Dead Cats and Anvils...

[Hardpan]

Last week I finally found my very first "real" anvil, a 1911 vintage Mousehole.  But I've been looking for a LONG time.

 

That said, my apologies for the length of this post, but I thought someone might find some amusment in the story of my first attempt...

 

DEAD CATS and ANVILS

 

Nineteen Eighty-Four.  George Orwell's predictions notwithstanding, life was good.  It was the period between carefree youth and the responsibilities of family.  Well, for me anyway; I extended the "carefree youth" part as long as I could, despite the supposedly best intentions of my closest friends: 

 

"Rocko, Ol' Linda Quince is unattached, and we thought you might like her, and..."

 

"Nope!  Sorry, I just ain't available.  Duck season starts in two weeks!"

 

"Hey Rocko... duck season's over, and the missus was thinkin' of innerducin' you to her cousin Bren-..."

 

"Sorry, gettin' ready for trout season.  Gonna do a winter backpackin' trip into Wheeler Lake..."

 

So there I was, having proteced my "single" status into my early 30's, and sharing a house in San Leandro with my Uncle Nat.  I had a fairly new job working for a bank in San Francisco, and kept busy and out of trouble between "seasons" by focusing on work.  Well... sorta kept out of trouble.  But we all know how sometimes, despite our best intentions...

 

As I recall, it was late one Friday afternoon at the end of a very, very busy but productive week at work.  I was on my way home, lookin' forward to a lazy weekend with nothing more strenuous planned than spending an afternoon shooting up at the Chabot Gun Club.

 

Still in my suit and clutching my leather briefcase, I was standing near the door of the BART train as it neared the San Leandro station.  A cool experience, gazing lazily out the window as the train sailed along the aerial section of track, with no visible side rails, giving the impression of being a large bird flying onto a perch.  As we approached the station, I looked down and was immediately captured by the endeavors of a crew of railroad workers.  Evidently, they had been replacing sections of the Southern Pacific track, which ran parallel to the BART line above.  As I studied the right-of-way below I noted several lengths of rail scraps, ranging from several inches to several yards in length.

 

"O, Boy!" I thought... "This is too cool!  I could really use a chunk of that ol' rail... it'd make a right dandy small anvil!"

 

Excited,  I disembarked and exited the station, and soon found Roscoe, my then still new, sparkling white Ford Ranger.  I unlocked the door, stripped off my coat and tossed it onto the seat, followed by my briefcase.  I hopped in, and drove 'round to the area where I thought I'd seen some of those pieces of rail.  I parked, walked toward the tracks, and was immediately rewarded with the finding of a chunk of rail about 17" long.  Lifting it carefully to avoid damaging my slacks or necktie, I soon "thumped" it into the back of my li'l truck and headed for home, just happy as a lark at my good fortune.

 

Sometime later, as I was puttin' the finishing touches on dinner, Nat comes wanderin' in.

 

"Hey!  Where'd you get that cool piece of rail that was in the back of your truck?  And by the way, I took it out for ya!"

 

I told 'im, and he asked if there were any other pieces... "'Cuz I'd sure like one too!"

 

I said that I’d seen several more, and we decided to take a trip back over to the tracks and collect one or two more some time after dinner.

 

Well, by the time supper was over and the kitchen shoveled clear it was quite dark. Surely not a problem, as I remembered exactly where the rail chunks had been scattered, so Nat and I piled into the Ranger and off we went.

 

Ten minutes later found us wandering about the right-of-way with flashlights.  And darn… not a bit of loose rail to be seen! We searched well; found a couple of bent spikes, a magnetic “rail thermometer” that had been dropped, and even an ancient, rusty and wobbly-handled single-jack that had been abandoned at some time in the not-so-recent past… but no rail scraps. Oh darn…

 

“Okay – let’s check the other end!” We jumped back into Roscoe and drove ‘bout 150 yard north. Got out, looked around a bit, and still nothing. Well double darn!

 

“Okay… one more try! This time we’ll look ‘bout halfway between where we are and where we started!”

