to pay a visit. As they talked, Pops could see that Amos was calculating. Eventually he asked, in a fit of pique, "That was my thirteenth operation. Why'd you let them do it?" he demanded of Pops.
"What was I supposed to do?" Dad responded incredulously.
"When was the surgery?" Amos then demanded.
"I dunno. Two Fridays ago I guess."
"That was the Thirteenth!" Amos exclaimed. "You let them operate on me for the thirteenth time on Friday the 13th?"
"You're made it, didn't you?" Dad said with a wave of his hands. But I suppose when superstition gets a hold on you, it grabs tight.

Tearin' up jack

I remember Amos. He was one of Grandpa Joe's best friends, and lived just up the street. Often he would walk down to visit Joe and if one of us kids were out, he'd stop to shake our hand and say hi. I always thought that was pretty cool of him.

He had a phrase for when he was going some place in a hurry. He'd say he was "tearin' up jack". One day his tearin up jack cost him an extra ten minutes.

Amos was coming down the Lodge Freeway here in Detroit, hurrying to get home. Now, I don't know if other parts of these United States have such things, but on Detroit freeways many exits have turn around lanes at the top of the ramps which allowed you to make a U-turn without making a left turn onto the street where you exited. Maybe you wanted the street a couple blocks back, say, so this way you could loop around to it without making two left turns. It was thought to help traffic flow, I've always guessed.

But anyway, there was often an entrance to the freeway on the far service drive after the turnaround lane. If the street merited an exit it merited an entrance too, right? In this case, Amos was exiting at Forest Avenue but wanted to double back to Warren, which was two streets north. So he intended to take the turnaround lane at Forest and double back to Warren.

"Here I am headin' south on the Lodge tearin' up jack', Amos explained, "And I fly up the ramp and take the turnaround tearin' up jack, and I get on the far service drive and run right down the entrance ramp onto the northbound Lodge." Yep. In his hurry to get home, Amos had become for an instant absent minded and tore up jack right back onto the freeway.

That's the peril of tearin' up jack. You can forget where you're supposed to go.

Tearin' up jack

I remember Amos. He was one of Grandpa Joe's best friends, and lived just up the street. Often he would walk down to visit Joe and if one of us kids were out, he'd stop to shake our hand and say hi. I always thought that was pretty cool of him.
He had a phrase for when he was going some place in a hurry. He'd say he was "tearin' up jack". One day his tearin up jack cost him an extra ten minutes.
Amos was coming down the Lodge Freeway here in Detroit, hurrying to get home. Now, I don't know if other parts of these United States have such things, but on Detroit freeways many exits have turn around lanes at the top of the ramps which allowed you to make a U-turn without making a left turn onto the street where you exited. Maybe you wanted the street a couple blocks back, say, so this way you could loop around to it without making two left turns. It was thought to help traffic flow, I've always guessed.
But anyway, there was often an entrance to the freeway on the far service drive after the turnaround lane. If the street merited an exit it merited an entrance too, right? In this case, Amos was exiting at Forest Avenue but wanted to double back to Warren, which was two streets north. So he intended to take the turnaround lane at Forest and double back to Warren.
"Here I am headin' south on the Lodge tearin' up jack', Amos explained, "And I fly up the ramp and take the turnaround tearin' up jack, and I get on the far service drive and run right down the entrance ramp onto the northbound Lodge." Yep. In his hurry to get home, Amos had become for an instant absent minded and tore up jack right back onto the freeway.
That's the peril of tearin' up jack. You can forget where you're supposed to go.

The peril of tearin' up jack

I remember Amos. He was one of Grandpa Joe's best friends, and lived just up the street. Often he would walk down to visit Joe and if one of us kids were out, he'd stop to shake our hand and say hi. I always thought that was pretty cool of him.
He had a phrase for when he was going some place in a hurry. He'd say he was "tearin' up jack". One day his tearin up jack cost him an extra ten minutes.
Amos was coming down the Lodge Freeway here in Detroit, hurrying to get home. Now, I don't know if other parts of these United States have such things, but on Detroit freeways many exits have turn around lanes at the top of the ramps which allowed you to make a U-turn without making a left turn onto the street where you exited. Maybe you wanted the street a couple blocks back, say, so this way you could loop around to it without making two left turns. It was thought to help traffic flow, I've always guessed.
But anyway, there was often an entrance to the freeway on the far service drive after the turnaround lane. If the street merited an exit it merited an entrance too, right? In this case, Amos was exiting at Forest Avenue but wanted to double back to Warren, which was two streets north. So he intended to take the turnaround lane at Forest and double back to Warren.
"Here I am headin' south on the Lodge tearin' up jack', Amos explained, "And I fly up the ramp and take the turnaround tearin' up jack, and I get on the far service drive and run right down the entrance ramp onto the northbound Lodge." Yep. In his hurry to get home, Amos had become for an instant absent minded and tore up jack right back onto the freeway.
That's the peril of tearin' up jack. You can forget where you're supposed to go.