Boy, this is confusing to a Midwesterner who did not meaningfully encounter anyone of a different race until he went to college. There, one black basketball player was the most popular guy on campus and the most sought after roommate for the dorms. I was included. Jackie was a fantastic person, an outstanding ball player, and a dedicated Christian. "What is the deal about race?" I wondered. He was even smarter than I.
Our most meaningful encounters with those off campus, besides the churches we attended, was "Townies." These were local youths, usually high school jocks, who objected to the college kids picking the cream of the female crop in town. Before I arrived, "Techies" as we were known then, and Townies literally fought pitched battles with bike chains and ball bats.
When I arrived in 1965 the fervor had cooled and was largely limited to verbal encounters and hostile stares. Since I had no car, my exposure was largely limited to the Gibson Discount Center across the street from campus. But the idea of race never entered any of our confrontations.
So imagine my surprise when race riots broke out several years later. And frankly, I am still "amused" at the fury of certain blocks of thought in our country. The current headlines cover articles proclaiming that Confederate monuments are monuments to white supremacy on one side and conversely beloved historical reminders of brave men and boys who fought for their homes.
Before going any farther, we all need to take a step back. First, the "losing" side did not lose their homes and families. This was an anomaly in warfare up to that time. Lincoln said it best in his second inaugural address.
"With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations."
This noble sentiment may have never permeated our society, but it at least moderated the residual animosity from the struggle. Today it seems that we are farther from that than ever. Some denounce these symbols, as mentioned above, as symbols of white supremacy. Add to that the inclusion of swastikas in some rallies and an atmosphere of hatred is inferred.
Notice that I used, deliberately, "inferred." It may indeed be accurate, but they are merely symbols. Yes, symbols can resurrect unpleasant memories, particularly in those who are personally connected with them as Holocaust survivors and their families. The "Confederate battle flag" holds no such "personal" contact with anyone alive today. But both can be painful reminders of past abuses and atrocities.
Perspective is the critical word here. The Civil War was concluded with a total surrender of the Confederacy. Any residual reminders of that side of the war must certainly be coupled with the term, and I hope I do not alienate my local friends, "loser." The Union, The United States of America won the war. That is the flag that prevailed in eliminating slavery. It reunited the seceded states with the United States.
Has every vestige of the past been eradicated? No, of course not. But stirring up old animosities does not seem to be a productive way of combating the shortcomings. Whenever I see a Battle Flag flying, I wonder why that guy is celebrating the losing side. He might be like the pre-2016 Cubs fans, who continually supported the lovable losers at Wrigley. But the Cubs were not morally, socially, and ethically detestable. This flag waving crowd truly deserves H. Clinton's disapprobation of "basket of deplorables."
And the swastika is even more poignant as a symbol of absolute loss. Again, warfare, after WWI and WWII, was revolutionized with the losing side being rebuilt and rehabilitated by the winning philosophy. But Germany surrendered, unconditionally, to the Allies. Since England and France were decimated by the war, the recovery was pretty much fueled by Uncle Sam.
I do not see extremist groups running around waving the German or Japanese flags. All that is selected is the most extreme, and most highly offensive, defeated symbol, literally, in the world.
And not to be too personal here, but one cannot wonder if waving the defeated flags is not a self-pronouncement of "loser." Admittedly, my "dog in the hunt" won in both WWII and the Civil War. But I am not offended if the opposition wishes to remember and memorialize their losing heroes. But they lost.
And for the swastika, what more scorn can we heap on it? It is the symbol of a failed and defeated philosophy. Compared to the "atrocities" of the Nazis in Europe, the infractions associated with both sides in the Civil War pale into insignificance. So parading that odious symbol must indicate that either the parader is either ignorant of the history and significance, or stupid.
If merely ignorant of the reprehensible history, then he is capable of remediation. He can learn and profit from the lesson. If he knows about the flag and persists in flaunting it, the only summation appropriate is stupid. No rational, reasonable, responsible member of society can possibly march under this standard and its implications.
But, as our old friend Gomer Pyle said, "You can't roller skate in a buffalo herd." Implying that to try was less than intelligent. Plus you get your skates all messy.
Forest Gump reminds us that, "Stupid is as stupid does." Or to rephrase it, "You can't fix stupid."
Final observation. The "divisive" monuments have not sparked riots until one side decided to remove them. Many of them have existed for 100 years or more and all was peaceful. Some may be offended, but I am offended at White Castle restaurants. I think of slime sliding down my throat. So I avoid them. Not comparable, I know, but the concept is transferable.
