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

Remember when you were a kid? It was always hard to make some money, especially if you were the youngest in your family. For me, I had chores every day. I maybe made $10 bucks a week. My brother Rick, he had his every day chores too. Rick being older, his chores would sometimes interfere with him going out with his buddy’s. So every once and awhile, Rick would ask me if I wanted to make some extra money and most of the time I jumped at the chance. But asking me was far and in between. So I thought of different ways to make money. One of the ways was taking a wagon door to door and ask people for old pop bottles made out of glass.

If I remember right, the bottles were worth 3-5 cents each. Most of the time the lady of the house would be home, so we collected tons of bottles and made enemies of the local PigglyWiggly food store. As time passed, many of the stores started saying they wouldn’t take large quantities of bottles. So we started taking smaller and smaller amounts. Another store that we took our bottles to, we called, the Chinese Grocery Store. The owner would always say the same thing when he saw us walking in. “ You boys stop. We not take bottles“…Then us kids would say back…“We’re going to tell our parents”… Then he would say, “ Ok only this time“. I always thought he and us kids were playing some kind of a game, but I’m sure he thought it was some kind of blackmail!

My parents liked shopping at the Chinese Grocery Store because of the green stamps. Plus, on Friday evening you could win a prize if they drew out of a box, your old grocery receipt that had your name written on it. They won a number of times.
Us kids weren’t the only ones going door to door back in the day, a lot of salesmen were making a very good living selling door to door. They were selling things like knifes, books, cleansers, vacuums, fire alarms, siding for you home, candy, hats, flowers, jewelry and more. There was this one guy I was always in awe with and was amazed. He was making a living selling straw brooms door to door. You say, “What was so amazing about that”? He was blind!
When Rick got older he landed a sweet job working in an ice cream store up the street from our house, so I took over his chores. Plus having my own chores, I started making some real money $20 dollars a week. I can still remember receiving my first new twenty dollar bill. I took all of my change and dollar bills into the bank and traded them in for a brand-new $20 bill. Now that was something!
When I was older my Dad would pay me $5 dollars to mow the front and back yard. It would only take me maybe an hour. After mowing the yard from time to time it got me thinking…. I just made $5 dollars in one hour. The Minimum Wage was $1.25 an hour. So I decided to take the lawn mower door to door just like I did when I was younger collecting bottles with my wagon. The next day I started my quest for, The Mowing of the Yards!

Walking up and down the streets it was soon apparent that this idea was going to be harder than I thought. The ladies that answered the door would either say No! or My husband mows our yard on Saturday. The first yard that I was able to mow, was from this real old lady two blocks up the street. She said how much more for edging? I have a edger in back if you need one. I didn’t even know what edging meant. But I said $2 dollars anyway. It took me over 2 hours to do the edging! But I still made $7 dollars in three hours. Still better than minimum wage.
One day while making my rounds with the lawnmower, I spotted this 1947 Studebaker pickup truck. It had a sign on the window for sale or trade. It was a strange looking truck with a tall grill, a three speed on the floor, and a flat head six cylinder engine. It was painted a gray color…It was ugly. But I just had to have it!

As I walked up to the front door, I was met by the owner of the truck. He asked me how much? I just stood there for a second or two because I was going to ask him the same question. How much? He then pointed to my lawnmower. I said $10 dollars because it was a big yard. He said maybe another time. As he was walking back into his house I said, how much for your truck? He turned around and said $50 dollars. Then I said, “Do you want to trade”? I then told him I have $30 dollars cash, if you let me mow your lawn two times this month it will add up to the $50 dollars.
By now we had walked over to the truck, and were looking at it and talking. He said if you mow my yard now and then come back Saturday, and help me clean my garage and take stuff to the dump, then we’ll have a deal. I said OK! Then we shook on it.
After mowing the yard, I went back home and waited for dad to come home from work. I wanted to tell him about my new truck. At first he thought I was joking but then he said, “You did? Where is it, does it run”? I said, “I wasn’t sure. I mean, I don’t know…. But we’re driving it to the dump Saturday. So It must run”! Dad suggested driving over now and taking a look at this old truck. Seeing the old truck first hand, Dad had his doubts until the owner started it up. Then dad said I can’t drive it until I get some car insurance.
After cleaning the garage and going to the dump, I then went home to rest. Later Rick drove Dad and me back to my new truck. I paid the balance of $30 dollars, got the title, then Dad drove my new truck home. The first thing Monday, I got some car insurance and washed my truck.
As months passed by I had no problems with the old truck until one day when I down shifted into second gear. Suddenly a bang noise was heard, the engine started running funny and the oil gage that I had installed showed oil presser over 100 pounds. Rick said that I probably blew up my engine and that’s why I now have a lot of water mixed in the oil.
After a couple of weeks, Rick and I pulled the blown flat head out of the truck and was looking for another. One of my friends called and said that he knew a guy with a smashed up 58 Mercury with a 383 V8 you could probably buy for $15 or $20 bucks. So I did.

 Next thing I knew, we had the front end off the truck, the engine and push button transmission pulled out of the Mercury and Dad had made new motor mounts. Next we installed the V8, the transmission and the rest of the stuff like the exhaust, the mercury radiator and did some rewiring. Then it was finished!
Dad and I stood back while Rick made that old truck come alive. And man was it alive! Rick took off up the street with the tires smoking and wheels hopping. It was one fast truck! A couple days later I put some wider tires in the back and some sand bags in the bed. This helped with the wheel hop. I drove my hot rod 47 Studebaker pickup till I bought my 57 Chevy.

Thanks Dad and Rick
Grandpa Tom