The Apprentice's Toolbox

Aviation Apprentice

They were told to be there at 0730 and, with rare
exception, they always were, at least on that first
all-important day. There was never less than
thirty-two of them, never more than thirty-six. The
youngest had just turned fourteen, the oldest was a
day shy of eighteen. There were no exceptions to
this rule.

It was always a mixed bag that stood nervously
outside that hanger door, with an occasional turban
or fedora among the cloth caps. Especially nervous
were the Africans, knowing they were in a country
where lynching members of their race was still
considered an acceptable form of behavior. A
sprinkling of Orientals rounded out the racial mix
but often confusedly so since some were lanky six-
footers. The confusion was compounded by native-
born Chilean named O'Hara who spoke better German
than Spanish and a Chinese boy whose mother tongue
was Portuguese.

And English, of course. English was another rule
for which there was no exception. English was the
language of aviation.

At exactly 0730 the door opened and a man bearing a
clipboard stepped out. Without greeting or preamble
he called the first name, got a startled reply from
the surprised boy who was told "One-one," and saw
his name ticked off the alphabetized list. The man
went on to the next name and the one after that
before he noticed the first boy was still there, a
picture of worried indecision.

"Table one," the man said slowly. "Table one, place
one. Inside," the man gestured abruptly with his
pencil and went on to the fourth name who became
'one-four'. Number five became 'two-one' and the
mystery was revealed as soon as the boys entered the
building.

The tables were right there, impossible to miss
since they occupied half the extensive space.
Varnished maple tops a solid two inches thick, four
feet wide and eight feet long, supported on steel
legs painted gray. The ten tables were clearly
marked with their numbers and the four places at
each table was also marked. But the boys hardly
noticed.

The remaining half of the space was occupied by an
airplane. The boys immediately recognized it's make
and model although few had never seen one in the
flesh. Having their eyes fastened to the plane made
it difficult for them to find their places at the
tables but all eventually did so, even though their
heads remained cocked toward the airplane. The
airplane was why they were there. It was a dream
come true, a thing too exciting to ignore.

But as soon as they were all at their places the
man, who said simply "I'll be your instructor,"
explained sorrowfully that they would all have to go
back outside. Someone had created a bit of a mess -
- two cigarette butts -- and it would have to be
cleaned up.

First one then the other of the guilty boys
confessed their crime and moved toward the door but
the man would not allow it. It had to be all or
none. That's how things were done here. And so
long as he was in charge, it would be all.

Brooms and dust-pans were found and the area in
front of the building given a brisk but effective
sweep-down. But by the time the brooms were put
away several boys had forgotten their numbers. And
again, it was all or nothing. Rather than look up
their numbers individually the man called the entire
roll.

Each table held four drawers and the space under
each table was marked off into four sections.
Inside each drawer was an identical kit of tools and
an inventory sheet. Each boy was required to
inventory his tools as the instructor called them
out, marking them off on their inventory sheet which
the boy then signed. Lining up by their numbers,
the boys were conducted to a room on the far side of
the building where they turned in their inventory
sheet and received back three shop coats of a size
appropriate to their build. Or nearly so.

The shop coats were glorious things of white cotton
twill, embroidered across the back with the winged
symbol of their employer. They were told to reserve
one of the shop-coats for special occasions and to
keep the other two properly washed and mended, for
it was now their daily uniform.

Properly frocked and tabled, the boys were then
addressed by an older man in a three-piece suit and
gold-rimmed glasses, obviously someone important
from the Front Office. The man spoke in a friendly,
familiar fashion, smiling often and making it clear
he thought them a welcome addition to the company,
which is why the company was willing to go through
the expense of training them for three years,
providing them with their shop coats and working
space, their basic kit of tools and of course the
all-important toolbox to keep them in...

At which point the Instructor leaned near the
Important Man and told him they were out of
toolboxes at the moment but just as soon as some
came in...

