There was always two things that never failed to happen when I was growing up. One was if it was a Friday night, and Dad drove home in the company work truck, that meant we’d be going to the city land fill on Saturday. We called the land fill the (Dump). The second was ……The Yellow Stool!!!!
I remember the Dump being completely different than it is today. I always thought it was a fun place to go! Each time I went was like a new adventure, something different to see, treasure to find, and strange people to watch, and that was only the second part of the fun. The first part was loading the truck and sometimes a trailer too, then driving there and back with my Dad and brother Rick.
I always wondered, How did we accumulate so much junk? I spent allot of time in the basement or in the garage, and I never noticed any of the stuff that we would be taking to the Dump. I think maybe early on Saturday morning, before I got up, the stuff would magically appear on the floor. I know I never made any of the messes…..Well maybe once or twice. Even our dog Rusty accumulated stuff like half chewed toys, sticks, rags, and bones; heck Rusty only ate canned dog food, so how did he get bones in his bed?
As us guys loaded the truck with our junk, the neighbor men up or down the street would swing buy and ask Dad if we had any room for some of their junk. I soon figured out this was a way men can shoot the bull and still look like we’re working. The next time it might be the neighbors turn going to the dump.
After we loaded up, it was time to go. I can still remember the sound of that trailer bouncing down the road behind the truck. As we entered the Dump there was a fee paid, seems like it was 4 or 5 dollars. Then it was show time! Dad would back the little trailer into the dumping area with no problem.
Before the freeway was built Dad drove a big tractor trailer making deliveries from Portland to Longview every night on the old highway, it took all night for the round trip. So backing up the little trailer was no big deal.
The Dump has it’s own smells too. “Dad said the smell is from rotting food” plus there were Seagulls everywhere. Rick said “The birds eat the rotting food.” Have you ever seen the movie, The Birds… …Creepy!
I also enjoyed watching the people back up there own trailers. It was like watching the Three Stooges’ It was funny. The trailers would go every direction except where they wanted them to go.
Then there were the Trash men. “That’s what Dad called them” I guess they are called Recyclers today. Each trash man had there own little area, with there own little chair that had an umbrella hooked to it. If the weather turned bad they would each go inside there own little one man shack and keep an eye out for any thing to snatch it up. The trash men all looked alike too. …Like Big Clones! Each wore black and white bib overalls, each wore thick framed eye glasses, each chewed on a half smoked cigar. And if they saw anything shiny they could snatch it up before it hit the ground, and don’t even think about picking any stuff back up off the ground. Because it some how became the property of the trash men.
Looking for treasure was fun too. But I could only look for it close to the truck. So if I did find any treasure it then became a challenge to pick it up with out the Clones… I mean the Trash Men seeing you. I found a lot of stuff like marbles, plastic rings, money, a toy sheriff badge, and some army men to name a few.
My best memory of the Dump was the giant orange bulldozer!
It was really neat, you could see and feel the ground shaking, the smell of the diesel fuel, and see stuff being smashed and crushed was really cool ..…. It really made my day!
No I didn’t forget! ….The Yellow Stool!
Yes this was a Constant for me too.
The Yellow Stool was always kept in the basement in the corner of the Furnace room, maybe it was there so no one could hear the screams from the person that sat on that Yellow Stool!
My brother and I knew what was going to happen to the one that sat on that Yellow Stool. When Dad ever said… “Get the Yellow Stool ” Rick and I would look at each other hoping that our name wasn’t called, but one name was always called. If your name was called it was like digging your own grave, then jumping in, or building your own gallows to hang yourself. But one of us always had to go!
Each of us from time to time had to make that long lonely walk into that basement and into that dimly lit furnace room. and wait, and wait! on that Yellow Wooden Stool.
And then it was time. We could hear Dads foot steps coming down the stairs and into the basement. Was the torture going to be quick or drawn out? We never knew?
Then like something out of a movie Dad would drape a sheet over Rick or my shoulders, after that Dad would open a small black bag. Slowly he would bring out the instruments of torture. Dad then would lay each instrument in a straight line in front of us. Naming each. “One comb, Two Scissors, and One small hand held broom” .
Rick and I both knew from earlier experiences that the instruments of torture in front of us would never be used! They were just for show. Suddenly out from behind dads back came…. The electric clipper. The noise of the clipper would make any dead person roll over in there grave.
Dad with one hand on our head and the other holding the tarnished instrument, would begin the torture!
Globs of falling hair landing on our shoulders in our face then on to the floor, the hair was then kicked or stepped on….. I couldn’t breath! I need air!…But then!… In under two minutes it was over! We now could take a breath, and the Yellow Stool was back in the corner, until next time when Dad would say! “Get the Yellow Stool.
Rick don’t forget to sweep up your hair!
Grandpa Tom