 

After moving and again coming up empty-handed, we decided to call it a night and admit that other folks had gotten there first and cleaned out the “stash.” We picked our way over the open ground back to the Ranger, settled in and buckled up.

 

I was just about to turn the key, when I heard it – sirens! “Hey, Nat! Do ya hear that? Sumpin’s goin’ on!”

 

“Yeah… I wonder what! Hey, look! It’s a police car!”

 

I looked in the direction he was pointing, and sure ‘nuff, there were red and blue blinkies off to the west, headed east on Estudillo Avenue.

 

“And look there! More!” he blurted, pointing eastward. Indeed, there was a second car racing west on Estudillo!

 

“Omigosh! There must be something REALLY big happening! Mebbe a gang battle or something! Or a big robbery and they’re chasing the crooks!”

 

Then a flash in my rearview mirror caught my eye… “Nat! There’s more back there on Davis! We better just sit here for a minnit ‘til they get where they’re going… sure don’t wanna be in their way!”

 

The suddenly, the unthinkable happened. The two police cars on Estudillo both turned onto the frontage road we were parked on. At about the same instant, the car behind us also turned onto our road!

 

Uh oh….

 

To our utmost astonishment, the car from behind raced to a screeching halt behind my little truck.  One of the police cars ahead of us did the same, all lights on us including high beams, and stopped nose-to-nose with Roscoe. And the third car did an amazing four-wheel drift and stopped T-boned to my door.

 

We were surrounded!

 

I heard a tiny gasping, swallowing sound next to me, and took a quick glance toward Nat. The poor fella was pasty white (which did not look good at all with his Hispanic complexion), he had just broken into a cold sweat, and was beginning to tremble and stammer…

 

“Uh… Nat… ya better let me do the talkin’” I said.

 

Two police officers got out of their cars and walked up to me; the third stayed back “covering” his pards. In addition to their car lights, the two had their Mag-Lights focused on my face, fairly blinding me.

 

I squinted, shielded my watery eyes as much as I dared, and blurted “Oh, Officers! Thank GOD you’re here!”

 

Huh?

 

The two exchanged a look, and one of the officers – a downright cute female, if I’m allowed to notice such things – responded “You’re glad we’re here?  And why are you glad we’re here??”

 

They say that stress can lead to creative thinking, and I was feelin’ a mite stressed, so I gave it my best:

 

“Oh, Officer! It was just AWFUL! Just about the most horrible thing I’ve EVER seen! Just AWFUL”

 

“Mister… try to calm down. What was ‘awful?’ Tell us what happened!”

 

Meanwhile, the third officer had come closer, evidently quite interested in the goings-on.

 

“Well, Nat and I –“ (I stole a glance at Nat, who wore an expression as if he’d just crawled off a roller-coaster after eating a bowl of chili) “… Nat and I had gone over to visit his work buddy Bob, who lives off Davis over there… Well, Bob wasn’t home, so we were coming back this way when suddenly this poor cat decided to try to dash across the road right in front of us! I tried to miss him, but I couldn’t… and it was just HORRID! The poor thing! The front tire went ‘Thump!’ across ‘im and we felt ‘im bounce off the underside of the truck. I hit my brakes hard… and looked back and the poor thing went running across the road toward the tracks… his tail was whipping ‘round like a propeller and he was screaming somethin’ terrible!

 

“So we’ve been trying to find the creature… he’s hurt bad, I just know he is! He needs help somethin’ awful! And I feel just terrible about it!! I didn’t mean to hit ‘im, honest!”

 

One of the cops shined his light into Nat’s face, and his sickened expression served quite well to give a generous level of credence to my story…

 

“Well… what did this cat look like?”

 

“He was black and white!” I said, and gave them a description of Manchas, Nat’s own cat.

 

One of the male officers looked at Nat, and asked if he saw the cat too and if that’s what he looked like.  Nat, looking ill, nodded and stammered out another detail or two.