The Important Man didn't care for this news. Not
one bit of it. He frowned and when he did so all
the warmth went out of that wonderful airplane-
filled space. He reminded the Instructor that the
apprenticeship program was costing the company
thousands of dollars and that there was a right way
and a wrong of doing things and any attempt to
properly train an apprentice who did not have his
own toolbox was obviously wrong. They would have to
send the boys home and reschedule the start of their
training... at least, for any who were still
qualified, for some later date.
Insert here a dramatic pause, during which
apprentices had been known to faint, burst into
tears or lose control of their bladder.

"I suppose I could have them make their own
toolboxes," the Instructor mused in a tentative way.

The Important Man gave the Instructor a scornful
look. "That wouldn't do. They'll have those
toolboxes for the rest of their lives. Everywhere
they go people would see those toolboxes with our
logo on them. We couldn't allow any shoddy goods."

"Oh, they wouldn't be shoddy," the Instructor
assured him. "Built to spec, every one of them."

Here the Important Man turned toward the boys. He
didn't look pleased. "Are they up to that? Some of
them don't have any training at all... "

"I'm sure they can do it if we give them the
chance," the Instructor coaxed. Thirty-six rigid
faced boys silently screamed 'Yes! Give us a
chance!'

And so it was. The boys were trooped to another
building where four sheets of sixty-thou 17ST was
sheared into strips sixteen by forty-eight inches.
In another shop each boy was given a piece of one-
by-one by eighth-inch aluminum angle along with a
paper cup half filled with rivets. In the Steel
Shop each boy received a section of piano hinge, two
luggage latches, a small hasp and a piece of 3/8"
cold-rolled steel bar ten inches long. Juggling
this crazy assortment of stuff, cutting themselves
on the sheet metal, dribbling rivets, they scurried
back to their classroom. It wasn't yet nine a.m. of
the first day of their apprenticeship and things
seemed to be going to hell in a hand basket. Or in
a toolbox.

---------------------------

It was all a bit of a show of course.

Over the next two weeks each of the apprentices,
save those who slipped quietly away and never
returned, used the materials to build his toolbox.
The sheet of aluminum -- when properly cut --
provided enough material to fabricate a toolbox
approximately sixteen inches long, eight inches wide
and ten inches deep. The corners of the box were
reenforced with angle while the steel rod was bent
to form the handle. The box was assembled with
eighth-inch rivets having a one-inch pitch.

For many of the boys it was their first exposure to
metal-work. For others, it was their first use of
feet and inches and all those confusing fractions,
so unlike the innate simplicity of their native
metric system. And for most, it was their first
experience with dust pans and brooms and working
alongside a total stranger from exotic land such as
Nigeria or Oklahoma.

If the truth be told, a few of the toolboxes were
less than spectacular when it came to workmanship.
But each was built to spec. And each passed a
rigorous inspection, not only from the Instructor
but from the student's peers for here again, it was
All or Nothing.

The resulting box was acid-etched with name of the
apprentice and with the logo of the particular
school. The details of the toolbox -- and of this
story -- vary from school to school, with a Northrup
toolbox being distinctive from a Spartan, as a
Loughead differed from a Fleet. But the principle
remained the same for all: With the manual arts,
you learn through experience. Building your own
toolbox was simply the first step on that path. But
there was a far more subtle lesson being taught, one
having to do with the nature of airplanes and
teamwork.

Many a mechanic... and not a few executives... still
have their 'apprentice box', often prominently
displayed on their Trophy Wall among their photos,
diplomas and other tokens of accomplishment.

-----------------------------------------

How about you?

Ever used a cleco? (or know how they got their
name?) Ever made a buck-head? Have you been
properly introduced to Mr. Smiley?

Building the basic box is akin to building the basic
airplane in that you first fabricate the parts then
assemble them into subassemblies and the
subassemblies into the whole. Along the way you
must do some accurate cutting and filing and
drilling as well as figuring out half a dozen
problems built-in to such a project, such as 'How do
I get all twenty pieces of sheet metal out of this
16x48 panel?'

Frankly, it's a lot of work. And nowadays work is
considered a bit old-fashioned, especially if it
involves something you've never done before.

But the concept behind the Basic Box applies equally
well to composites, welded steel or even wooden
construction practices -- the Basic Box is meant to
provide the means to an end rather than an end unto
itself.

