(Spike in the initial roll-out of Raven’s Halloween Jet. He is in the side yard of the house in Grabbingham at Chester and Frank in 1964. The concept was identical to the rib-and-fabric construction of the flying models Dad used to build. Photo Raven).
So, down at the farm and not a thought about the State of the Union, nor the fun and games of ruling the Republic by decree, which had seemed vital to me a couple days ago. The Judge wrote from the wilds of western Maryland to tell me to read the local paper and chill out. Nothing we can do about it for a while, so why get aggravated?
Considering that even the much more intrusive claws of Annapolis across the border seem more tenuous with mountains and distance, I decided to agree and get on with things. The Clarion-Bugle reports that the Waterloo Bridge is near collapse and cannot be used to connect to Fauquier County on Rt 613. The thing is 136 years old, one of the first constructed in the period when the Old Dominion was trying to heal from the scars of the brutal war that had been fought largely on this soil.
Raven could have fixed it, I am convinced. He could fix anything. I was watching the football games in the Great Room yesterday afternoon, feeding 35mm slides through the digital scanner, drinking a modest red wine, and marveling at the images. I have done two carousels so far, of the dozen of more of them in their square boxes.
I think the projector and silver screen went to Good Will in the little village by the Bay- you can’t keep everything, right?- and I figured I would get to the digitizing project some time. Watching Payton Manning disassemble the Pats and the Seahawks triumph over the Niners was the perfect time to do it.
There were some cool and vague recollection of participating in some of the events- Annook’s sixth birthday, trips to the Big Lake and yachting on a smaller one. Shoveling snow in 1959- hah! Most of the images were a half century old, and showed Raven and Big Mama as they were as young parents, full of vim and vigor and not at all what was seared into our memories as the great decline and fall worked its course.
It was enough to take the breath away, bring moisture to the eye and a rueful smile to my lips.
But the one that took me back was the series of pictures that documented the epic project of the Halloween Jet. It is the essence of Dad.
At the apex of his fixit-and-fabricate-phase, he had a full machine shop in the basement, which included an industrial flatbed lathe, drill press, band and table saws and all manner of specialized tools.
I remember one day a chest of drawers came into the inventory from some relative. It had a lock to which the key had long been lost. He machined a new key out of a block of brass just for the challenge.
The fireplace tools I have at the farm have delicate turned aluminum handles. Naturally, he knocked them out and threaded them to attach to the poker, shovel and whisk one weekend. I think it was therapy, but it was also something else: he taught us how to used the tools, and the methodical steps required to turn an idea into something concrete.
It ran in the family in Raven’s time. Grandfather J.B. was an engineer- he put the phone system in Panama and Bermuda and Rio for Western Electric- and Uncle Jim, 17 years senior to his kid brother was an aeronautical engineer of vast repute. I could tell you some of the things he designed for Uncle Sugar, but I would have to kill you. Strange that we wound up in the same line of work, though of course, I just looked at the products that came from the systems he built.
It was natural that they taught Raven the art of making- and fixing things. He, in turn, tried to teach us.
The inspiration for this project came from brother Spike. He had an idea, probably derived from one of the WWI airplane models that Dad would have in progress from time to time. They were intricate things, totally different than the plastic models we used to slap together in gooey concentrations of exotic smelling- and toxic- glue. It is amazing what they used to let us play with.
The real flying models were constructed of delicate balsa wood ribs and bulkheads, fixed in place, and then clad with fabric which was shrunk to a tight fit with dope- an aromatic petroleum-based substance used in the construction of the first airplanes and the origin of the term we use for the substances that enable us not to think at all.
(Raven used to knock these out for fun- part of the original model-making from the twenties and thirties of the last century. It is exactly what he did to create the Halloween Jet. Photo courtesy: furwoodworking.wordpress.com/)
Anyway, Raven took the idea of building a rolling mini-float for the 1965 Grabbingham Halloween Parade to heart as a teaching opportunity, and one night he presented us with the detailed plans to make a dart-shaped jet that would roll on wheels from a Soap Box Derby racer.
The project went on for weeks in the basement, after dinner and on the weekends. The process was exacting and we watched in fascination as the major parts were fabricated, and jigged together. The major components slowly came together and were staged in the garage for final integration.
Finally, in the crisp days of the Michigan Autumn came time for the roll-out. Spike was the pilot, as was completely appropriate, since it was his idea. He ducked under the fuselage and popped up in the cockpit, able to propel the craft simply by walking along with gentle forward pressure on the interior of the cockpit. My job as the “Crew Chief” was to wear Raven’s leather flight jacket and goggles and wave a couple of Navy pennants that signified the letter “P,” for “papa,” which in retrospect, seems entirely appropriate.
I miss him.
Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303