My father-in-law, who goes by his initials L. W., is one of the more unforgettable characters I have ever had the pleasure to meet. A World War II fighter pilot, he returned from the war and went into the lumber business. He eventually founded his own lumber company and became very successful. He is retired now.
He sometimes has some unusual, or uncommon, opinions on things, often expressed with a dry sort of humour. For example, he once stated, “The only sustainable form of government is anarchy.” Another time, while lamenting the amount of taxes he had to pay, he said, “You know, poor folks really have it made.”
He sometimes had strong opinions about other people’s priorities, too. For example, one time he told me disgustedly, “Heck, I know some people who are driving Cadillacs, yet they don’t even have good whiskey in the house.”
He is not a very patient man. One evening a long time ago, when I was courting Elaine, we all drove over to visit a friend of his. “We” being L. W., his wife and Elaine’s mom Betty, Elaine and her identical twin sister Jane, and me. L. W.’s friend’s place was a ranch of sorts, and the approach to it was a dirt road. It was on that road at night that one of L. W.’s tires blew out. Elaine and Jane and Betty elected to walk the remaining distance to the ranch house, while L.W. and I were supposed to change the tire.
L.W. opened the trunk and got out the jack, and we discovered that it was nothing like anything either of us had ever seen. It was dark, so I was holding the jack manual under the trunk-lid lights to read it, when I heard a distinctive whew, whew, whew, whew, … . It turned out to be the sound that a jack makes when it is flying through the air, after someone entirely out of patience flings it away. We had to walk to the ranch house and get the car towed the next day. Cell phones weren’t around in those days.
The last car L. W. owned was a Mercedes, but when I first met him in 1965 he was driving Cadillacs, and he held all other cars, especially Ford’s, in disdain. I was reading a “Consumer Report” one night over at his house, and I came across an article on the repair frequency for different kinds of automobiles. After awhile, I announced to L. W. that he might like to read the article, because the data indicated that Fords needed repairs a lot less frequently than Caddies or Chevys or other GM automobiles. He scoffed and said, “That’s because anybody who would drive a Ford wouldn’t have sense enough to know when it needed repairing.”
One time L. W. parked somewhere during some big event, and when he went to get his car afterwards, he couldn’t find it. He decided it was stolen and reported it to the police. A day or so later, he happened to be riding in a taxi by the same parking lot where, now, there were no events being held and the lot was empty. That is to say, nearly empty, as he saw his car all by itself way out in the middle of the lot. He immediately asked the cab driver to stop, and he got out right there and went to his car and drove off, headed for his country club to play golf. On the way there, though, he was stopped by the police for driving a stolen car. By the time he got things cleared up and got to the club, the word had somehow already gotten there ahead of him, and his friends kidded him to no end.
One time one of his lumberyard truck drivers drove under a large freeway sign that was not high enough for the truck. The truck knocked the sign down, and L.W. was required to pay for it. So, he took the sign and had it modified at his lumber yard to make a big saw for his lumber mill. That was the kind of unexpected way he had of sometimes handling a problem.
He sometimes has some unusual, or uncommon, opinions on things, often expressed with a dry sort of humour. For example, he once stated, “The only sustainable form of government is anarchy.” Another time, while lamenting the amount of taxes he had to pay, he said, “You know, poor folks really have it made.”
He sometimes had strong opinions about other people’s priorities, too. For example, one time he told me disgustedly, “Heck, I know some people who are driving Cadillacs, yet they don’t even have good whiskey in the house.”
He is not a very patient man. One evening a long time ago, when I was courting Elaine, we all drove over to visit a friend of his. “We” being L. W., his wife and Elaine’s mom Betty, Elaine and her identical twin sister Jane, and me. L. W.’s friend’s place was a ranch of sorts, and the approach to it was a dirt road. It was on that road at night that one of L. W.’s tires blew out. Elaine and Jane and Betty elected to walk the remaining distance to the ranch house, while L.W. and I were supposed to change the tire.
L.W. opened the trunk and got out the jack, and we discovered that it was nothing like anything either of us had ever seen. It was dark, so I was holding the jack manual under the trunk-lid lights to read it, when I heard a distinctive whew, whew, whew, whew, … . It turned out to be the sound that a jack makes when it is flying through the air, after someone entirely out of patience flings it away. We had to walk to the ranch house and get the car towed the next day. Cell phones weren’t around in those days.
The last car L. W. owned was a Mercedes, but when I first met him in 1965 he was driving Cadillacs, and he held all other cars, especially Ford’s, in disdain. I was reading a “Consumer Report” one night over at his house, and I came across an article on the repair frequency for different kinds of automobiles. After awhile, I announced to L. W. that he might like to read the article, because the data indicated that Fords needed repairs a lot less frequently than Caddies or Chevys or other GM automobiles. He scoffed and said, “That’s because anybody who would drive a Ford wouldn’t have sense enough to know when it needed repairing.”
One time L. W. parked somewhere during some big event, and when he went to get his car afterwards, he couldn’t find it. He decided it was stolen and reported it to the police. A day or so later, he happened to be riding in a taxi by the same parking lot where, now, there were no events being held and the lot was empty. That is to say, nearly empty, as he saw his car all by itself way out in the middle of the lot. He immediately asked the cab driver to stop, and he got out right there and went to his car and drove off, headed for his country club to play golf. On the way there, though, he was stopped by the police for driving a stolen car. By the time he got things cleared up and got to the club, the word had somehow already gotten there ahead of him, and his friends kidded him to no end.
One time one of his lumberyard truck drivers drove under a large freeway sign that was not high enough for the truck. The truck knocked the sign down, and L.W. was required to pay for it. So, he took the sign and had it modified at his lumber yard to make a big saw for his lumber mill. That was the kind of unexpected way he had of sometimes handling a problem.
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