Want to build the Basic Box from fiberglas? No
problem. There are at least four acceptable methods
of arriving at the desired finished product.
Howabout wood? The same applies to wooden
construction. Or to steel. And in each case the
object is not to provide you with a toolbox, it is
to teach you welding or wood-working or many
possible variations when working with composites.

So you do the work and in doing so, learn the
required techniques. But it isn't some Quick &
Easy smear a little epoxy on the table sorta thing.
Nor do you weld half a joint and skip off to the
next booth to get a three minute 'education' in
scarfing plywood. Under the Old Rules you not only
acquired an in-depth knowledge of the required
techniques and procedures, you made a useful thing,
something that would last your lifetime, something
better than anything you could buy... and something
that could only be made by human hands.

Want to buy a 'prentice box'? I'll be happy to sell
you mine. For ten thousand dollars :-)

-R.S.Hoover

pure gann.

c'mon ....write page two.

Stealth Pilot

....who still has a wooden tool box in use that he built 20 years ago
without a single nail. the wife will not part with it.




On Fri, 11 Apr 2008 00:20:10 -0700 (PDT), "
wrote:

Aviation Apprentice

They were told to be there at 0730 and, with rare
exception, they always were, at least on that first
all-important day. There was never less than
thirty-two of them, never more than thirty-six. The
youngest had just turned fourteen, the oldest was a
day shy of eighteen. There were no exceptions to
this rule.

It was always a mixed bag that stood nervously
outside that hanger door, with an occasional turban
or fedora among the cloth caps. Especially nervous
were the Africans, knowing they were in a country
where lynching members of their race was still
considered an acceptable form of behavior. A
sprinkling of Orientals rounded out the racial mix
but often confusedly so since some were lanky six-
footers. The confusion was compounded by native-
born Chilean named O'Hara who spoke better German
than Spanish and a Chinese boy whose mother tongue
was Portuguese.

And English, of course. English was another rule
for which there was no exception. English was the
language of aviation.

At exactly 0730 the door opened and a man bearing a
clipboard stepped out. Without greeting or preamble
he called the first name, got a startled reply from
the surprised boy who was told "One-one," and saw
his name ticked off the alphabetized list. The man
went on to the next name and the one after that
before he noticed the first boy was still there, a
picture of worried indecision.

"Table one," the man said slowly. "Table one, place
one. Inside," the man gestured abruptly with his
pencil and went on to the fourth name who became
'one-four'. Number five became 'two-one' and the
mystery was revealed as soon as the boys entered the
building.

The tables were right there, impossible to miss
since they occupied half the extensive space.
Varnished maple tops a solid two inches thick, four
feet wide and eight feet long, supported on steel
legs painted gray. The ten tables were clearly
marked with their numbers and the four places at
each table was also marked. But the boys hardly
noticed.

The remaining half of the space was occupied by an
airplane. The boys immediately recognized it's make
and model although few had never seen one in the
flesh. Having their eyes fastened to the plane made
it difficult for them to find their places at the
tables but all eventually did so, even though their
heads remained cocked toward the airplane. The
airplane was why they were there. It was a dream
come true, a thing too exciting to ignore.

But as soon as they were all at their places the
man, who said simply "I'll be your instructor,"
explained sorrowfully that they would all have to go
back outside. Someone had created a bit of a mess -
- two cigarette butts -- and it would have to be
cleaned up.

First one then the other of the guilty boys
confessed their crime and moved toward the door but
the man would not allow it. It had to be all or
none. That's how things were done here. And so
long as he was in charge, it would be all.

Brooms and dust-pans were found and the area in
front of the building given a brisk but effective
sweep-down. But by the time the brooms were put
away several boys had forgotten their numbers. And
again, it was all or nothing. Rather than look up
their numbers individually the man called the entire
roll.

Each table held four drawers and the space under
each table was marked off into four sections.
Inside each drawer was an identical kit of tools and
an inventory sheet. Each boy was required to
inventory his tools as the instructor called them
out, marking them off on their inventory sheet which
the boy then signed. Lining up by their numbers,
the boys were conducted to a room on the far side of
the building where they turned in their inventory
sheet and received back three shop coats of a size
appropriate to their build. Or nearly so.

