Spare tire Carrier Maintenance

REPAIR COST

Pats Perspective142

Pats Perspective 141

Bad Eyes Dykes

During my youth I was never afraid of the prevailing working conditions. I’ll never forget working nights washing dishes at a Ramada Inn to get some extra cash fast. Many of us have had to stoop really low during our working lives. I guess it all depends on the level you’re coming from. To a hungry man, washing dishes would be a terrific opportunity for free food.



And as I clearly remember, it all looked different. Being the low man on the totem pole was the pits. Everyone, all the waitresses, the cook, everyone treated me like I was a leper.



But it was a job. I can remember times when it seemed like I had been down so long that everything else looked like up to me. After all a job is a job. And you gotta’ work to get money.



I’ve worked in horrific phosphate mines and phosphate acid processing plants. One day they lowered me down into an acid vat on a rope. I had to hang there and operate a pressure washer, and could hardly breathe the acid stench was so horrible. I worked at a train car loader and the phosphate rock dust would accumulate on my shoulders faster than I could brush it off. The air was so filled with dust that a respirator quickly plugged and I wound up going without one.



I quit one plant when they asked me to take a jackhammer and go inside a hot phosphate rock drying kiln and break up the slag. I heard later that my replacement was badly injured when the slag broke loose at once, nearly burying him in hot rocks. One day I watched as my co-worker had his eyes burned by acid that came spewing out of the pipes we were dismantling.



Being a worker, with a hard working mentality, and the desire for money were all I needed when I was young. But I always knew deep down inside that I wanted to be a mechanic. And I also knew I’d have to work my way up through the ranks if I ever wanted to be any good.



I was willing to work just about anywhere, just so long as the pay was good and I was able to learn from the older tradesmen I met along the way. I wanted to learn all that I could. I was like a sponge, soaking up every trick and technique—lest they serve me well sometime in the future with a skill learned. I knew that the more skills you had, the faster you could complete a job and the more money you could make.



So being a mechanic also brought me into some pretty nasty situations. They don’t call auto repair shops “the back room” for nothing. Some nightmarish places I’ve turned wrenches will remain in my mind forever. Hot, poorly lit, filthy, stinking repair shops. I’ll never forget this one place. It was a real mess. There were old axles and rusty frame parts piled up in the corners, with pieces of fender and doors hanging from the walls. The lighting was bad because the fluorescent tubes were half flickering and half lit. The air smelled stale and the floor was crusted with layers of soot.



It was truly a hell hole that no one in their right mind would want to go to work in every day. But I had bills to pay and the money was good. My co-worker’s name was Godwin. He also liked his job, and he was an okay mechanic. He inspired me with how hard he worked, teaching me to always do the very best you can. But, he would talk about how hoped to find a better job someday. Like most mechanics, he was wrenching until he could find “something better.”



Maybe that's why Godwin didn't buy any new tools. He had kids to feed and big house payments. I was still young, footloose and fancy free. Much of my paycheck went to the tool dealer, as I was still building my tool collection. When the tool trucks came around every week, I couldn’t wait to run out and get a new prize. Maybe a new trick wrench or special socket.



But Godwin never bought anything. He mostly bought his beat-up set of tools at the flea market. He picked up some at yard sales, and always was happy to have our discarded and worn out stuff. I remember how his little beat up toolbox was much too small to hold all the old screwdrivers and pliers that he had. I felt sorry for him, and gave him the tools I no longer needed.



I remember how Godwin spread all his screwdrivers and pliers over his work bench. And how he would root through them until he found one he liked and wanted to use. I remember how much wasted time he would spend digging through those worn out tools, sometimes trading one for another that was in the pile. Maybe it was better than the last one he had just used, or maybe he just wanted a fresh one. I dunno. It was weird.



And when a screwdriver wasn't good enough, he sometimes would saunter over to the bench grinder and dress it up giving it a new edge. The worst ones, those that already lost their ability to be a screwdriver anymore, would get ground down into chisels. The old pliers would just get thrown onto the heap to keep company with all the other tired and worn-out tools.



As for a mechanic, Godwin was just adequate. His saving grace was that he was a hard worker. But he wasn’t real bright. If he had been, he would’ve realized how much time he spent each day rooting around in his tools—wasted time that could have been earning him money. Or maybe Godwin just did that to think. To the rest of us, he was just digging around in that useless pile of tools to find just the right screwdriver—or pliers. To Godwin, he was thinking about what he did last night, or what he was going to do tonight after work. Who knows?



And so the boss didn't give Godwin any real hard jobs—or anything too technical. He mostly did mufflers, brakes, belts, and hoses. He did have an air gun. He used it when he did tires and to break loose rusty muffler studs. But Godwin didn't really like to use high-powered pneumatic air ratchets and power tools. Most often he’d happily use his hands, arms, and a beat-up old Proto ½ inch drive ratchet. Remember, he was only wrenching for a short while. That is, until he could find a better line of work.