The monuments hurt no one. The monuments help no one. Let's find a constructive way to communicate and see the world from someone else's perspective. We won't change history. But we can make new history.
Peace, brothers.
Addendum: Just for the record, I became aware of US Code 85-425 Section 40 5/23/1958. This law makes all Civil War veterans equivalent to US soldiers. Further Public Law 810 of 2/26/1929 declares that all headstones and grave sites of Confederate soldiers are US sites.
So the activists are attacking United States' veterans' memorials and monuments. Seems like our parents and grandparents were ready to "get over it." So the emphasis on reigniting this conflagration is an act of defiance to the United States. Where will it end?
Again, let them rest in peace.
Thursday, August 17, 2017
Cowboys
"Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!" And the politicos and pundits were beside themselves.
"This cowboy's gonna start World War Three!" they wailed. And the beat goes on. You know the rest of that story.
And now, 30 years later, in response to Kim J. U. threatening to shoot a missile at Guam, President Trump told him to expect fire and fury.
And the press went apoplectic. (Was that word coined for this instance?) "Oh no! He's gonna start World Wars Three through Eight!" And the beat goes on.
But our friends in Kim-la-land had a change of heart. It may be that they knew a little more than the average American does. Just a guess, but we can surmise that every missile launch that the N. Koreans made was a "aiming exercise" for the US and its allies to zero in on the projectile.
Remember the repeated failures to launch a while back? Was that just poor planning and execution, or were some unknown "missile defense" systems being perfected. When they were shown to operate satisfactorily, the interdictors then shifted to tracking and destroying the "birds" in flight.
The tin-pot despot is facing a bleak future. He cannot exist without help from his ally, China, so how could he expect to prevail in a showdown with the most powerful nation on earth? He knows that, and so does President Trump. You can't bluff a wheeler dealer. Kenny Rogers, in the "Gambler" and the sequels, taught us that.
Just calm down and watch the lack of fireworks. Mutual assured destruction is not in play, as it may have been in 1987 Berlin. But an "assured destruction" certainly awaits any foolish act by TPD.
We may need to rethink the old song, "Mommas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys." Sometimes we need a "cowboy" to keep the peace. Cowboy Kim seems appropriately cowed.
"This cowboy's gonna start World War Three!" they wailed. And the beat goes on. You know the rest of that story.
And now, 30 years later, in response to Kim J. U. threatening to shoot a missile at Guam, President Trump told him to expect fire and fury.
And the press went apoplectic. (Was that word coined for this instance?) "Oh no! He's gonna start World Wars Three through Eight!" And the beat goes on.
But our friends in Kim-la-land had a change of heart. It may be that they knew a little more than the average American does. Just a guess, but we can surmise that every missile launch that the N. Koreans made was a "aiming exercise" for the US and its allies to zero in on the projectile.
Remember the repeated failures to launch a while back? Was that just poor planning and execution, or were some unknown "missile defense" systems being perfected. When they were shown to operate satisfactorily, the interdictors then shifted to tracking and destroying the "birds" in flight.
The tin-pot despot is facing a bleak future. He cannot exist without help from his ally, China, so how could he expect to prevail in a showdown with the most powerful nation on earth? He knows that, and so does President Trump. You can't bluff a wheeler dealer. Kenny Rogers, in the "Gambler" and the sequels, taught us that.
Just calm down and watch the lack of fireworks. Mutual assured destruction is not in play, as it may have been in 1987 Berlin. But an "assured destruction" certainly awaits any foolish act by TPD.
We may need to rethink the old song, "Mommas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys." Sometimes we need a "cowboy" to keep the peace. Cowboy Kim seems appropriately cowed.
Tuesday, August 15, 2017
Suthen Boy
(With apologies to my Southern friends.)
I have to admit it. I am not a Southerner yet. I may never make it. When we first moved down here a lady in the office said that she was having trouble getting "tar" off her car. I piped up brightly, "We have some cleaner that takes it right off?"
She looked at me quizzically. Well, maybe she thought I was kind of nutty. "A rag with liquid on it?"
"Yes Ma'am. In fact I have some in my trunk. Do you want me to try?"
She must have thought I was plumb stupid. "I just need to borrow a wrench to take the bolts off to change my tar. It is flat."
Fast forward 30 years. I called to get the times and location of the office where we can buy senior passes for all of the national parks for $10. At the end of the month the price goes up to $80 for a lifetime pass. By the way. (Or btw for my texting friends.) If you want one, get it now. A pretty good investment, if you ask me.)