The shop coats were glorious things of white cotton
twill, embroidered across the back with the winged
symbol of their employer. They were told to reserve
one of the shop-coats for special occasions and to
keep the other two properly washed and mended, for
it was now their daily uniform.

Properly frocked and tabled, the boys were then
addressed by an older man in a three-piece suit and
gold-rimmed glasses, obviously someone important
from the Front Office. The man spoke in a friendly,
familiar fashion, smiling often and making it clear
he thought them a welcome addition to the company,
which is why the company was willing to go through
the expense of training them for three years,
providing them with their shop coats and working
space, their basic kit of tools and of course the
all-important toolbox to keep them in...

At which point the Instructor leaned near the
Important Man and told him they were out of
toolboxes at the moment but just as soon as some
came in...

The Important Man didn't care for this news. Not
one bit of it. He frowned and when he did so all
the warmth went out of that wonderful airplane-
filled space. He reminded the Instructor that the
apprenticeship program was costing the company
thousands of dollars and that there was a right way
and a wrong of doing things and any attempt to
properly train an apprentice who did not have his
own toolbox was obviously wrong. They would have to
send the boys home and reschedule the start of their
training... at least, for any who were still
qualified, for some later date.
Insert here a dramatic pause, during which
apprentices had been known to faint, burst into
tears or lose control of their bladder.

"I suppose I could have them make their own
toolboxes," the Instructor mused in a tentative way.

The Important Man gave the Instructor a scornful
look. "That wouldn't do. They'll have those
toolboxes for the rest of their lives. Everywhere
they go people would see those toolboxes with our
logo on them. We couldn't allow any shoddy goods."

"Oh, they wouldn't be shoddy," the Instructor
assured him. "Built to spec, every one of them."

Here the Important Man turned toward the boys. He
didn't look pleased. "Are they up to that? Some of
them don't have any training at all... "

"I'm sure they can do it if we give them the
chance," the Instructor coaxed. Thirty-six rigid
faced boys silently screamed 'Yes! Give us a
chance!'

And so it was. The boys were trooped to another
building where four sheets of sixty-thou 17ST was
sheared into strips sixteen by forty-eight inches.
In another shop each boy was given a piece of one-
by-one by eighth-inch aluminum angle along with a
paper cup half filled with rivets. In the Steel
Shop each boy received a section of piano hinge, two
luggage latches, a small hasp and a piece of 3/8"
cold-rolled steel bar ten inches long. Juggling
this crazy assortment of stuff, cutting themselves
on the sheet metal, dribbling rivets, they scurried
back to their classroom. It wasn't yet nine a.m. of
the first day of their apprenticeship and things
seemed to be going to hell in a hand basket. Or in
a toolbox.

---------------------------

It was all a bit of a show of course.

Over the next two weeks each of the apprentices,
save those who slipped quietly away and never
returned, used the materials to build his toolbox.
The sheet of aluminum -- when properly cut --
provided enough material to fabricate a toolbox
approximately sixteen inches long, eight inches wide
and ten inches deep. The corners of the box were
reenforced with angle while the steel rod was bent
to form the handle. The box was assembled with
eighth-inch rivets having a one-inch pitch.

For many of the boys it was their first exposure to
metal-work. For others, it was their first use of
feet and inches and all those confusing fractions,
so unlike the innate simplicity of their native
metric system. And for most, it was their first
experience with dust pans and brooms and working
alongside a total stranger from exotic land such as
Nigeria or Oklahoma.

If the truth be told, a few of the toolboxes were
less than spectacular when it came to workmanship.
But each was built to spec. And each passed a
rigorous inspection, not only from the Instructor
but from the student's peers for here again, it was
All or Nothing.

