Pure Copper

Whenever me Grandpa Joe would scrap out a fried arc welder he would toss the stripped copper into a 55 gallon drum. When the drum was filled, it was me Pops' job from early on to take it to the scrap yard.

The scrap yard they frequented was owned by an old gentleman. When Dad would go to put the drum on the scale the old man would ask him, "Young man, is that copper from the top all the way to the bottom?" He would motion with an upward pointer at the beginning, turning it down until he was pointing at the floor when he finished his question.

"Yes, sir," me Pops would always answer. He would add, "I can dump it onto the floor to show you."

Holding the palm of his right hand up as though to stop Dad in his tracks the man would reply, "Your word is enough."

This happened every time, me Pops often related, that he took copper out to scrap. "Young man, is that copper from the top all the way to the bottom?" "Your word is enough."

Dad wondered if perhaps it was some form of ritual, simple habit, or the owner's way of letting you know that he trusted you while being sure of what he was getting. Or maybe he simply believed in believing in people.

Well, a man's word should be his bond, right?

Long Gone

My newer older van took its final run yesterday. Although the transmission was out I could still manage low gear, so at about 20 miles per hour I guided it to the scrap yard four blocks away. Here's the van at her last stop.  Well, last stop with me at the wheel anyway. 

I don't think I've missed a vehicle so much. There were tears in my eyes as I drove. Hell, I had tears in my eyes when I realized the transmission had blown north of Alger because I knew what that meant, although I manned up by the time I parked it in the lot outside of the scrapyard office. I even drove past twice - twice - later in the day to see where it might be while in processing. I saw it the first time, lined up for whatever fate had in store alongside several other smaller cars. Silliness.

I made at least four Hessel trips with it, two to Newark, Ohio, one to Chester, West Virginia (sight of the Chester Casino incident with Mom and Dad) to deliver repaired snake cables, and two or three trips for business. The gas mileage was awful - about 13 MPG highway - but boy, did it ride well. I felt like I was guiding a battleship, but there's something to be said for being head and shoulders above traffic.

But, all good things. I did get $450 scrap value. Not bad for something you paid $500 for in the first place. I still had hoped to drive it another year or so just the same.

Yeah, making too big a deal of it. I know.

Copper all the way

Whenever me Grandpa Joe would scrap out a fried arc welder he would toss the stripped copper into a 55 gallon drum. When the drum was filled, it was me Pops' job from early on to take it to the scrap yard.

The scrap yard they frequented was owned by an old gentleman. When Dad would go to put the drum on the scale the old man would ask him, "Young man, is that copper from the top all the way to the bottom?" He would motion with an upward pointer at the beginning, turning it down until he was pointing at the floor when he finished his question.

"Yes, sir," me Pops would always answer. He would add, "I can dump it onto the floor to show you."

Holding the palm of his right hand up as though to stop Dad in his tracks the man would reply, "Your word is enough."

This happened every time, me Pops often related, that he took copper out to scrap. "Young man, is that copper from the top all the way to the bottom?" "Your word is enough."

Dad wondered if perhaps it was some form of ritual, simple habit, or the owner's way of letting you know that he trusted you while being sure of what he was getting. Or maybe he simply believed in believing in people.

Well, a man's word should be his bond, right?

Copper question

Whenever me Grandpa Joe would scrap out a fried arc welder he would toss the stripped copper into a 55 drum. When the drum was filled, it was me Pops' job from early on to take it to the scrap yard.

The scrap yard they frequented was owned by an old gentleman. When Dad would go to put the drum on the scale the old man would ask him, "Young man, is that copper from the top all the way to the bottom?" He would motion with an upward pointer at the beginning, turning it down until he was pointing at the floor when he finished his question.

"Yes, sir," me Pops would always answer. He would add, "I can dump it onto the floor to show you."

Holding the palm of his left hand as though to stop Dad in his tracks the man would reply, "Your word is enough."

This happened every time, me Pops often related, that he took copper out to scrap. "Young man, is that copper from the top all the way to the bottom?" "Your word is enough."

Dad wondered if perhaps it was some form of ritual, simple habit, or the owner's way of letting you know that he trusted you while being sure of what he was getting. Or maybe he simply believed in believing in people.

Well, a man's word should be his bond, right?