I lived Elmer Fridrich’s basement. It was my grandfather’s, my father’s and to a much lesser extent, my own. Just like Elmer’s, there were narrow aisles between tools and boxes and tables piled to the low ceiling. And there was even more pieces and parts and belts and wires hanging from nails driven into the floor joists.
My basement, like Elmer’s, hearkened back to a time in America when we were makers, not peddlers. To a time when upon Sandburg’s broad shoulders rested hard steel and not soft Armani suits.
My grandfather held no degree — I don’t think he even graduated from high school — but if he could lay his hands on it, he could fix it.
In his life he crafted dental bridges and dentures for his brother the dentist, he rebuilt lead-acid batteries (the job he held when he met my grandmother who worked across the alley in her brother-in-law’s music store), he repaired refrigeration systems, he sold and repaired white goods (household appliances) and brown goods (radios and televisions), he was a short order cook in his own diner and he could whittle a perfectly balanced airplane propeller with nothing more than his Barlow pocket knife.
Unlike Elmer, my grandfather never held any patents; but he invented solutions from what he had at hand on a regular basis. That’s what you can do when you have a basement without a wet bar and a home entertainment system.
I’ve met Elmer, he’s the father of a friend. I’d heard the tale about how an obituary writer (the first rung on the ladder for most journalists) gave the title of The Father of Halogen Lighting to another man who didn’t deserve the title. So it was good to read Frank Bentayou’s piece on Elmer. (Another connection, Frank was the first editor I worked with in Cleveland and I’ll never again use the trite phrase best kept secret because of him.)
The phrase that Frank did use to describe Elmer was constant fiddler. We don’t fiddle anymore. We actualize. We accessorize. We maximize. Me minimize. We synergize, for feck’s sake.
Go to your basement and fiddle. The world needs more fiddlers.