The resulting box was acid-etched with name of the
apprentice and with the logo of the particular
school. The details of the toolbox -- and of this
story -- vary from school to school, with a Northrup
toolbox being distinctive from a Spartan, as a
Loughead differed from a Fleet. But the principle
remained the same for all: With the manual arts,
you learn through experience. Building your own
toolbox was simply the first step on that path. But
there was a far more subtle lesson being taught, one
having to do with the nature of airplanes and
teamwork.

Many a mechanic... and not a few executives... still
have their 'apprentice box', often prominently
displayed on their Trophy Wall among their photos,
diplomas and other tokens of accomplishment.

-----------------------------------------

How about you?

Ever used a cleco? (or know how they got their
name?) Ever made a buck-head? Have you been
properly introduced to Mr. Smiley?

Building the basic box is akin to building the basic
airplane in that you first fabricate the parts then
assemble them into subassemblies and the
subassemblies into the whole. Along the way you
must do some accurate cutting and filing and
drilling as well as figuring out half a dozen
problems built-in to such a project, such as 'How do
I get all twenty pieces of sheet metal out of this
16x48 panel?'

Frankly, it's a lot of work. And nowadays work is
considered a bit old-fashioned, especially if it
involves something you've never done before.

But the concept behind the Basic Box applies equally
well to composites, welded steel or even wooden
construction practices -- the Basic Box is meant to
provide the means to an end rather than an end unto
itself.

Want to build the Basic Box from fiberglas? No
problem. There are at least four acceptable methods
of arriving at the desired finished product.
Howabout wood? The same applies to wooden
construction. Or to steel. And in each case the
object is not to provide you with a toolbox, it is
to teach you welding or wood-working or many
possible variations when working with composites.

So you do the work and in doing so, learn the
required techniques. But it isn't some Quick &
Easy smear a little epoxy on the table sorta thing.
Nor do you weld half a joint and skip off to the
next booth to get a three minute 'education' in
scarfing plywood. Under the Old Rules you not only
acquired an in-depth knowledge of the required
techniques and procedures, you made a useful thing,
something that would last your lifetime, something
better than anything you could buy... and something
that could only be made by human hands.

Want to buy a 'prentice box'? I'll be happy to sell
you mine. For ten thousand dollars :-)

-R.S.Hoover

You sell too cheap, Bob. I've already made the arrangements that mine will
be buried (or incinerated) along with me.

Jim




Want to buy a 'prentice box'? I'll be happy to sell
you mine. For ten thousand dollars :-)

-R.S.Hoover

On Apr 11, 7:55 am, "RST Engineering" wrote:
You sell too cheap, Bob. I've already made the arrangements that mine will
be buried (or incinerated) along with me.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

See... bobhooversblog.blogspot.com

....for some of the drawings & photos that went with the submission.
Those wunnerful folks at Sport Aviation wanted it as a freebie (we all
know how poor they are). Usual rejection from Kitplanes and a
machinist magazine.

I even wrote up an Instructor's Manual with a whole buncha photos
showing which parts of the box could be used to introduce hand-
squeezers, joggling, use of the brake, use of the lathe (for the
handles) and so forth. Zero interest.

One of these boxes was the inspiration for 'The Ugliest
Toolbox'' (also in the blog... with a few more photos).

All the guys I grew up with -- mostly pushing up daisys now -- always
gave kids rides and taught them useful stuff. Nowadays it seems
everyone is too busy charging a dollar for a dimes-worth of
information to care about what happens when those sources of free,
PRACTICAL information are no longer available to the nation's young.

---------------------------------------------

Politicians and bureaucrats, like the people running the EAA, like to
tell everyone how they are experts on the Art of the Possible. Which
means they're second-raters. Progress comes from tackling the chores
everyone says are IMPOSSIBLE.

-Bob

wrote in message
...
Aviation Apprentice

...

How about you?

Ever used a cleco? (or know how they got their
name?) Ever made a buck-head? Have you been
properly introduced to Mr. Smiley?


Yes, not a clue, yes, if by that you mean "oops I slipped off the rivet" -
that's why my brother always handed me the bucking bar...

--
Geoff
The Sea Hawk at Wow Way d0t Com
remove spaces and make the obvious substitutions to reply by mail
When immigration is outlawed, only outlaws will immigrate.

