Big Friggin Hammer

Phil Loves Irene and Chris Loves Shannan

2012-02-09T20:03:00.000-06:00

My dad was one of those men that taught life lessons through the example he set in his own life. He was a hard worker, laughed off a lot of pain, and he loved his wife. One of the coolest things about growing up in my family was having parents that loved each other. My father not only loved my mom, he was IN LOVE with my mom my entire life.

One day, a teller from our local bank went out of her way to share with me that she had noticed how much my dad loved my mom. She said "I've never met anyone who loves their wife more than Phil loves Irene." The teller relayed a story about how Phil made a special trip to the bank so he could buy a raffle ticket. A raffle ticket for a quilt made by one of the local artisans in Lodi. "Irene would love that quilt" he told the teller with a twinkle in his eye. Did his ticket win? I don't think so, but the fact he made a special trip to the bank to buy a raffle ticket just for the chance of making his wife more happy was a win in my book. That was so neat to hear that about my father. It was really nice of the bank teller lady to tell me that story. It helped me to learn what love was. A true love that a husband should have and share with his wife. A true love that I am fortunate to share with my wife.

So, in honor of my dad and the love he had for my mom I decided I would share my Valentine's Day gift for my wife on this site dedicated to my father's life. My gift is a retelling of our first date. The day I fell in love with my wife.

One Million Kisses

I was nervous. Very nervous. I was experiencing a feeling that I had never felt towards anyone before...I had an idea of what that feeling was, but I wasn't quite sure...was this the feeling I have been longing for? I also couldn't believe you were driving down to Glen Ellyn, IL to visit me after meeting just the one time. I could feel my heart sweating. We were going to have our first date.

I had to prepare. Even though I was house-sitting for my brother, with its manicured lawn, luscious rose garden near the pool and the gorgeous interior that had been featured in “Midwest Living” magazine, I had made a mess of it. In a few days I had transformed it into my bachelor pad strewn with pizza boxes, beer cans and clothes thrown on the floor. I wanted to impress you so I cleaned-up. Not only the house but myself as well. I decided the clothes I had packed would not do. I went to the nearest mall and bought for myself a shirt and shorts from one of those “cool stores” that was all the rage with the people that go to malls. The point is – I wanted to impress you. So much so, that I also sat down at the piano and practiced. I wanted to play well...for you.

My plan was to be playing the piano as you arrived. Walking up to the door you would hear the music and ask “So, you play the piano?” and I would be dismissive in my answer “Oh that? Music is just one of my loves” or “Oh, yes. It was a good way to pass the time until you arrived.” But my plan didn't work. I was too nervous. I sat at the piano, but couldn't make it through the songs I knew. I was preoccupied with thoughts of you. We had that one chance meeting so I was trying to remember exactly what you looked like...how long your hair was, the color of your eyes, how tall you.....DING DONG....You arrived! I was able to see you through the window next to the door. You were gorgeous. “Why was she coming to visit me, again?” I said to myself not believing someone so beautiful could be interested in me. I quickly wiped my palms dry and opened the door. You were gorgeous!

I tried to be calm. After saying hello, I remember talking nervously to you “Howwasthedrivedown? Wouldyoulikesomethingtodrink?Doyouneedtousethebathroom?” Dammit - why did I say bathroom! Then I looked into your eyes. Your beautiful hazel eyes that seem to change from an arresting green to warm brown depending on the light of the day. That calmed me. Your eyes let me know that everything was going to be alright. I saw in your eyes a reflection of who I wanted to be. And at that moment...I wanted to be with you.

A quick tour of the house was steered toward the piano, “Oh, do you play?” you asked, not realizing you have sprung the trap I had set. “Just a little” I said already seated on the bench ready to play the two love songs I remembered from the 80s/90s. Starting with Richard Marx's “Right Here Waiting” and going directly into “(Everything I do) I Do It For You” by Bryan Adams, I hoped I was giving an impressive performance. The look on your face was reassuring and I wanted to quickly finish my piano playing so I could concentrate on that “look on your face”.

That was enough about me. I wanted to know about you. We sat down and talked. The whole time I was stealing glances at all of you - noticing your dancer's frame, smooth skin, and those arresting eyes. Your beauty filled the room and I felt compelled to kiss you. Our conversation ceased. We both knew what was going to happen. We leaned into each other and our lips met. At once that feeling I was wondering about, that feeling I was longing for before your arrival had been confirmed in my heart.....it was Love.

