Hiram Abiff
and small miracles
Can anyone say that title out loud and not think of Biff?
There, I’ve ruined it for you. Every time Hiram Abiff is mentioned in the interview below, you’re gonna think about Biff from Back to the Future. Sorry.
So last week I’m up in Missoula working construction. OK, that was fun to say for this suburban Seattle softie but let’s be honest; I was doing clean up on a construction site- you think the lads would want me around installing windows, mixing concrete, laying tile, installing fire blocking, aligning sinks and cabinets with countertops, replacing HVACs, joining floor joists, etc.? Give me a break; I was there to clean up all the dust the Mexicans had left after they did their behind-schedule drywalling. So I was on air blower and shop-vac duty, woohoo!
Nevertheless, it was fun and I was happy to be with Lars, Rick and Big Joe on a project again. Me and Joe were inside where we had a powerful portable heater from the rental equipment place, and Rick and Lars spent the entire day out in the cold building a fancy awning made of beautiful hardwood. This was the beginning of the storm that has pummeled the country and it snowed off and on. I was happy to be inside in a t-shirt, even if I had to inhale drywall dust while Rick and Lars breathed the fresh air.
Speaking of the Mexicans- good gracious, did they do any work? Now don’t take this as some unfounded cliche beef about lazy peones on siesta and such- everyone knows that the Mexicans can be construction-site dynamos, and who else is going to be up on that black-shingle roof on an Alabama August day? But for crying out loud- those guys (and girls) sat around and fiddled with their smart phone all day long! They were supposed to be finishing the concrete flooring in the side rooms but they spent almost the entire time sitting on the floor, on a plastic chair, on a bag of cement, or propped up against a ladder checking out junk on their fondle sticks, tongue resting on lower lip, occasionally chuckling and sharing a photo-text or tic-toc video with each other. I asked Lars, “Have you noticed those guys don’t do much work?”
Ol’ Lars Hansen, of half Norwegian, half German stock, who is always moving and loves physical work, said “I know. I hate it.”
Big Joe was also not fond of this particular flooring crew. “They never say hello or goodbye or talk to you at all, and they leave a bunch of junk on my work table.”
Joe had me write a note and leave it on the table when we left: Favor de dejar la mesa limpia. (Please keep the table clean.)
I had to bug out early, but I really didn’t want to tell the boys why. I said it was because of a meeting in Hamilton. Indeed I had to meet some friends, but here is the reason: my class in contract bridge has ended but learning continues with a free, weekly meetup in a reserved, corner restaurant booth where we play real, not sample hands and discuss strategy under the tutelage of a seasoned player.
FCOL Shumway- You’re wasting your time playing bridge? Isn’t the world falling apart and aren’t you trying to save the world via this blog and your upcoming radio thingy and TV stuff with the Germans etc. etc… and here you are gettin’ all serious about a lousy card game!
I know… I know. It sounds pathetic. That’s why I didn’t mention bridge when I at first told Big Joe I couldn’t make it to the job site. I needed to get back to Hamilton by five. But then Joe said, “No problem, I’m leaving early anyway. I’ll get you back in plenty good time.” It felt idiotic leaving Lars and Rick there in the cold so I could go play cards in a restaurant over a hot bowl of the soup de jour.
Thus I must make a quick detour here and justify this trivial pursuit.
Contract Bridge Apologetics
I was down at Bob and Susan Gardner’s house a few weeks ago. At one point I mentioned that I’d been going to a bridge class weekly. Susan, looking up from her laptop and thick glasses, said “Bridge?!!”
-Yes.
-Well, that sounds like a lotta fun!
Yes, Susan, it is fun. And whatever happened to To each his own or Whatever rocks your boat? Besides, we’re currently sitting on our duffs watching 3 hours of Monday Night Football here, commercials, halftime chatter and all, which means your license to criticize others’ pastimes has been revoked.
Here is why bridge is cool:
my kids will like it. They love card games and it’s time to move beyond hearts and canasta.
It’s like methadone for poker players. I played years of poker, a wonderful and terrible game simultaneously. Wonderful because it requires lots of logic, patience, skill, deep thinking, guts and very good acting. If you are good at all of the above, you should come out a winner, especially in the no-rake (no house/casino), zero-sum friendly game at Joe’s house. And terrible because that zero-sum game means some schmuck is going home to his wife and kids with a very light wallet. And if he’s a poor player and hooked, that scenario will be repeated again and again; poker is super-addictive and can easily ruin lives. I left it for that reason as well as the enormous amount of wasted time it entails. But bridge has all the same required elements listed above, minus the acting, and without the $ losses.
It’s very social, and a good excuse to get together, a big plus in this new-normal era, where they don’t want you meeting up.
It promotes reliability and punctuality. You can’t be a no-show or a fashionably very-late type in bridge. You’re needed at the table and people are waiting patiently.
It attracts a smart set. Ever heard the saying, “If you’re the smartest guy in the room, you’re in the wrong room”? During bridge, I only have to worry about the inverse of that sentence!
It’s fun to hang around the oldsters. They have lots of stories to tell. And their brains reached full maturity before the advent of dumb phones, so they avoided that retardation and can actually communicate.
It’s supposed to keep you mentally fit, helping to prevent dotage. You really have to concentrate hard at all times in bridge. You must remember the cards that have been played. It is very difficult and can be exhausting, but the effort pays off. And if I’m using my brain,
I’m keeping sharp for this blog and my radio station, ‘nkay?
lastly, here is what excites a poker player:
a monster of a hand that a two-year old can understand and the equivalent in bridge?
also a monster hand, if the bidding is done just right with your partner, and you make a good plan, and play it just right. Not a walk in the park. I rest my case.