So Tanner answered and told me that we could pick them up from 8 am to 4 pm, Monday through Friday.
"And where is the office located?"
"It is at 3737 Bale Road."
"Bale, B-A-L-E?"
No, Bale Road, B-E-L-L."
"Ok, thank you."
I guess I am still a northerner or worse, a Ya-un-kee. An I will not forgit EE-it. I do understand that one syllable words, like bell are pronounced with two syllables. And multiple syllables are compressed like in biness. Sometimes I slip up.
Sigh....
I have to admit it. I am not a Southerner yet. I may never make it. When we first moved down here a lady in the office said that she was having trouble getting "tar" off her car. I piped up brightly, "We have some cleaner that takes it right off?"
She looked at me quizzically. Well, maybe she thought I was kind of nutty. "A rag with liquid on it?"
"Yes Ma'am. In fact I have some in my trunk. Do you want me to try?"
She must have thought I was plumb stupid. "I just need to borrow a wrench to take the bolts off to change my tar. It is flat."
Fast forward 30 years. I called to get the times and location of the office where we can buy senior passes for all of the national parks for $10. At the end of the month the price goes up to $80 for a lifetime pass. By the way. (Or btw for my texting friends.) If you want one, get it now. A pretty good investment, if you ask me.)
So Tanner answered and told me that we could pick them up from 8 am to 4 pm, Monday through Friday.
"And where is the office located?"
"It is at 3737 Bale Road."
"Bale, B-A-L-E?"
No, Bale Road, B-E-L-L."
"Ok, thank you."
I guess I am still a northerner or worse, a Ya-un-kee. An I will not forgit EE-it. I do understand that one syllable words, like bell are pronounced with two syllables. And multiple syllables are compressed like in biness. Sometimes I slip up.
Sigh....
Thursday, August 10, 2017
Grand Jury
On 8/6/17 "Tennessean" had an editorial on Grand Juries. In the process of discussing the process the author noted that the Davidson County Grand Jury returned about 99% indictments for cases presented to it. Here is the exact quotation.
"Ironically, they sided with law enforcement in 99 percent of the 477 cases they reviewed — perhaps attributable to the fact that they relied only on the arguments of police and prosecutors."
Note the final phrase. The number of indictments is "...perhaps attributable to the fact that they relied only on the arguments of police and prosecutors." That is precisely the case, because in the Grand Jury system in Tennessee, the police and prosecutors bring all of the cases to the Jury, a presentment, for the panel to determine whether there is enough evidence to warrant going to trial. No other evidence or view point is offered.
That is akin to saying that every ball that was hit by the batter was thrown by the pitcher. Seems obvious and repetitious and redundant.
The Jury has one job. It is not to determine guilt or innocence. It is to evaluate the evidence presented by the authorities and decide if there is enough to warrant a trial. I served on a GJ once and nearly every time we met, either the prosecutor or the foreman reminded us that we were not to decide if we thought the subject had done it. We were to decide if a crime had occurred and enough evidence pointed toward the person in question to justify a trial.
Now just logically, no officer would bring a case in which he had no evidence. There would be nothing for us to judge. We had one citizen complaint where a citizen appeared and asked us to indict his neighbor. We decided that no crime had occurred. He was probably rude, crude, and lewd, but no law had been broken. No true bill.
So the comment that the Jurors relied only on the arguments of police and prosecutors is pointless. No one else presents to a grand jury. The defense gets its day in court. The simple fact that 99% were returned as a true bill merely reflects the fact that the government had done its job. There was enough evidence to go to trial.
Nothing more or nothing less is implied by this data. The grand jury is not to inject race, or financial, or cultural, or social bias into the equation. Is there evidence? Yes, indict. No, do not indict. No evaluation of the evidence is involved, other than ascertaining that some exists.
Do your job Tennessean. The grand jury did.
"Ironically, they sided with law enforcement in 99 percent of the 477 cases they reviewed — perhaps attributable to the fact that they relied only on the arguments of police and prosecutors."
Note the final phrase. The number of indictments is "...perhaps attributable to the fact that they relied only on the arguments of police and prosecutors." That is precisely the case, because in the Grand Jury system in Tennessee, the police and prosecutors bring all of the cases to the Jury, a presentment, for the panel to determine whether there is enough evidence to warrant going to trial. No other evidence or view point is offered.