There was more to that day – swimming, ordering Papa Saverio's pizza, and more talking, but what I take from that day, what I'll always remember, is that first kiss we shared. Since that day, that first kiss has turned into a million kisses, that first kiss has led me to truly believe in God, that first kiss has led to Hope. Back then I thought I was the luckiest guy in the world, now I know I am the most blessed because of that kiss.

That first kiss that has led to a million kisses that will never lead to a last kiss.

I Love You,

-Chris

B-F-H Hollywood style

2011-03-23T13:44:00.000-05:00

You know who else uses a Big Friggin Hammer?

THOR. I'll have to check this out come May.

Droppin The Hammer Down Part II

2010-08-11T16:25:00.000-05:00

I have been wondering how to post this video since the tragedy that has happened at this ride. You can read about it and see video here. You see, a 12 year-old girl nearly died doing this ride I'm about to show you. However, through the grace of God, she is doing remarkably well! My friend owns Extreme World, and his first concern has been and always will be, for that girl who fell to the ground.

Since God is working a miracle in this girl's life and recovery, I feel comfortable showing this video. Plus, as you will see, my cousin Peter gets razzed quite a bit in this video, but obviously his concerns are valid ones. Also, to be clear, no one in this video (i.e. the jump master and grounds crew) was involved in the tragedy. This is an awesome ride!

Droppin the Hammer Down - Part I

2010-06-07T22:04:00.003-05:00

Apologies if you are expecting "Crash Part II", but I've been so busy. Just cannot find the time to blog. What is taking up all my time, you ask? Watch this video of my cousin Peter and I and you'll find out.

I promise "Droppin The Hammer - Part II" will be even more exciting. By the way, while my father was a wildman behind the wheel of a vehicle, there is no amount of money that would've gotten him on this ride.

My Dad's Nickname Could've Been "Crash" Part 1

2010-04-06T13:54:00.092-05:00

I think I know why my father was such a great mechanic. It was out of necessity. It would've cost my father way too much money to have someone else fix what he had broken. He drove his cars hard, fast and loose. If he would've been born in the South, his name might be mentioned in the same breath as Buddy Baker, Cale Yarborough, or Richard Petty. He shared that same mentality of the Nascar legends. The "I can make a car do anything I want it too" mentality. However, just like those Nascar legends he also totaled his fair share of vehicles throughout his lifetime.

Dad always pushed a car beyond its limits. Whenever he would test drive a car that he just fixed, he would hit the back roads and push the car to its top speed. Usually over 100 mph.

"Just making sure the engine is getting cleaned out!" He would say to me. Yup, I would be sitting there too, next to my father in the front seat watching the speedometer climb over the 100 mph mark. That was really cool stuff for a 10 year old. Mom would've killed dad if she knew I went along on some of his test drives, especially since we both were not wearing seat belts. "If you're buckled in, then you wont be thrown clear from the wreck if the car rolls over!" my father would confidently say. To me, at 10 years old, that made perfect sense.

It was on one of these test drives that dad apparently pushed a car beyond its limit and ended up totaling a car that he just fixed. Luckily, I wasn't riding shotgun on this one and dad didn't get hurt. He must've had a team of Guardian Angels working in shifts to ensure he lived as long as he did. Anyways, insurance covered the cost of the car and he continued to test drive cars at 100 mph.

At a younger age, my father crashed at least 2 cars that I know of, bringing the count of totaled vehicles to 3. According to my uncle Vic (dad's brother), my dad drove one into Lake Wisconsin, and then "borrowed" Vic's car, since my uncle was away at war, and drove it into a cow. I think my father may have had a little too much to drink on the first one (drunk driving is not cool and thankfully my father had little to drink after he married my mother) and was expecting the Merrimac Ferry to be waiting for him at the end of the road. It wasn't. And since his car was waterlogged and his brother's car was just sitting in the barn, he decided that Vic wouldn't mind if he used his car. Besides, Vic wasn't around to say no. Unfortunately, for Vic's car and the unfortunate cow that wandered out into the middle of the road while my dad was probably going about 100 mph, neither survived. My dad, though, was not hurt in either of the accidents. Thank you Guardian Angels.