On Apr 11, 7:55 am, "RST Engineering" wrote:
You sell too cheap, Bob. I've already made the arrangements that mine
will
be buried (or incinerated) along with me.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I even wrote up an Instructor's Manual with a whole buncha photos
showing which parts of the box could be used to introduce hand-
squeezers, joggling, use of the brake, use of the lathe (for the
handles) and so forth. Zero interest.

All the guys I grew up with -- mostly pushing up daisys now -- always
gave kids rides and taught them useful stuff. Nowadays it seems
everyone is too busy charging a dollar for a dimes-worth of
information to care about what happens when those sources of free,
PRACTICAL information are no longer available to the nation's young.

Yep, most people have no idea how important it is to some of us to learn how
to make things, to learn what we did not know yesterday. To me, it is one
of the most important things in life.

March 20, a few weeks ago, I lost my mentor. My Dad. My friend. I am what
I am today, because of him.

His dad was a machinist, mostly self educated. My dad was the first of his
family to go to college and got an engineering degree, but his dad passed
many of his hands on skills along to him. My dad passed the skills along to
me.

From the time I was old enough to walk, when my dad was in the garage
working on something, I was at his side. I held lights, fetched tools,
cleaned parts, or whatever was needed. Dad always told people that half the
time, he would have to get me out of between his eyes and the work, so he
could continue working. I wanted to learn everything, and see everything,
and dad took the time to show me and teach me. For this, I am eternally
grateful.

I'm also doing my part, and have passed what I could along to my son.
Someday, he will have his great grandpa's tool box, and all of the other
goodies that dad and I have accumulated, too. I hope he passes them along,
and that they mean as much to him, as they have meant to me.

The other day, I needed to tap a hole, and went into grandpa's tool box (a
huge home-made rolling wooden tool box, drawers and all, that he pulled
around the factory to do his work. What a work of art that toolbox is. I
was looking for a tap handle. I found one. It was home made, and had my
grandpa's name stamped on it with a center punch, and the date he made it.
1911. It is now one of my most cherished possessions.

Losing my Dad was one of the toughest things I have ever gone through. His
absence leaves a big hole in my life. It is a little easier, remembering
all we did together, and knowing all I learned from him. I miss him, but am
grateful for the impact he had on my life.

R.I.P., Jack Morgan.

Thanks for listening to my ramblings. It felt good to tell everyone about
him.
--
Jim in NC

Sincere condolences, my friend.

" wrote:
....
How about you?

First project in my high school shop class was a metal dustpan.
Never looked for any deep meaning in the instructor's choice. ;-)

wrote in message
...
On Apr 11, 7:55 am, "RST Engineering" wrote:
You sell too cheap, Bob. I've already made the arrangements that mine
will

(((snipped a bunch)))

means they're second-raters. Progress comes from tackling the chores
everyone says are IMPOSSIBLE.

-Bob



Bob, if you think nothing is impossible, (as I read somewhere on the
internet last week), please try SLAMMING A REVOLVING DOOR !

Sorry, Pal. I just had to throw that one in there.

The kit I made in 1962 finally went away in my last move to smaller
quarters. It did heroic service from then to 2005. The casters were replaced
once, and the drawers were upgraded in 1968 to plexiglass, but everything
else including the alkyd enamel inside and out stood well. Even the YESCO
(Young Electric Sign Co, Las Vegas, 1963) decal remained.

Flash

cavelamb himself wrote:
Sincere condolences, my friend.

Agreed, and it's a shame many schools don't have shop class, that
parents don't have some practical skills to pass on etc. It's all "get a
higher education" and "go to college." Whatever happened to hands on in
childhood? My son and I used to drive my ex nuts because we'd get dirty
working on my car. He started very young playing with the hand tools.
I'm by no means an expert mechanic, but I can do most work on a car. My
son is the same way. The same with basic home repair. I'm afraid we are
becoming book smart and world dense.

Having said that, I do know people who are dangerous with anything
more complicated than a screw driver. Let them keep plumbers,
electricians, tow drivers etc employed.

Dan, U.S. Air Force, retired