Forrest Gunter

[mwheless]

What do you hear of Richard Hatch?  Does he have an email?
thanks,
marilyn w


----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Forrest Gunter" <fpgunter at hotmail.com>
To: <austin-ghetto-list at pairlist.net>
Sent: Saturday, July 02, 2005 6:20 AM
Subject: Re: Ya Git Old


> Yes.
>
> >From: "mwheless" <mwheless at airmail.net>
> >Reply-To: survivors' reminiscences about Austin Ghetto Daze in the 60s
> ><austin-ghetto-list at pairlist.net>
> >To: "survivors' reminiscences about Austin Ghetto Daze in the 60s"
> ><austin-ghetto-list at pairlist.net>
> >Subject: Re: Ya Git Old
> >Date: Fri, 1 Jul 2005 12:43:28 -0500
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> >
> >Twisty, Was Michael Waddell married to Linda Reese Vaughn whose mother
was
> >from Menard? Did Michael and Linda have a daughter named Clara? Just
> >curious.
> >marilyn wheless
> >
> >
> >----- Original Message -----
> >From: "Harry Edwards" <laughingwolf at ev1.net>
> >To: "ghetto 2" <ghetto2 at lists.whathelps.com>
> >Cc: "ghetto survivors" <austin-ghetto-list at pairlist.net>
> >Sent: Thursday, June 30, 2005 6:57 PM
> >Subject: Ya Git Old
> >
> >
> >Some of you probably know Michael Waddell. This timely essay by Michael
> >was forwarded to me from a mutual friend.    twisty
> >
> >subject: ya git old
> >
> >git it?
> >
> >used to be. I would go strate ahead on, in the trades, carpentry. Ya
> >have a tool belt, and to start with you have and prize the few thangs
> >yuh carry there. Used to be cloth one. Apron-like, to keep the stuff ya
> >werk’t with at hand. Convenient.
> >
> >Nails. An essential, those pointy things with haids, they call ‘em; the
> >heads are actually flattened circles of aim, targets, to give rise to
> >expressions from some straw-bosses among my hearties, and mighties,
> >such as—hit the nail, man! th’ nail! Hit th thang, don’t try to Scare
> >it in!—
> >
> >The apron would hold a handful of nails, and perhaps a pencil and a
> >measuring tape, that could go ten feet. That's all.
> >
> >You graduate. you get a leathern belt, that holds a utility knife, in a
> >special sheath-shaped quiver (quoit or quirt, or quirn, kern or
> >coin—qui vive!?), a pocket is provided for a thirty-foot tape, pencils,
> >rectifying squares, nail-punches and –sets, a triangulora divisor, and
> >other arcane stuff, unknown to the publick. A hammard, mine was a Plumb
> >Bludgeon, with candy-apple transparent ochre shellack’t finish on the
> >wooden handle, a 16-oz. curved-claw short-handled (relatively) framing
> >implement, a tool. I had not made the acquaintance, yet, of the
> >Bluegrass steel, the Louisville Bluegrass straight-claw. The tool. The
> >nail-drivers’ tool. I could hire on any day, ‘hello! I’m a nail-driver.
> >You gotta ennie jobs? here?’
> >
> >They can tell if you’re shuckin’ cause they have this test, see. They
> >tell you to grab a belt of nails, and give you an empty pocketed strap,
> >and point to the 50-pound box that sixteen-penny commons come in packed
> >ever witch way; they tell you Fill your pockets. Then they watch you,
> >and time you at this. There’s a way to fill yer pockets in about three
> >seconds; there’s a way to sort all the haids in one direction, a manner
> >of getting all the pointy ends t’other—a convenience. this handshake is
> >known to all real framers. A secret.A leger d’main. A palpable, tactile
> >point of manual dexterity. Experience.
> >
> >And I was hired.
> >
> >time was.
> >
> >You never give it a second thought; you grab a handful and frame up
> >that wall, nail after nail after nail after day after day, after wall,
> >after floor, after house . . . afterthought: what does it mean
> >‘finish’t’? When, do you know, when you’re done? When, you walk away?
> >
> >Well, remember that ceiling, that fell on me, metaphorically I mean,
> >about a year ago? That I wrote you the account of? That the rockwool
> >insulation had brought down, being sodden with an overflow of water
> >sweated out of the air conditioner into it’s overflow pan, that had got
> >stopped up by some growth of bacterial mucus, so that the water didn’t
> >drain down the pipe that for years had led the sweat outside, like a
