A Curious Man

A Curious Man

Some called Dad a strange duck. Others admired him. Dad had the reputation as a walking encyclopedia. The family had learned early on not to ask him how the water pump (or any other contraption) worked, as then they were in for a half hour lecture complete with drawings. He was a curious man.

Dad's nephew, long before we children came along, delighted in my dad living with them during his college days. He said Dad could make anything, and did. He and his uncle( Dad) made curious toys like a submarine out of tin cans that worked on moth balls, or a crossbow, (back when it was legal). Uncle Donald gave him his first Erector set, his first chemistry set, his first model airplane, his first trombone and a used Chevie radio along with a box of old electronic equipment. Every Saturday the two of them ventured to the library to read electronics how-to books

As his own family came along, Dad centered his time on his wife, his two children and his work at the paper mill as technical director. Nights found him down in his cluttery basement workshop building something new, with one or both of the kids on his lap or scooted up on a stool to the workbench. His motto seemed to be "I wonder if I could make that?" And then he tried.

A spring operated hobby horse was one of the first projects, made for me, the firstborn. It has made it through two kids, their six cousins, six grandchildren, and five great grandchildren. Then there was a kayak made in the basement long before anyone heard of kayaking except as pertaining to the Inuits. He saw some plans in a Popular Mechanics probably, made it, tried it on Lake Michigan, and finally gave it to a high school boy who admired it. Next it was a paddleboard that could be converted to a sunfish style sail board Painted bright orange, it spent 50 years being pulled by the boat, paddled or sailed around the lake at the cottage. A hand built "speedboat" was built in the garage one winter. He was notably generous about bringing all the neighborhood kids up to the cottage to learn how to water ski with that. Many years later found Dad searching all over hell and high water for pontoons to use on a curious bicycle-powered water vehicle for all the grandchildren.

No one had more junk in his basement than Dad. But this was meaningful junk! He spent hours pouring over the junk at Silversteins' Army Surplus in Detroit , selecting little couplers, odd screws, wires, and other sundry army surplus supplies. He had several of everything, stored in bins in the workshop, out in the garage cupboard and up north at the cottage shed. The word was "go see Voigts, he'll have it " if one couldn't find a part to fix something. When he died we found some kind of light box in the far corner of the coal bin that was curiously still blinking. Perpetual light?

Kids regularly liked doing their homework at my house, because Dad could answer all the questions in science and geography. Later my college chemistry homework was done with long distance phone calls home to Dad. Even later in my life, with a family and living on the farm, I made frantic calls to Dad to find out how to fix a particular machine, or how to wire some circuit in the barn. Even now, twenty-five years since he's been gone, I often think of a question I need answered and he'd be the only one who could answer it. (I can't even find the answers on Google.)

Dad regularly made chemical mixtures for use around the home. He concocted his own paint remover for everyone in the family who did antique restoration. There was a mosquito bite antidote, with olive oil and phenol. (Now we know how dangerous that was, but back then even the chemists didn't know.) All the kids in the neighborhood were paid five cents a strawberry basketful of horse chestnuts for his rheumatism remedy collected from an old Pole in town. Buckets of the chestnuts soaked in isopropyl alcohol in our basement, and later a shelf full of the bottled remedy was shared with anyone who complained of arthritis pains.

Dad had lots of curious outdoor schemes and inventions. An old 12 foot bobsled that could hold a lot of people (at least it seemed that long when I was little) was located. He arranged for a few families to go out to a hill on a little traveled yet plowed road complete with an icy surface on which to slide down. As I remember, I was stuffed in between 2 adults and the whole gang sped down the hill and halfway up the other side. He just wanted to see if it could be done.

Now Dad had built a homemade cannon before I was born. It was a regular tradition in the neighborhood, at the cottage or any celebration for that cannon to be fired off a few times. My memory of the ending of World War II is stopping on the town bridge and Dad shooting it off several times. I believe that old thing is still in a corner of the cottage shed.

Recently a comment from an old friend about "Your dad would eat anything, even crow" brought back a dim memory of an his own stuffed white owl, that Dad used as a decoy for crow hunting. I guess he evidently cooked some of those crow and made a stew out of them This old friend said Dad admitted they didn't taste very good! There were also memories of Dad gathering a gang together to go on a river frog spearing adventure, an overnight canoe trip down the big river or a turtle hunt in the swamp. I can still remember turtles being skinned on the backyard shed. That night there was a meal that tasted like mud. We had a lot of curious food at our house!

He wasn't above curiosity in the kitchen either. As a teenager I wanted to make some hot fudge sauce but all the recipes seemed too slick and runny. Dad, ever being the organic chemist, told me I needed a binder. What did I know? By adding flour or cornstarch, we created the right consistency of the hot fudge I was looking for. Souse (or head cheese) was something he thought would be fun to make. He doctored up the right ingredients, as he remembered them and we had several pans of it in the pantry. Just before "Fizzies" came out in the early 50's, Dad and the doctor who lived across the street had come up with a formula to make such a product. There must have been some other chemists out there thinking the same thing. (Fizzies were a little tablet that could be dropped in water and produce a carbonated flavored drink).

When grandkids came along, he got another burst of energy for making curious toys. First came some little carts with casters, made from sturdy fruit packing cartons (back when they were made from wood). Next there were kalembas for all out of old rake tines which he scrounged from garage sales that summer. A box scooter was made for each of the twins with ancient rollerskate wheels and a top made of wooden soap boxes he'd been saving. A handle was whittled out of a broom handle and names were painted on the front. Homemade tip-ups for the boys to ice fish with was one Christmas gift. Every grandchild got a pair of stilts to take home.

In the bicentennial year, my children invited Grandpa to come be a star at one of those heritage festivals we had in our town. Dad was an expert wooden whistle maker. Made every spring out of the new maple shoots, he said he always kept at least 5 by the side of his bed, in a glass of water so they wouldn't dry out. I had learned to make them from him, but could never get all the different pitches from them. My children grew up knowing how to make a maple whistle and thought that was pretty special. They wanted the tradition passed on so they signed Grandpa up as a booth demonstrator. All day Dad and I carved out whistles and passed them out to all the kids and adults.

This whistle fascination seemed to go hand in hand with his musical curiosity. Not having had the opportunity to take lessons as a youngster, he taught himself to play various folk instruments like the harmonica, the tiple, ukelele, guitar, button accordian, and banjo. He loved any kind of music and learned to play it all. We always thought it pretty corny but cute that he took his tiple while courting Mom and serenaded her.

One very curious musical idea my dad had was to build a musical theramin. He had heard these in some early 50's movie and knew enough about radio to know the basics, so he again "wondered if I can make that?" This theramin proved to be a big project, and friends traipsed down to the basement to see this "musical" instrument. They would just leave shaking their heads, chuckling about why would anyone want one of these anyway. (A theramin is a electronic musical instrument that works with two aerials, and as you move your hand toward or away from the respective aerials, the tone and volume change. The instrument was used to make eerie sounds in the horror movies.)

There are many pictures of a grandchild sitting on his lap, while he's playing the banjo. His biggest thrill was when I, ever the classical musician, took up playing folk instruments and formed a family band with his grandchildren. He loved teaching his old tunes to Cindy, our fiddle player in the band.

I still have at least one occasion a month where I wish I could ask Dad "how's that done." He was a "curious man"--curious about all the world around him.