Family Archives

May 12, 2013May 12, 2013

Not Enough Words

I usually start with a picture, then wrap some words around it. This time, though, I have an endless supply of pictures and not enough words to express how I feel about Mary Welch Steinhoff. So, on this Mother’s Day, here’s a small sample of Mother with her family.

Every picture I ran across led me to another, and there are scores that I remembered and couldn’t lay my hands on quickly. Mother sure has packed a lot of livin’ into her 91 years.

Mary Welch Steinhoff, my Mother

Click on any photo to make it larger,then click on the sides to move through the gallery.

May 7, 2013July 14, 2021

Blowin’ Black River Bridge

Dad’s construction company had a couple of simple tasks:

Build a new bridge over the Black River near Williamsville in Wayne County.
Remove the old bridge.

Both tasks taken individually were routine. The catch came with Task 2. The old bridge was between the new bridge and some big phone lines. It would be a Bad Thing to take out either of those things. (You can click on the photos to make them larger.)

Things were kind of tight

The phone and electrical lines are hard to see, but they are about as far from the old bridge on one side as the new bridge was on the other. If the bridge toppled over, it would hit one or the other.

So, how do we do this?

Dad said the bridge had to drop straight down. If they used cutting torches to take it down, there was no assurance that it wouldn’t twist if one side let loose before the other. Dad decided they’d dynamite it. This was in the days before building implosions and blasting were used much for this kind of thing.

There’s a lot of rock in Missouri, so explosives weren’t an unknown to him. In fact, I remember taking a length of blasting cord to school for a show ‘n’ tell. It was neat how the orange-colored fuse would burn under water.

Dad didn’t like handling dynamite, which is basically sawdust soaked in nitroglycerine and compacted. He didn’t like it, not so much because it was dangerous, but because the nitro would “sweat” out of the sticks of dynamite and give him a headache.

Dad would let me hold a stick of dynamite, but he warned me to never touch a blasting cap: they were just too sensitive to handle casually. Since he let me do so many other things that some people would consider dangerous, I took his warning seriously.

Crimp the blasting caps with your teeth

The old style fuse like you saw in Road Runner cartoons used blasting caps that were metal cylinders that were open on one end and closed on the other. The fuse would go into the cap and then be crimped down. Oldtimers would use their teeth to make the crimp. You can see how that could go wrong, right?

Because both sides of the bridge had to go off at exactly the same time, and because a burning fuse might not hit both blasting caps at exactly the same time, Dad opted to use an electric blasting cap.

The first task was to remove the approach on one side of the bridge, and to take off as much steel and flooring as possible. Brother Mark has some of the steel in his backyard garden in St. Louis.

We’re ready for the show

When the bridge was reduced to a skeleton, explosives were set on two key trusses at one end and everybody stepped back with fingers crossed.

Flash! BOOOOOM!

Watch the video to see how things went. Dad was playing cinematographer with the family’s Bell & Howell 8mm movie camera, so the quality wasn’t all that hot to begin with. It’s subsequently been moved over to VHS tape and then digitized, so don’t expect IMAX 3D.

All went according to plan. The bridge dropped like a rock and remained standing upright between the new bridge and the wires. You can see that the next step was for a worker in a hoist at the end of a crane to start cutting the steel into manageable pieces.

That also went mostly well. Right up until one bad cut caused it to collapse unexpectedly. You can tell it was unexpectedly because everybody started running. A good portion of that area’s phone calls were cut off abruptly.

It’s fortunate that this was a silent movie because I imagine Dad’s narrative at that point would have made it non-PG-rated.

Dad came home cranky one night from another blasting project that didn’t go exactly as planned.

March 25, 2013

Birthdays Come and Gone

When do birthdays stop being a big deal? March 24 is the date of my birth, but I have lost all concept of how old I am. I was prepared to tell folks I had been around the sun 67 times, but that can’t be true because I got my Medicare card last year. Guess that makes me 66.

Back in 2011, I shared a whole page of photos of childhood landmarks in time. I was telling someone the other day that most people think of major milestones and identity crises in even-numbered years like 20, 30 and 40.

I had those periods of self-assessment at odd years, like 24, 27, 32, 57 and 60. Wife Lila would probably say that’s because I never use round numbers in the microwave: 2:16 for popcorn; and that I take naps that are 22-minutes long. (I learned a long time ago that accounting was less likely to question my expense reports if I used odd number like $6.13 or $12.47 because they assumed people who put down stuff like $6.00 or $12.50 were either guessing or making up items.)

Photo staff remembered my 30th

Wife Lila and the folks on the photo staff pulled off a surprise birthday party for my 30th. They were ostensibly gathering at the house to watch the last episode of the Mary Tyler Moore show on March 19, 1977, so I was surprised when they pulled out this photo of me in a gas mask covering riots at Ohio University that the staff had signed. Across the top, someone had scrawled, “HAPPY 30! If you’ve survived this far, you’re bound to make it the next thirty!”

Maybe that’s one of the reasons my 60th was so traumatic: I was afraid that someone had set my sell-by date with that headline. It’s also disconcerting to note that at least half of the people who signed the photo – some of whom were younger than me – are dead.

No respect by my 40th

By the time my 40th rolled around, the staff was a bit less respectful. We had a bunch of turnover in the department about that time. I won’t say this artwork had anything to do with it….

My 50th was a major blow-out at the office, an event attended by all of upper management, including my friend the H.R. Director. I thanked her, in particular, for the shindig since the jokes and gag gifts showed a definite prejudice against older workers, a protected group that I had just joined. My discrimination lawsuit alleging a hostile work environment would make it possible for me to retire to a life of ease, I warned.