> >postnasal drip fix’t for the attick’s nose???
> >
> >The insulation got so heavy that the sheetrock ceiling in a four by six
> >foot section, done give way; Pow, two seconds and it’s on the floor. It
> >floored you! you said.
> >
> >Dust fuckin’ everwhurr.
> >
> >Now in that same space of room, there’s the new bath facility quarters,
> >under construction; Here’s where we get old. I put down the italian
> >tiled floor pieces, in the area exterior to the tub&shower combination
> >chamber, at its deep end. The closet-flange has been set, anticipating
> >an imminent porcelain S-curved pee-trap, known to the laymen as the
> >john, or crapper. American Standard makes a fine one. I put down the
> >underlaying cementitious backer, then the thin-set, and then the pieces
> >of slate-looking verdigris tile, placed with eighth-inch cross-shap’t
> >neoprene spacers at all quadrants . . .
> >
> >I have left unframed, an open access, in place of  a long wall
> >-to-be-    for the convenience of being able to walk into this evolving
> >space, rather than around it, thru a door, carrying the mud, the tiles,
> >the werk.
> >
> >Thru a squar’d and measured locus I fix three points, two one-inch
> >holes will be drilled thru the sub-floor, and the backer, and another
> >hole between them, which will be the slip for the two-inch drain pipe,
> >to carry suds ‘n aftershave and such, from a pedestal sink, that will
> >be placed just in that spot.
> >
> >I place all the tiles, and in this one spot, one tile must be saw’d
> >with the diamond blade wet-saw, to have its own three holes, matching
> >those foresighted in the present floor. Then it’s pegged, so to say.
> >Buttered, pressed in. Set. Wait a day they say, before doing the grout
> >lines. 24 hours.
> >
> >And a day later I place the pedestal sink upon the appropriate
> >position, to find that it’s about a foot too close to the virtual
> >toilet . . . and I chew on this for another day, and it’s a real kick
> >in the haid.
> >
> >Ya git old; but ya learn to take up the cut tile piece, bite your lip,
> >lower one, and not too hard, and shake yer haid, and pop up the ceramic
> >before it gets set any tighter. And notice how good the mated surfaces
> >are evidenced, a wee bit of insight and experience that won’t see much
> >effect, or have much affect perhaps in the enduring world, of temporal
> >affairs, and indeed, of temporizing.
> >
> >Been thurr; done that, dun that. dunn that, and that.
> >
> >Yesterday I was putting the plumbing supply lines for the pedestal sink
> >into the wall, that I’d abhorred using earlier (this wall stands below
> >the ridge line of the house, and I wish’t not to diminish its structure
> >with holes, cut for piping—a matter of conscientiousness, coming from
> >some ‘experience’—of maximal vs optimal structural design—I should have
> >gone for optimal at the first go-round). Hmmm . . . maximal, it has the
> >‘-mal’ configuration in it, at its end, -mal maybe equals BAD. that’s
> >so crazzie . . . nnnaaaaahh!
> >
> >Once these lines were gloo’d—they were all PVC plastic tubings, and the
> >house water pressure supply was shut off during this measuring and
> >fitting improvisition work—I crawled, or crept, out from the low space
> >of the pier and beam floor, thinking now to open the house supply valve
> >to test that all the fittings held, strong and without leaks.
> >
> >Quick I run to the exterior cut-off valve, turning the handle several
> >times; I hear the Ka-kaGaBoing thud of the starved water meeting up
> >again with whatever remains down the pike, in the vascularity of this
> >living creature, The House. Aaaaiiieee!! it Lives!!
> >
> >Quick I run in to the new bedroom, with bath facility sans son
> >quatrieme mur—to see how it goes.
> >
> >How it goes is, all over the new tile floor, water holds, coming from
> >the sputter of the two outlets, we call the Hot and Cold, that I have
> >forgotten to put temporary stoppers in, for the pressure test phase.
> >
> >I rush outside again. This time, to turn off the house’s water supply.
> >
> >Turns out, the tile floor is quite waterproof; I have inspected every
> >line below-deck, and minimal damage has been done. I’ve just . . .
> >
> >just got, older.
> >
> >
> >
> >
>
>
>