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Junk Drawer Evenings
| Article
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14156 |
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Section : |
LIFE
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| Issue
Date : |
1 / 1988 |
686 Words |
| Author
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John Elvin
John Elvin is a columnist for the Washington Times. He has
written extensively on housing topics for periodicals. |
In the days before the dawn of the modern age, before television fixed us with its mesmerizing eye, evenings were different. My father was off fighting World War II in those days, so I looked to my grandfather for clues about how to spend the after-dark, before-bed hours. My grandfather's habit, when dinner was done, was to sit in the darkening living room in a big, overstuffed chair by the floor-model radio, listening to Edward R. Murrow and other reporters of the day. He would light an El Producto and, as the shadows gathered, there would be two fiery eyes glowing in the dark living room--the orange tip of grandfather's cigar and the orange radio dial. I would approach the dragon eyes and ask: "Do you want me to make you an invention?"
Grandfather treated the question as though it was as profound as any asked of the oracle at Delphi. The answer required serious, cigar-puffing thought. But I knew if I held my ground, the affirmative answer would come. "I think I could use an invention," he would announce at last.
It was understood that the resulting contract granted me pillaging rights to the "junk drawer." This treasure chest of odds and ends was located in the linoleum-topped table that was the centerpiece of the kitchen. The junk drawer contained string, wire, nails, screws, washers, rubber bands (which grandfather called "gum bands"), the remains of broken clocks and appliances, jar rings, lids, sockets, plugs--anything that might come in handy one day. This was during the war years, when the threat of scarcity added significant value to all sorts things that in better times might be termed "trash."
The junk drawer guaranteed at least an hour of fascination. It also provided a buffer against the routines that grate on children. Should mother or grandmother suggest bedtime, strong argument could be made that bed would have to wait until grandpa's request for an invention was satisfied.
When the invention was complete and I had conjured up some reason for its being, the time came to sell it to grandpa. Often, as I recall, the product required a bit of imagination of the part of the observer to achieve its stated purpose. But invariably my labors met with praise and reward.
Grandfather would listen carefully to my explanation of the device. He would ask question, study it, and exclaim. He was a champion exclaimer, full of expressions gleaned from history, law, religion, and his provincial upbringing. "By Jehoshaphat, that's
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