In Part 2, I will let you know why my father didn't stop at just totaling cars, but reserved one of his worst crashes for a large farm machine called a Combine.

Frank Lloyd Wright....naked?

2010-01-15T22:33:00.005-06:00

Along with being a great mechanic, my father was also the king of B.S. You know, that fertilizer that comes from a male bovine. Yeah, my dad could sling it with the best of them. One story my father would always "B.S." about involved a certain famous American architect and a tractor.

Now, just to set the record straight, this is a story my father would tell every time Frank Lloyd Wright would be mentioned in some news story or in conversation. Mr. Wright's name would come up often because we live in Southern Wisconsin not very far from his Taliesin home in Spring Green Wisconsin. Anytime my dad would hear the name "Frank Lloyd Wright" my father would pipe in "You know, I saw Frank Lloyd Wright naked once!"

Plus, as far as truthfulness is concerned, I don't recall the story changing much every time he told it. If there was embellishment involved in my father's Frank Lloyd Wright story, it must have been done when he first started telling his eyewitness account. There is no "Dead Sea Scrolls" version of my father's story to verify its historicity. And one more thing, I dont think my dad was the type of guy to make up a story about seeing another man naked.

So, since I've heard this story a million times from my father (it's gotten to the point that when I hear "Frank Lloyd Wright" I automatically pipe in "You know, my dad has seen him naked!"), I will tell this from my father's point of view. To help me out read these next three words out loud.

FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT

"You know, I've seen him naked once! I was working for Raemisch Implement and they asked me to go and repossess the tractor that Frank Lloyd Wright had bought. I guess Frank felt he was too important to actually pay for a tractor. So I went down there to Taliesin with another guy to pick it up. Of course, Frank had these guards with swords guarding the place, I think they were from India. I couldn't understand what they were saying and they were sure as hell not going to let me just take the tractor. I looked at the guy with me and said 'Let's go up to the house and see if he's here'. We walked passed the little Indian guys with swords and went up to the house. The guy that was with me didn't say a word. He must've been scared of the Indians or something, so I did all the talking.

I knocked on the door and a woman answered it. Completely Naked! Of course, he's having one of his sex parties! 'I need to talk to Frank' I said. I didn't care what was going on. I had a job to do. Next thing you know, Frank came to the door. Completely Naked! *laughing* He wasn't much to look at, that's for sure. 'We're here for the tractor' I said. I just wanted to get the hell out of there before we were asked to join in. The guy that was with me was in shock. I dont think he blinked his eyes the rest of the day. Frank said some gibberish I couldn't understand to the guards and they let us take the tractor. It was like this happened all the time there. No big deal. We loaded up the tractor and Frank went back to his sex party."

fin

Whether you believe my father's story or not doesn't really matter to me. Although, there are a number of books written recently about Frank Lloyd Wright's "sex parties" that seem to corroborate my father's version of events. Google them if you want. As far as I'm concerned I've known about this part of Frank Lloyd Wright's lifestyle for my entire life. My father told me about it.

Eye Magnet? No Thanks

2009-11-17T19:53:00.001-06:00

Life changing moments, you don't forget those. Getting married, the birth of a child, starting a new career, when you set out on a new path for your life, those are pretty memorable moments. However, there are also those moments that are just as important, but instead of starting down a new path you put a "Do Not Enter" sign on it. That was the day I decided I was never going to be a mechanic.

I could've had a good life as a mechanic. Learning from the best mechanic around, being able to take over the family business, it would've been easy. My ten year old brain even went through the checklist of all the fun things that a mechanic gets to do everyday.

Getting greasy and dirty? - check
Using tools everyday? - check
especially a tool like a B.F.H.? - check
working on many different types of cool cars? - check
Saying what a B.F.H. actually was? - check

Cool, right? But then I noticed some other things about being a mechanic that weren't so great.

Things like the bloody knuckles you get everyday because a (how my father would say) FRIGGIN' (he didn't say friggin) WRENCH SLIPPED OF THE GOSH DARNED (my dad never said gosh darned) BOLT! or the fact that my brother spent a few months in a full legged cast because an unsecured school bus rolled over his leg (that's right a school bus), or the fact that a doctor had to use something called an Eyemagnet so my father wouldn't lose his eyesight.

