Old Milt
By Arlyn Stewart
A treat when I was a kid was the occasional visit to the starter/generator repair shop. Dad usually let me go with him and I found the small side yard shop of Milt Anderson to be fascinating. The shop was full of interesting things including old Milt himself.
Milt was aged, yet erect and thin. He wore a yachter’s cap, the type often worn by motorcyclist. It was obvious that his years had not robbed his high energy level. His speech and mannerism were refreshingly positive with words that I didn’t often hear. Not profane words, but rather descriptive words. There was lively character in his eyes that fit the general smile that he wore. Kids know some things quickly… and I knew that this man was kind… and that he didn’t mind me trailing my dad into his shop.
Parked just inside a pair of swing out doors was a shiny pristine Harley Davidson Sportster. Sometimes Dad would ask if he’d been riding much. There was a metal turning lathe with its multitude of handles, levers and dials. Over the side door that we had entered was a large wooden propeller for an airplane. On the walls, were several large pictures tacked in place… and unlike some service stations or farm supply places visited with dad, these were not calendars with skimpily clad ladies, but rather airplanes and motorcycles.
After a short bit of gam… both about the nature of the problem with whatever dad had brought as well as some catching up about what was new in the community, Old Milt would lay the sick device on the work bench, and using a wrench would open it up to have a look see what was ailing it, sometimes suggesting immediately what seemed to be the problem. Part of the checkout would include carrying the armature to another bench where he would lay it in what he called a growler… so named I’m guessing because that’s exactly what seemed to happen… the armature would vibrate and make a growling sound as he rotated it in the cradle.
I think it was more common in those days for kids to pay attention and watch what was going on compared to investigating on their own. Kids were not allowed such privilege in strange places, probably because around a farm there were too many things that could do serious injury and respect for others was very important then, for a kid to be allowed freedom to touch and mess with things would have been a sign of disrespect and poor discipline. At any rate, on one occasion when Old Milt was growling the armature, I was watching and noted something different. The growler became quiet at a certain spot as he rotated the armature.
Most often, we would patiently watch as new brushes and bearings were installed and the armature mounted to the lathe for turning it smooth and true, after which we’d take the device home to install on tractor or car. The growler however, had discovered that rewiring was necessary; dad would have to leave it.
Years later, I owned my first car and in time the charging circuit failed. Dad, told me to carry the generator to Old Milt. It had been a half dozen years since I had been in the old shop…but it looked just the same. The Harley still stood proud and gleaming. I carried on the family tradition and asked if he’d been riding much… “Some”, he replied.
It was now my turn for a short bit of gam… He asked how my family was, “all fine” I replied. “Tell me about that prop,” I’d wanted to ask him for so long. With the same energy that I’d seen as a kid, the man now in his late ‘80s or early ‘90s looked at the prop and narrated that it was the prop off his airplane from long ago. He told me about his younger years of enjoying flying but had given it up when the FAA imposed a license requirement.
There was a new machine near the motorcycle. Old Milt had become the first owner of a snow mobile in our county. The conversation lingered … Old Milt narrated the events of a couple of years back. His bride of sixty some odd years having discovered the order that he’d placed for an Ultra Light airplane, had told him, “Milt, its me or that airplane… your choice”. He canceled the order and used the funds for the snow machine.
Old Milt and my dad too are gone now. Generators aren’t used on cars any more. Snow Machines have evolved far more sophisticated than the one in Old Milts shop. Harley Davidson motorcycles have been reborn. The impression the old gentleman made upon me yet lives…