A lot happens in a century

My father would have been 100 years old today. He died almost eight years ago, shortly after turning 92.

His lifespan encompassed plowing fields with horses as a boy to watching the space shuttle land in California. And his mother had seen a Native American traversing a nearby swamp with a canoe. He never officially went past eighth grade, though his schooling continued—whatever was at hand, he studied.

Born on a homestead claim in North Dakota, he obtained master electrician’s licenses in both North Dakota and Minnesota—in the latter state with the highest test score up to that point and for years after. He loved his Popular Science and Popular Mechanics, and was forever tinkering and inventing. No patents, but it seems that the exploration was sufficient for him.

He went from milking cows by hand to repairing equipment in milking parlors (and the accompanying really smelly—duh!—barn cleaners). Not to mention fixing televisions—and he had the first television in the surrounding five counties.

Before I was old enough for school (no pre-school or kindergarten for me) I sometimes accompanied him on service calls to neighbors. I especially loved the electronics repair—he’d bring out his tube tester, and I really wanted to “help” him turn the knobs on his equipment as he figured out which components were shot (though he never let me). Long before solid-state electronics, sealed circuits, motherboards.

I did more than once witness him poking inside television innards with a screwdriver, only to see the set fully restored to action. He had the magic touch, widely acknowledged. But when color television blossomed, it got trickier. Still, he ruled.

Not a whole lot into “feeling,” he nevertheless provided a foundation for me. In 4-H, I insisted on taking woodworking (really hated sewing—though I still did it, under duress), and he taught me how to handle woodworking tools. I built a table that I took it to the county fair. Got a blue ribbon for it. Still have it.

Years after that, my rattletrap had brake problems after I took it in for new tires. Dad told me what to look for in the master cylinder—turns out the “tire folk” tampered with the cylinder to make it lose brake fluid. With his long-distance guidance, I fixed the problem.

Several years later, I decided to attach the optional light to the fan fixture in our rental house. Over the phone, Dad told me which wires to hook up to each other.

Never, “you’re a girl.” Just, “here’s how to do it.”

Thank you, Dad.