The two-car garage was down at the bottom of the hill, near the curve in our driveway toward the road. During this "ten-year bondage," I spent a lot of time in this garage. I kept a lot of tools from my junkyard days, and my oldest brother Bill, who was the driver in the accident that blinded me, supplied me with many things to set up my "workshop." He even gave me a free-standing mobile home furnace, which ran on kerosene, to keep it warm during the winter.
I set up all of my wrenches hanging on a pegboard, and a fully stocked toolbox. All the tools were in their proper place, with me knowing where each one was, and ready to use if I needed it. My dad's heavy vise was mounted securely on my worktable. I even had a motorized wire brush and grinding wheel adjacent to my bench.
In the corner of my garage was my dad's old air compressor that he bought before I was born. I also had my hydraulic floor jack for lifting cars. I had an engine hoist, but nowhere to mount it.
So, in talking with my other brother Kenny and showing him around my garage, he said, "I may have something for this." Kenny brought over a ten-foot piece of steel, three by three inches square, that he got from a farmer's piece of equipment. It was very heavy.
We took it off his trailer and set it next to the garage. In my junk box from the junkyard, I found a five-inch heavy-duty steel ring that fit around the steel beam nicely.
I asked my brother-in-law to take me to the lumber yard for an idea I had. His name was Bruce. I took his arm to seek out two four-by-four pieces of wood, eight feet long, and I bought them. He dropped me off with them at my garage.
I used my heavy-duty electric drill to drill holes through the wood to mount one against the garage inner wall with threaded rods, washers, and nuts, and also to the support beam going across the ceiling of the garage. Then I took the other one and mounted it to the same beam with the same fasteners and secured it to the floor with brackets and cement bolts in the middle of the garage.
Opposite the rafter, on top of the wood beams, I securely bolted a square steel tube, sticking up four inches above the tops of both four-by-fours. So this made a permanent resting spot for the piece of steel in my garage ceiling.
I called my brother-in-law and asked him to come over again. When he got there, I asked him to help me lift it into place. His first response was, "That thing is too heavy to lift that far," and he was not willing to lift it with me. I said, "OK, I'll do it by myself then."
I want to now explain how important this was to me, as I wanted my workshop to be in perfect working order to do anything mechanically. I wanted my life back so badly, I would have done anything to get it back the way it was.
Now, back to the steel beam. Bruce reluctantly carried it in with me and set it on the floor. I felt the four-by-four beam and the steel beam. I lifted one end, brought it over my shoulder, and climbed on a steel chair. As I was struggling to lift it up there with all my might, Bruce finally came over and lifted it into place with me.
We had it in position on one side. As we lifted the other side, I slipped the five-inch ring on it, and then together we lifted it over the square tube onto the top of the beam into place. I then reached up to slide the ring to the middle of the beam, and I proudly hooked the engine hoist into the steel ring. Now my garage and workshop were complete.
The sad part about it was I really needed to set this up for myself just in case I could ever use it again. Because my self-perception as a blind man was helpless and hopeless. But now I was all set, just in case I ever got my eyes back.
I spent a lot of time in the garage reminiscing, and I fixed the kids' bikes. We also had an old Jacobson lawn tractor that I kept working on, as something would break on it weekly, so I tinkered around with that a lot just to keep it running.
Also, with each change of season, I needed to change from the mower deck to putting the snow thrower on so that she could take care of the yard in the summer and the driveway in the winter.
Owning a fully stocked garage and workshop has its pitfalls also. My brother Kenny, who provided the heavy steel beam, called me up and asked if he could use it to change the engine in his car. I was very reluctant, as Kenny's reputation for not finishing things was well known.
He was a very troubled alcoholic, and his drinking ruled his life. Even though I had stopped drinking that year, we still had great love and respect for each other, as we were a close family growing up.
I finally gave in to Kenny's request, so he brought the engine over and placed it in the grass next to my garage, and put the Plymouth Valiant with no engine in it in front of the first door of the garage. I had Kenny promise to have it done quickly, but there it sat for months.
Every phone call with Ken that I had, he would say, "I will get it done soon, Dan. Don't worry about it." Ann would remind me of this eyesore day after day and wanted it done and out of our driveway.
The old black phone attached to the wall was ringing as I was once again home alone for the long day ahead. I had been sitting in the recliner with self-pity and loneliness, with no direction. The phone rang and startled me.
I got up as fast as I could, trying to catch the call before they hung up. It was my Uncle Bill—my favorite uncle. We shared our greetings, and then I said, "What's going on?"
He asked me, "Danny, do you think you could change the brakes on my car?" My first thoughts were: Do you know who you are talking to? A lame, blind man? But I refrained from saying that.
The words that came out of my mouth surprised me. I said, "Why don't you pick up the brake pads, then come out here, and I will see what I can do."
I went down to the garage and slid the right door open. Uncle Bill arrived with the pads, and I directed him to drive into the garage. He was a carpet layer and knew nothing about mechanics at all.
I unfolded a chair for him and asked him to sit down. I then went ahead to change the brake pads. I did not know that this effort of service to someone outside myself was about to change my life forever.
I lifted one side with the floor jack, then I took the wheel and tire off, took the calipers off, compressed the piston, and put the new pads in, then put it all back together, calipers, wheel and lug nuts.
Then I did the other side.
After letting the jack down for the 2nd side, I had him pump the brake pedal, then I had him check the level of the brake fluid in the master cylinder.
"The fluid level is just fine", he said.
I then asked him to try his new brakes.
I stood out in the driveway while he went up and down the road.
When he came back, he pulled up next to me and stopped and said, "Danny, they work great. How much do I owe you?"
I said, "You don't owe me anything, Uncle Bill."
He said, "Thank you very much Danny", then he drove off.
Something happened to me at that point.
I felt overwhelmed with gratitude, just for the opportunity to be able to do this for my uncle.
This is one of my regrets, that I never got to thank him, for opening a door for me that helped start a whole new attitude, and helped change my life for the better as he died shortly after this event.
Going back towards my garage, I had to avoid hitting my brother's valiant who had no engine in it.
The engine was on the grass, on the other side of the driveway.
After Uncle Bill's experience with the brakes, my mind wandered to the old junkyard days and I began to think, why not?
I placed a tow chain around the engine in the yard, then I took another chain and placed it between the engine and the engine hoist to drag it into position.
At the bottom of the hill, the car, with no hood, was on level ground.
So, feeling where the garage was with my cane, I pushed the car backward and forward, turning the steering wheel with each push, to position the engine compartment under the hanging engine.
After dropping the engine closely into place, I worked on it for two days by feel to hook up the motor mounts, transmission, radiator, alternator, hoses and belts, and the distributor and wiring.
I remembered the six-cylinder firing order from the junkyard, so I put the wires into place, from distributor to spark plugs.
I was finished, I thought.
I turned the key to start it and it began popping very badly, and I realized that I had placed the distributor in backward, as you can do that was a 225 slant 6 back in those days.
I took the distributor cap off and turned it 180 degrees and put the cap back on.
I turned the key again and it started up just fine.
Ironically, while it was running, my brother Kenny pulled into my driveway.
He came over to the car running and asked me, "Who put the engine in the car?"
I told him that I got it done.
He was grateful, and he helped me put the hood back on.
He went home to get my sister-in-law and they drove it home.
I believe that GOD designed this event in my life to open a door that only he could do for me.
Because I don't know of any human being that would encourage me to do such a thing as this, other than my Uncle Bill.
So, thank you, Uncle Bill, for being a tool in my life, and I thank you for being a part of it.
I wish I could have told you face to face.