END OF BRIDGE APOLOGETICS
Anyway, Big Joe got me to my car in time for me to make the bridge game. Only by a few minutes, however; the storm was in full swing between Missoula and Stevensville and it was snowing and blowing with icy roads and crummy visibility on the 93. Luckily it cleared up after Victor and for about ten minutes I was driving under blue skies around Corvallis. The valley has its quirky, mini weather systems.
The game was fun and ol’ Doc, the guest veteran coaching us, peppered the in-between play pauses with funny anecdotes. It was bitter cold when I walked back to my car in the snowstorm, but I was in a good mood. Then the Ford pickup with 200,000 miles wouldn’t start. These early 2000s F150s sometimes have a fuel pump shutoff problem. You have to reset the pump by going around to the passenger side and reaching awkwardly behind a panel to get to the button. With my feet in the snow, the back of my head anchoring me against the seat, and my left arm craned around the plastic kick guard, I spent five to ten minutes trying to get that button down. No luck and still no fuel was getting to the engine. Plenty of battery power but no fuel. With a full tank, mind you.
And here is where I think I might have been happy that my phone battery level had gone to zero, sitting in Joe’s truck in Missoula. Though any number of friends would have been more than willing to assist, I needed an excuse to not call at 9pm, in the dark, temperatures approaching zero, wind howling and snow blowing, and say, “Hi Bob! Can you pick me up at the Sunset Cafe?….Yeah, I was just playing bridge, heh. See you soon. Drive carefully!”
So I checked myself into the nearest Gupta’s You-Sleep motel on 93 and figured I’d sort it all out in the morning.
The night manager was definitely sub-continental but looked more like a Mahmud than a Gupta. He was quite friendly, though unwilling to change my room when I complained about the TV in the next room. And he, or his manager, could use some decorating help:
The heating control panel didn’t work-Mahmud and clan had set the rooms to a fixed 68F, which was fine after a hot shower with plenty of pressure. After watching Hanna and her Sisters (I’d seen it before but all 368 other channels had crap on), the next door TV shut off so I went to bed too.
The next morning: colder, still snowing, and Hamilton was beautiful. I went to the Sunset Cafe to try starting the truck again. No luck. Now, my plan was to get the phone charged and see if Lars or someone might have a little advice for me. I had an hour and a half to kill before the cell phone store opened, so I took a walk around town. Since I’d packed my cold weather gear to work the day before, I was ready for the sub zero temps.
Main Street Hamilton:
That silver truck had turned the corner off 93 and totally gunned his engine, only to hit the brakes 1/2 second later because the light on 2nd, 50 yards away, was red. Will someone explain this to me?
Here is a look down 3rd street, with the old firehouse and Masonic lodge on right:
Outside the library:
That’s the great free-book kiosk at the library. I found yet another Webster’s collegiate dictionary, which I snatched up (hey, one for home and one for studio!)
After stopping at the Ford dealer and talking to Jim in service, and going down to the cell phone place and talking to Lenny, and talking to Jinny outside the beauty salon as she shoveled snow, too cheerful for me to believe her when she said she was actually unhappy about winter finally arriving, and charging my phone at the library (actually it wasn’t charging because the connector slipped out), I trudged back to the Sunset and tried the starter yet again. No luck. I went in and had a big breakfast- figured I owed them for the free parking- and had the waitress connect my phone to an outlet.
After charging the phone I called Lars and went back out. He determined it probably wasn’t the fuel pump button, but a simple blockage of the fuel line due to the cold. He gave me a couple tips on starting, like wait for the fuel pump to engage- you’ll hear it- before starting. Do that for a few seconds. Then do it again. Then try turning it over.
I sort of had done the same thing already and didn’t have much hope. Figured the truck would be stuck in Hamilton all weekend and I’d be paying for
the wrecker to get it to the Ford lot
the service
the part which wouldn’t come in from the dealership in Ronan until Monday.
Anyway I did just what Lars told me to do, but just before turning that key all the way I did a little request prayer.
Now I used to scoff at all unnecessary prayers. I could find a way to get that truck moved and fixed OK on my own, even though it would be an expensive hassle. And what is that, compared to people who are sick or hungry and in real need? Let alone all the seemingly silly stuff I see people praying for, like a closer parking spot, or coaches asking for help for a win, or the slugger pointing to God after a home run. Hey home-run Hank, your home run for the win is that pitcher’s loss, right? But now, with the temp dipping below minus ten, I figured I may as well try it- God’s love being inexhaustible, and who am I to second guess whether He doles out favors like this? I said a little prayer with the requisite if it be your will and guess what? VROOOOM! haha!
OK, some of my friends will say, God’s hand- absolutely. Others will say I need to thank Lars. Others will say, combination of both. And some will say, none of the above you misty-minded simpleton- enough of the woowoo! But I’m going to credit the good Lord here (OK, and thank Lars)- Come on! four tries and between the first and fourth the temp went from 26F to -10! You think the line unfroze on its own? Plus it all happened again that night at Stan’s as Lukas and I tried to start the Suzuki. Multiple tries again and no luck. Then I said to Luke, “Dare we say a prayer?”
-Sure, why not?
and, VROOOOM! hahaha!
I told Ed and Bonnie about this story. Bonnie is quick to say “Praise the Lord!!” about this sort of thing. Ed, though a believer, is a bit more reserved.
He said he knew a few things about the Masons, though:
Ed and Dan talking Masonry: 14 min.
What a great story and a beautiful studio! Praise Jesus! You should use that gentleman more in interviews. Sure sems like he is knowledgeable and perhaps has a lot of experiences to share. :)