But even without air tools, Godwin was a pretty efficient mechanic. He could R&R a muffler just as fast as anybody in the shop. Oh boy, was he ever good with the “Heat Wrench!” That's what he used to call the oxyacetylene torch. He would light that puppy up and could get anything to come loose. No matter how stuck or frozen. He would get it cherry red hot and give it a good whack with one of his “beater” hammers…



Godwin was pretty handy with a hammer and chisel too. If he didn't have the right socket, in that cardboard box he kept on the floor alongside of the bench, he’d use a hammer and chisel. Never seen anyone so adept at getting a nut or bolt loose that way. I can still remember how he’d hold up the hammer in his muscular left arm and say” left or right handed thread, it works both ways!” Then he’d hold up the chisel in his right hand and announce, “This is the correct tool for all sizes, be it metric or S-A-E.



Godwin would never even consider borrowing a tool from the other mechanics. He would rather go without, struggling and struggling, sweat pouring down from his forehead rather than stoop to ask someone to loan him a impact hammer or air powered chisel. He may have not had any nice tools to show, but he was proud just the same. And that was the reason that he was such a good mechanic. Because he was proud of his accomplishments.



Godwin was my mentor in this way. From him I learned how to be proud of your work and to do the job right the first time. Without ever knowing it, Godwin passed onto me the importance of what you do and how it impacts the future. I can remember how he’d say, “You see ‘dis here brake job? You see how it’s goes all back together, right? But do you see how much trouble it’s gonna’ cause for you if you don’t do it ‘zactly right? You better believe it! You don’t want one of ‘dem cops come snooping around saying “Who done worked on this here man’s auto mobile. He’s kilt ‘cause of no brakes. Now who’s gonna’ take ‘da blame?’”



I’ll never forget that day Godwin was doing a routine brake job. He had done many, many brake jobs before. To Godwin, brake jobs were just like breathing or eating—they were second nature. He would whip off the old shoes and have new shoes hung before the other guys had the drums off. But little did either of us realize that this particular brake job would change his life. And mine too.



It all stemmed from the fact that Godwin wasn't in the habit of using special tools. That goes for brake tools too. Special tools were something he didn't believe in, because he figured he could just get by with the tools he already had. For example, rather than spend money on a brake spoon, he heated up a large screw driver until it was red hot, and then beat the screwdriver blade into a reasonable facsimile of the actual brake tool.



As I said, one of Godwin’s salient traits was his efficiency. He could really whip out a brake job. I watched him many times, and was amazed at how efficient he really was. It was like it was all planned and rehearsed. Every motion, every move. Not a wasted motion. Not an extra step. He used to say “I kin’ tell how outa-it I’m doing when I’m having a bad day. I can tell by all the extra times I gotta go back for some other tool I done forgot.”



He used to start out by picking through that miserable pile of tools until he had gathered up just the right ones. Then he’s scoop them all up in one of his meaty-big-fisted hands and carry them over to the car. Just one trip. No extra trips back and forth to the toolbox. Also, he had an uncanny knack of making more use of a tool than it was intended. Like using a screw driver handle instead of a plastic hammer when banging hubcaps back in place.



Godwin could double use an old pair of wire cutters to install brake hardware. Commonly known as "Dykes," for diagonal cutters, he would whip a brake job apart and back together using just dykes—like nothing you’ve ever seen. Holding them with his huge left hand, (he was a South Paw), he could not only pry off the big brake return springs, but catch onto them and reinstall them as well—all the while his right hand was removing and replacing the shoes, hold down clips and little springs.



I can still remember him remarking about why the other mechanics spent so much money on special brake tools when, “All that was needed was a tool you already own.” Dykes had to be Godwin’s favorite tool for doing brake work. Nothing fancy. Just a simple hand tool.



So, as I was saying, Godwin was doing this brake job and he had his favorite pair of dykes in his hand. They were pretty worn, like the rest of his tools, but to him there still remained plenty of life left in them. It didn't matter to him that the green plastic covers had come off on the handles of the dykes. It just made them appear ugly, "But they still work," he would say to himself loud enough for anyone in earshot to hear.



Brake springs are difficult to deal with, and require the use of a special brake spring tool in order to coax the strong brake spring back into place. Buy Godwin was a very strong man, and his grasp was like a pair of Vice-grips. With his muscle, he could easily get away with using a pair of pliers to grab the spring and pull it back home. But, he liked to use as few tools as possible. And armed only with the dykes he would R&R a set of brake shoes faster than anyone I’ve ever seen.



Godwin had rapidly popped off the hold down clips and stuff, and had just finished hanging the shoes. He was in the process of reinstalling the brake shoes and springs. And was pulling the main spring—the long and tough one—across to the other shoe when the dykes slipped off the spring and suddenly let go. He had been exerting so much force on pulling the spring that when the dykes slipped, his hand reacted and pulled the handle of the dykes into his right in the eye. It instantly put out his eye.



For the sake of a $5 brake tool, Godwin was permanently blinded in one eye. Godwin quit the job as a mechanic and became a security guard. It was much easier than being a mechanic and he thought the eye patch made him look mean. People now seemed to respect him much more than when he was a mechanic. Life goes on.