I got high on birthday cake and forgave them at the last minute, unfortunately.

A traumatic 60th

Dad and his two brothers died on or before their 61st birthdays, so I was afraid my days were numbered. I told my staff that I would just as soon let the day pass unobserved. As it turned out, I didn’t have to worry about it because I came down with some kind of cold or other ailment that I was sure was going to usher me to the Other Side, and I skipped a few days of work. On my birthday, just about the time I was feeling merely miserable instead of on death’s doorstep, the whole Steinhoff clan from three states knocked on the door and dragged me out for a bike ride.

Once I made it past 60, I decided that I had a few more good years left in me. That’s when I stopped doing the math and keeping score. When I wrack up as many Birthday Seasons as Mother, then I may start counting again.

That brings us to today

When I go to bed at night, I usually pull a shade at the head of the bed to keep the room cooler and darker so I can sleep late after staying up until 2 a.m. or so doing these posts. I forgot to do it on the 23rd, so I felt unusually warm when I started becoming conscious on my birthday.

“Maybe I didn’t make it to my birthday,” I thought. Not wanting to open my eyes and confirm my fears by getting dirt in them, I elected to go back to sleep.

About half an hour later, I was jolted awake by a brilliant beam of light. “Darn, maybe I made the cut after all,” crossed my mind. After straining my ears for several minutes listening for harp music that never came, I opened my eyes and saw the open shade.

Light was terrestrial, not celestial

I was much relieved to determine the brilliant light was terrestrial, not celestial.

Later in the day, the whole family gathered out at Son Adam’s to help him put some solar panels on his roof. I waved my Medicare card and was exempt from wrestling 4 x 12-foot panels in 23 mph (gusting to 45mph) winds, but I did get to make a bunch of trips up and down the ladders.

The family wasn’t sure I was capable of blowing out my cake candles, so they elected to serve it outside where the wind took care of extinguishing them for me.

Thanks to all my Facebook friends who left me birthday wishes, including those who were kind enough to add “you’re looking good,” something they never said when it was really true.

The next step is for them to say, “Don’t he look natural?”

March 16, 2013March 16, 2013

John Perry Heads Out to Sea

Brother-in-law John Perry was down to sharpen scissors and knives at a quilt show ramrodded by Friend Jan. We kept him busy installing vinyl siding on the house and doing other odd jobs that we save up through the year.

It turned out to be less traumatic than 2010.

Last year he had to scurry home because a tornado that went through Puxico, Mo., hit some of his wife’s family’s homes.

Deserved fishing trip

After doing all that work, he deserved to take some time off to stalk the wily fish. He and Son Wyatt had a blast in 2009 when they went off on a seafaring jaunt.

On a 2002 trip, Son Drew made such an impression on his fishing boat captain that the man sent him a copy of The Old Man and the Sea.

He had hooked a dolphin that was at least 60-80 pounds, one of the largest the captain had seen that year. He fought the fish from 6 p.m. until well after 8:30 when it made a run under the boat and was able to cut the line on the motors.

Captain Neal Rawls of The Riggins Too wrote, “Though the fish got away, I hope when you think back on that fight you see it as the success I do… I’ll always remember how your family all fought that fish together. You held the rod and fought the fish while your father pointed out the direction it was running and your mother held the spotlight….

“You are a lucky man to have a family that sticks together and without hesitation faces up to challenges together. As time goes on, if you ever feel life has thrown you a curve ball, remember that fish, and that with your parents’ help, you can tackle anything.”

Looking for a boat

We put out the word that we were looking for somebody who wanted to take a boat out. Son Matt hooked up with one of Son Adam’s buddies we always dubbed “My Friend Jon” because that’s the way Adam always referred to him. Jon Pauley’s brother-in-law Matt Douglass (I THINK there is a double S at the end) was available to head out Friday morning.

“Morning” to a fisherperson means middle of the night to me, so I was content to let Wife Lila take him down to Boynton for his adventure. The alarms went off at 5:15. John and Matt were at the boat at 6:10, and out the Boynton Inlet by 7ish.

Started getting hits within 10 minutes

They caught the first fish within about 10 minutes of clearing the breakers, John said, “and for the next three hours we hammered them hard.” They were so busy hauling in fish (and letting a few of the Big Ones get away) that they barely had time to take a tiny nibble at the sandwiches and my Cajun trail mix road food they took with them.

New Jersey in three days

We expected John to call for pickup by 11ish, but that deadline came and went. Then noon, then 1 o’clock.

I warned John’s Wife Dee that the lack or arrival could be caused by several things.

They were catching so many fish they didn’t want to stop.
They weren’t catching any fish and didn’t want to admit it.
Their engines had failed and they were on a Gulf Stream expressway to New Jersey, where they should wash up in about three days. “If they didn’t catch anything, there’s a good chance only one of them will make it to New Jersey: cannibalism usually starts off the coast of North Carolina,” I posited.

A good day for John and Matt

The answer was behind Door Number One. They hauled them in until “it was like someone threw a switch and they quit biting.”

The duo scored seven dolphin (not the Flipper variety) and 3 wahoo. At least that many got away, John said.

The men cleaned their catch and the boat, then brought home the fish filets in coolers. Neighbor Jacqie fired up the grill and worked food magic. It was a good day for all but the fish.

Need anything sharpened?

John and his sharpening equipment will be down here in West Palm Beach until March 19 if you need anything touched up. If you’re in Missouri, he’ll be back in your neck of the woods after that.