For a number of years, from 1986 when I was 11, until 1990, when I was 16, I wrote and printed a small family newspaper, called The Starr-Hill Gazette. Actually, I wrote the news items, and begged family and friends for other stories. I got the folder of those papers out one evening last week so I could find one I especially remembered, and we had fun reading bits from them. Here is the one I was looking for, written by my mother:
Neighbor Mike makes his living moving and setting up mobile homes. Apparently he had a rough day recently….
Mike’s brother-in-law Dan was moving, home and all, and Mike was helping with the move. The mobile home had an addition which needed to be removed, so Mike used Dan’s saw to cut it away. The saw burnt out. “Cheap saw,” said Dan. “Oh, well.”
There was a gas line to disconnect. Mike gave the fitting a turn. Easy! He pulled off the wrench and went for another turn. The jaws of the wrench fell off in his hand. A brand new wrench. “Cheap wrench,” said Dan. “Oh, well.”
Time to jack up the mobile home. “I’ll go close the door so it doesn’t get caught on the way up,” said Dan.
“Ready?” asked Mike.
“No,” came the reply. Sounded like “Go.” Mike started to jack.
Once. Twice. Moving nicely! Three, four…crunch. Five, creak, crunch, “Whoa!!” Sounded like, “Go!” Six, crunch. “Whoa, whoa! STOP!”
“What happened?” inquired Mike.
“You’ve got to come and see this!” was the reply.
Mike went. The door had been open. It had caught under the roof of the addition. It was, to put it mildly, warped. Oops. Mike let the jack down again. The door straightened out! “Cheap door,” said Dan.
Apparently the rest of the move went without mishap, but we were roaring too loudly to actually hear the conclusion. After awhile, everyone subsided. Mike picked up his cup of coffee. He leaped up from his chair. The handle of the cup was all that he had in his hand. The coffee was all over him.
(Names have been changed to protect privacy, but this is a true story. The picture shows how the cup broke.)