 

About fifteen minutes later, the officers returned from a fairly thorough search of the tracks and stacks of ties.  “We couldn’t’ find the cat” one of ‘em announced. “Maybe he wasn’t hurt as bad as you thought…?”

 

“Oh, I’m really sure he was hurt bad!” I said. “If you’d heard the poor thing scream…”

 

The other male officer dropped to the pavement and wriggled under my truck.  After a few minutes he emerged and said “Well… I couldn’t see any blood or fur, so we’ll hope he’s not too badly injured. Maybe he was just scared! Yeah… that’s it… a scared cat will scream too, ya know!”

 

The cute female officer then suggested, “Look, guys, tell ya what. Why don’t you fellas go on home and try to relax, and hope for the best. We’ll make a point to drive through here a couple times more tonight and keep an eye out for the poor kitty… but don’t worry! I’m really sure he’ll be just fine!”

 

“Oh, are you sure, Officer?”

 

“Yes, I’m sure. Go on home now, maybe have a glass of wine or something to help you relax. And thank you for being such good citizens! Most folks would’ve just kept on going!”

 

“Okay… Thank you, Officers. You can’t know how much this means to us…”

 

A few cordial good-nights and grateful waves, and we were off.

 

Not a word was said on the drive home.  When we arrived, Nat looked at me, eyes wide, and mumbled “I think I’m gonna go to bed.” Then, as his face slowly cracked into a wide grin, he chuckled and shook his head, and wandered off.  Two or three times before he dozed off, I heard sudden outbursts of guffaws from his room.

 

He didn’t get his anvil, but he certainly had an adventure.

 

Nat is no longer with us. But thirty years later, MY “rail anvil” still serves me well.

 

 

*     *     *     *     *

[notownkid]

Congrats on the Mousehole, hoping to land one of them myself someday.  Have a nice book on the company.  Cat's have 9 lives don't forget even fictitious ones, so you can always use that story at least 8 more times.

 

Good luck with the anvil.

[BCROB]

ok hardpan I read it all..................

 

now wheres the pic of the mousehole !!!! hahaha LOL really we want to see it even if we've seen a 1000 of them.......post up or it never really happened ???  

[Frosty]

Hardpan my friend I think you and I are going to really enjoy knowing each other. Great backstory. Where're the pictures?!

 

Frosty The Lucky.

[Judson Yaggy]

From the title I was expecting something rather more gruesome involving anvils and cats, but a good story and a good laugh none the less.  Welcome to IFI!

[Hardpan]

Well alrighty then....! :rolleyes:

 

'Tis a pleasure meetin' you gents... and thank yew!  And as requested, see below and make it 1,001! ^_^

 

My Mousehole, and the actualy hunk o' rail and single jack from the story.... thirty years later.  :) 

 

 

[John McPherson]

Thanks for the story, hardpan. My Mousehole was my first "real" anvil as well, and my favorite.

 

And I am glad to see the Scouter image as your icon. BTW, my Vigil name translates as "Iron Bender". My icon is me making a section of rebar fence for a client. No Hossfeld bender, just Hoss, bender. :blink:

[monstermetal]

I have a similar story about sirens and railroad right of ways,     They are farily narrow minded about you picking up bits next to the track.

[Hdb90]

I was expecting the guy gets the girl/cop ending.

[Hardpan]

My son Ryan, aka "Sassparilla Kid," works on a large ranch. So this morning I sent him a text: 'Ry, can you procure a stump 21" - 23" tall and maybe 15" or so in diameter?'

 

He sends this response: "Come pick one" with the first picture below (the remains of a eucalyptus that came down probably 40 years ago... definitely well seasoned...)

 

The other pictures are the result. Now to secure the puppy...   :)

 

 

 

[Frosty]

Eucalyptus ought to make an excellent anvil stand it's tough tough wood. That your boy?

 

Frosty The Lucky.

[Hardpan]

Hey, Frosty!

 

Yep... that's the boy ~ tall and slender. Unfortunately, the "tall and slender" gene skipped me.