What's an Eyemagnet you ask? First of all, get your mind out of the gutter. An eyemagnet is not certain bodyparts of the opposite sex, or same sex if that's your thing, that you find yourself constantly gazing at. An Eyemagnet is exactly what it says it is, a magnet that gets placed on your eye to draw metal out of said eye.

I guess the loop is for removing non-metalic particles from the eye.

I'm sure Phil was using a B.F.H. underneath a car and had some metal flake off and drop into his eye. I knew my dad was in pain because he didn't talk and my dad loved to talk. Nothing. Not a word. His eye was bloodshot and painful. It was hard for me to see my father like this. He was superman! Nothing could faze him. Apparently, flakes of metal are Phil's kryptonite.

So, off to the doctor's office we went. Which was another weird thing - dad never went to the doctor, ever. This was serious. That's probably why mom had us all go along, because she was freaking out about this too and wanted us all there for moral support. Thankfully, we didn't have to go into the exam room with dad. He went into the room with a painful and bloodshot eye and came out with an eyepatch. "Arrr!" I remember him saying in his best pirate voice. He felt better right away and made sure to share with us every gruesome detail of the procedure like it was a campfire horror story.

"...and then the doctor took out this instrument called an eyemagnet and put it against my eye and I could feel the metal in there want to break free but it wouldn't so he put it on my eye again and finally the metal screeched out of my eye."

That's all I needed to hear and it was no more mechanic life for me. Done. Sure, I helped dad around the shop, but I didn't pay attention. Didn't need to because this was not going to be my life long career. No Eyemagnets for me.

B.F.H = Warmth

2009-10-25T15:59:00.000-05:00

After reading my earlier post "Get Me A B-F-H" my sister June shared with me another "Phil" story involving a big friggin hammer. The reason I didn't know of this story was because this happened when I was very young (I am the youngest in my family by at least ten years, a fact I never let my siblings forget) and this story takes place in our old basement.

I didn't go in the basement as a child, because I thought the very gates of Hades existed down there. It was dark and musty. Occasionally I would hear these low growls and moans emanating from that dark abyss. I swear to God I once heard these moans say "Hammer Jr, I want to eat your braaaiiiinn". However, after hearing my sister's story I now realize that it wasn't some zombie from Hades hungry for my brain, it was our old fuel oil furnace struggling to start up.

The house I grew up in was built in the 1920s-ish and the furnace was still the original one that came with the house. So, it was old. Since my father was really good at keeping mechanical things running, he felt no need to replace the old furnace when it was acting up. His solution you ask? Why, a BFH of course.

My sister told me that dad always had a big friggin hammer lying next to the furnace and when it wouldn't fire up he would give it a whack and then it would work for a while. Nevermind the fact that HE WAS HITTING A FURNACE WITH A HAMMER! A COMBUSTIBLE FUEL FURNACE! My sister would hurry outside when she knew dad was going to whack the furnace just in case we needed someone to identify the bodies if something went wrong. Very smart of her. The funny thing is that years later, my sister and her husband moved into that house when we left for the farm. The first thing they replaced? The old fuel furnace.

Sometimes, You Just Have To Create The Right Tool For The Job.

2009-10-12T17:41:00.001-05:00

My dad, Phil, must've enjoyed work, because my freshman year in high school we moved from town to a farm. When most people get above 50 years old, they tend to slow down a bit; "Lighten the load" so to speak. Not Phil. Although, he did sell the shop, he then converted a barn on the farm to his new shop. A place where his customers could still bring their cars for Phil to fix, when he wasn't out in the field.

All this extra work meant Phil needed to make sure that he had the right tools available so he could get the job done quickly. And then there arose those times when the right tool wasn't available, but that didn't slow down Phil. That just meant that Phil needed to CREATE the right tool.
One summer, a tornado brushed past our farm. Thankfully, nobody was hurt but the tornado did toss our empty 400 gallon water tank like a frisbee about a half mile down the road and blew some boards off of our tobacco shed. We were able to assess the damage immediately, because my dad and I were OUTSIDE watching the whole storm unfold! You know those people that look up after someone yells "DUCK". Apparently, my dad and I are those people.

"Aww...There goes the cow tank." I heard my dad calmly say. I just stood next to dad and thought, rather uncalmly, "I'm Alive!".

