Monday, February 18, 2008

Clinkers

As a young boy in a small town in southern Utah in the fifties I had the opportunity to help the family by taking the clinkers out. I was the second oldest in a family of 5 children, I had an older sister, Rhea, and three younger brothers: Howard, Larry and Kendall. A common method of heating a home in the Rocky Mountains was using coal fired furnaces, which we used. A byproduct of the burning coal was melted byproducts and contaminants which ended as clinkers. They were removed from the furnace by my father and put in a galvanized bucket. When the bucket was filled, usually once or twice a week, it was carried from the basement to the back porch. I was given the job to carry the loaded bucket from the back porch to the driveway, where I scattered the clinkers and the cars that parked there would break them up. I remember how difficult this task was as the bucket of clinkers weighed more than I did. It was so heavy and difficult to keep off the ground that I soon learned to be creative in how I carried the bucket. The wire handle on the bucket, the height of the bucket, and my height resulted in a situation that if my arm was fully extended the bucket would be on the ground with 3 or 4 inches to spare. If I bent my arms and held the weight of the bucket with my biceps, I was only able to go three or four steps before my arms gave out and I was forced to take a rest. I soon learned that if I spun around with the bucket while walking toward the drive way I could make much more distance with each try than holding the load with my biceps. So this became my pattern. I would take the bucket off the porch with a swinging motion and spin and walk to the corner of the house. I would then set it down, as it was difficult to make the left hand turn while spinning and still keeping your direction. I would take a rest and then start the spinning and walking toward the drive way. This was about 50 feet and would usually take two tries. After the second year and a little growth I could make the last run in one try. I always remember that I was glad for this chore because it made me feel like I contributed to the benefit of the family and my Mom would usually thank me for doing it. This was my first chore as a boy that I remember.

1 comment:

Heather said...

How old do you think you were? My arms got tired just reading about that.