Posted by JRSutton on January 13, 2016 at 10:26:14 from (71.184.82.47):
I didn't want to hijack Alan K's post regarding what your dad taught you about welding, but the question brought a good friend to mind who I lost recently.
My father knew nothing about welding, I learned to weld in my friend Paul's shop. Paul was my fishing buddy's dad. Their house is half a mile up the road.
I've talked about him here in the past, usually when the subject of farm safety comes up. Paul grew up in town here with foster parents, then went into the army for four years out of high school. When he got out of the army he came back to town and was helping somebody chop corn. The weather had knocked the corn down, and it wasn't feeding very well into the machine. Paul tried helping by standing the stalks up to feed better.
That high-risk move changed the course of his life drastically. Something caught his arm and he got dragged into the chopper. It removed both his arms and half his face and scalp. He also lost an eye.
He shouldn't have survived the accident, but he did. He spent a long time in the hospital. At one point he had his Last Rites read to him. But he was a tough )#$#rd. He pulled through, and spent years recovering.
He went on to live a fairly normal life. He married, had a son, built his metal working shop doing wrought iron railings/gates. Anybody with equipment that needed welding brought it to Paul.
Any time I brought something to him to be welded, I'd insist on paying him but he would flat out refuse it. The best I could do is stock the fridge in his shop with some beer when he wasn't looking. I was far from the only one who couldn't pay him.
He had prosthetic hooks - and you'd be absolutely amazed to see what he could do with them.
I could sit in that shop all day watching him work and listening to him argue with his son. As talented as Paul was with his hooks, there were somethings that were just impossible for him, and that's where his son came in. They had a relationship that I don't think most people can even understand. Bill wasn't just his son, he acted as his hands. They were a team like no other I can think of.
But good god they'd fight. They'd be laughing and joking one minute, something would go wrong, the tension would build. Paul was very hard to understand because of his injuries, and Bill is very hard of hearing from growing up in a metal shop... A bad mix. Suddenly WWIII would break out and they'd be screaming at each other, each ready to kill. Two minutes later they'd be laughing and joking again.
On more than one occasion I've seen Bill get so p'd off he'd weld one of Paul's hooks to the welding table. It was always a show.
But even with all the outbursts, Paul was the kindest man I know. He never forgot his accident. He had some serious bouts of depression over the years, and understandably so. But when you put yourself in his position, it's easy to think about how miserable you could be if dealt the same cards.
He was often sad and frustrated by it, but he never took it out on anybody else. He'd give you the shirt off his back, and was so good with young kids he could get them past the shock of seeing him in an instant.
I could write for hours about the man, but this isn't really the place. I just wanted to acknowledge him now that I'm thinking about him. He was a good man, and he deserves to have something nice said about him somewhere, so there you have it.
He passed away a few months ago from lung cancer at the age of 76.
I learned a hell of a lot more than welding from him.
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Today's Featured Article - Old Time Threshing - by Anthony West. A lovely harvest evening late September 1947, I was a school boy, like all school boys I loved harvest time. The golden corn ripens well and early, the stoking, stacking,.... the drawing in with the tractors and trailers and a few buck rakes thrown in, and possibly a heavy horse. It would be a great day for the collies and the terrier dogs, rats and mice would be at the bottom of the stacks so the dogs, would have a busy time hunting and killing, all the corn was gathered and ricked in what we c
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