The water tank ended up being unsalvageable, but the boards on the tobacco shed could easily be replaced. Since it was getting dark out, my dad decided to add that to his list of things that needed to get done the next day. Besides, the way Phil was going to fix the barn, it wasn't going to take long at all.

After his morning cup of coffee, dad went out and gathered up some old barn boards that he had stacked up on the side of the machine shed. All the boards would need to be trimmed, though, since they were longer than the boards they were replacing. However, because Phil had a 2 foot gap from the bottom of the tobacco shed to the ground (for circulation) this made his job much easier.

This is how any normal person would replace the boards.
1. Measure the space where the new barn board is to go.
2. Cut barn board to that length.
3. Nail barn board into place.
4. Repeat.

Now, because Phil was not normal (remember, he had mutant powers) he had his own plan to replace the boards.
1. Nail boards into place (All the boards fit within that 2 feet of clearance from the ground)
2. Use the WEEDEATER FROM HELL to trim all the boards at once!

Done.

The boards he nailed in place overlapped the bottom by 6 inches to just over a foot. Plenty of room with that 2 foot gap. After they were nailed, Phil went to the shop, grabbed the Weedeater, took off the spool, bolted on a blade from the Skilsaw, started it up, and walked along the tobacco shed trimming as he strolled.

"GET ME A B-F-H!"

2009-10-07T01:19:00.001-05:00

If my dad had a mutant power, it was his ability to fix anything mechanical. Of course, my wife believes this is a mutant gene that I don’t possess and she would be correct (she’s always correct….its horrible for me). Anywho, my father was a mechanic working in a small shop that he built himself, earning a good living turning wrenches and getting dirty.

Phil (what other non-siblings called my dad) wasn’t just any run-of-the-mill mechanic. He was the best. He wasn’t just a Ford guy or a Chevy guy or a Studebaker guy, he was all of those. His experience and knowledge concerning cars was unmatched. My father’s shop was where you took your car when the other mechanic(s) failed. I wish I would’ve paid more attention to what my dad was doing underneath all those cars, because I’m terrible when it comes to fixing anything with four wheels. However, I still got quite the education from my dad, just not his mutant power.

One of my dad’s favorite stories was about a mechanic who was driving out in the country and noticed a farmer trying to get his tractor to start.

“Need some help?” asked the mechanic as he pulled up along side the farmer.

“Darn thing won’t turn over!” said the farmer. So the mechanic got out of his car and walked up to the tractor to give it good look. He got in real close to the engine and tugged on the belts.

“Gotta hammer?” asked the mechanic. Hammer in hand he told the farmer to try and turn it over again. Just as the farmer turned the key - WHAM! – the mechanic hit the engine block with the hammer and the old tractor roared to life.

“Hey, thanks!” said the farmer. “What do I owe ya?” he asked.

“20 dollars.”

“20 dollars?” asked the farmer “You only used a hammer!”

“Tell you what.” said the mechanic “I’ll only charge you a dollar for hitting the engine with a hammer.”

“That’s more like it.” said the farmer.

“But,” the mechanic interrupted “for knowing where to hit the engine so your tractor would start, that’ll cost you 19 dollars.”

That story always stuck with me because it goes along with one of my earliest memories of helping out my dad in the shop. I was 6 or 7 years old and it was my job to fetch dad whatever tool he needed as he was busy underneath a car trying to install a new catalytic converter. Apparently, it wasn’t cooperating very well and he was letting the part know that he wasn’t happy. He was using some “verbal grease” to relieve some tension. Finally, he came to the decision that the be-all-end-all of tools was needed.

“Chris! Go get me a B-F-H!” he yelled.

“What’s a B-F-H?”

“A Big Friggin’ (he didn’t say friggin’) Hammer! Now, go get it!”

I went and grabbed the biggest hammer I could find and took it to my father. “Here’s your Big Friggin’ (I didn’t say friggin’) Hammer, dad!” I exclaimed with the biggest smile on my face.

“Thanks.” He said as he poked his head out from under the car, “And don’t tell your mother.” Then he gave me a wink.

I felt like I was accepted into an exclusive club. I just said “friggin’” and got away with it! I thought. I figured my Man Card would be in the mail when I got home. I was so happy.

Oh and by the way, the B-F-H worked. One swing and the catalytic converter set itself right onto the bolts. The B-F-H always works.