 

Yeah, I'm sure that eucalyptus* oughtta do! Thinkin' we'll run a couple straps around it to prevent splitting. hmmm.... thought about pouring some resin into the existing cracks, but it's already DANGED heavy! I'm guessin' about 250 lbs or so.

 

* 'Bout fifteen years ago or so somebody on a local radio station called it "Yew-CAL-a-PEE-tus."  like a bad song that's stuck in my head; the kid and I have called it that ever since.

 

And by the way - thanks for the comment on my story... I have a bunch of 'em! ^_^

 

Life's been innerestin'.... :rolleyes:

[ThomasPowers]

Glad that's the boy---stump is too short for him!

As I have a lot of moving of anvils I generally just take a piece of 2x4 and place it under the side of the anvil and trace the cut out on it and then cut the piece that will fit the curve. Do it for each side, set the anvil where you want it and make any adjustments and then nail/screw the two bisket pieces to the stump. The anvil can then be lifted out and placed back easily.

Not necessarily the best method; doesn't kill the ring generally, some folks want their anvil welded down, other will place theirs in a box full of sand...it works for me and save for the incident with the bright, intelligent college idiots, it's worked for teaching.

[Frosty]

Yeah, lots of imaginitive and some colorful pronunciations for eucalyptus. I grew up in the San Fernando valley with all the eucalyptus trees imported back in the day when they thought it'd make good cabinets and or RR ties. We had mostly blue gums growing in the yard but a couple were something else we didn't know.

 

Okay one of the not so colorful pronunciations: "You can lip dis," "You cally peedus," . . . AAAHHHHHHEEEEE!!!

 

DANG! Now I'm thinking about the folk who, "gots" things, wore, "stocks," called anything THEY didn't understand "stupid" and added the sufix "ate" to random words when they "conversated" so they sounded like they were actually learned. Oh THANK SO YOU VERY MUCH!

 

How about you think of a catchy jingle you just can NOT get out of your head? Hmmmm?

 

Frosty The Lucky.

[Hardpan]

Boy, talk about a non sequitur! Har!! :lol:

 

Alrighty then... even better than a catchy jingle ~ remember the mynah bird's background music from the old cartoons...? Everyone "of an age" can remember the cartoon, but try to dig up the tune. ;)

 

Hint: Mendelsohn's "Fingal's Cave Overture."

 

Mynah Bird

 

Guaranteed you'll have it stuck in your head for the rest of the afternoon... and likely you'll curse me for it. ^_^  :lol: 

 

Dangit... I gotta get to work on my blower stand. There's iron to beat on!  B)

[Frosty]

Uh huh. Say, how'd the "Gilligan's Island" theme song go now?

 

Frosty The Lucky.

[Hardpan]

Glad that's the boy---stump is too short for him!

As I have a lot of moving of anvils I generally just take a piece of 2x4 and place it under the side of the anvil and trace the cut out on it and then cut the piece that will fit the curve. Do it for each side, set the anvil where you want it and make any adjustments and then nail/screw the two bisket pieces to the stump. The anvil can then be lifted out and placed back easily.

Not necessarily the best method; doesn't kill the ring generally, some folks want their anvil welded down, other will place theirs in a box full of sand...it works for me and save for the incident with the bright, intelligent college idiots, it's worked for teaching.

 

Thomas, that's the basic plan, except I figured to do it with metal - like the one I borrowed from a buddy (picture below).  Gonna need a lighter stump for travellin', though.  ^_^

 

Okay... dumb question, but... is the ring that objectionable...? :huh:

 

[John McPherson]

WHAZZAT YOU SAY? SPEAK UP!! I AM ABOUT HAFF DEEF FROM BEATIN' ON THIS HYAR ANVIL.

 

Seriously, I can still hear individual sounds in a quiet setting, but too many sources at once and/or too loud, and it is just a muted buzzy roar, like a torn speaker on a stereo. Too many decades of gunshots, chainsaws, grinders, etc. without ear protection and it all adds up. I used to be able to hear bats flying overhead.........