That is akin to saying that every ball that was hit by the batter was thrown by the pitcher. Seems obvious and repetitious and redundant.
The Jury has one job. It is not to determine guilt or innocence. It is to evaluate the evidence presented by the authorities and decide if there is enough to warrant a trial. I served on a GJ once and nearly every time we met, either the prosecutor or the foreman reminded us that we were not to decide if we thought the subject had done it. We were to decide if a crime had occurred and enough evidence pointed toward the person in question to justify a trial.
Now just logically, no officer would bring a case in which he had no evidence. There would be nothing for us to judge. We had one citizen complaint where a citizen appeared and asked us to indict his neighbor. We decided that no crime had occurred. He was probably rude, crude, and lewd, but no law had been broken. No true bill.
So the comment that the Jurors relied only on the arguments of police and prosecutors is pointless. No one else presents to a grand jury. The defense gets its day in court. The simple fact that 99% were returned as a true bill merely reflects the fact that the government had done its job. There was enough evidence to go to trial.
Nothing more or nothing less is implied by this data. The grand jury is not to inject race, or financial, or cultural, or social bias into the equation. Is there evidence? Yes, indict. No, do not indict. No evaluation of the evidence is involved, other than ascertaining that some exists.
Do your job Tennessean. The grand jury did.
Friday, August 4, 2017
A Tale of a Mower
(Warning to the sensitive or politically motivated: This post has absolutely no political or cultural implications, accusations, or reverberations. It is just a story.)
Last Saturday we were mowing the lawn before the rain hit and before we had to leave for a trip to the theater with some friends. Just after turning a corner, the mower went dead. I knew I was low on gas and immediately assumed that a fuel shortage had caused the untimely cessation of activity. (Spoiler alert: A little twinge, perhaps recognized after the fact, ran through my consciousness. It didn't choke and sputter. It just stopped dead.)
All of the gas cans were empty, so a quick trip to the Quik Trip station for some gas ensued. Pouring it into the tank reignited (not literally, thank the Lord) the misgiving. It didn't seem to take as much gas as an empty tank usually did. Ignoring that, I hopped onto the seat, depressed the clutch interlock, and turned the key. Absolutely nothing. No lights, no grunt, like a totally dead battery. I grabbed my trusty electrical tester and registered 12 point something on the volt meter. Full battery.
Maybe the PTO, the mechanism that runs the blade, had not been disengaged. It was off. Pull on, push off. Repeat. Turn key. Nothing. Bummer. Now what? We moved the mower up to the shed and left it a couple of days. The old "maybe it will fix itself strategy." Nope, nothing, nada.
The Internet had bookoo videos on how to check a starter and solenoid. But a failure of those parts would not kill the engine when running. Maybe the battery is bad, but reading good. Vain hope at best, but worth a try. We jumped the battery with the car and turned the key. Nothing.
Next genius thought. Remove the deck and see if something had been pulled loose or something. Nothing looks wrong from the top. The battery is under the hood, so there were no wires or anything running under the seat. Moving toward the front, when what to my wondering eye should appear but a bare wire running to the PTO'ere. (With apologies to *Clement Moore. My rhythm and rhyming was not the best, but my elation exceeded that of his narrator.) It had not been cut, but all of the insulation had been stripped off both strands and bare wires were hanging out.
Friday morning, after waiting out a short shower, I was out there with electrical tape and a pair of pliers. I wrapped the wires, insulating them and wired the little harness to the frame to keep it away from rotating parts. Nagging thought as I took my seat on the tractor–again. If the PTO had shorted out, it might have killed the engine, but after the switch was off, the wires should not be energized or even part of the electrical circuit. Turn key...nothing.
A niggling thought had followed me last night. If the switch is off, then the engine, at least should start, but the PTO would not run. Here we have what you call a dead mower. And then another brilliant thought hit the brain waves. When two wires touch and they are not supposed to touch (*See my story on car repair.) When they touch and are not supposed to, something happens. Either wires fry, or preferably a fuse blows.
Is there a fuse on this mower? I had made a cursory exam earlier, but now did it in earnest. A wiring module was attached to the frame just below the main wiring block of the dashboard. Popping it out of its holder, a yellow, 20 amp fuse appeared. (Sorry, Mrs. Cheney. The fuse did not pop itself out of the holder, I did it and then it appeared to me. I don't remember what English that error is, but still make a few of them when writing. Is it "unclear antecedent?" But I digress.) Extracting the fuse, I noticed immediately that it did not have a continuous filament or link. (Got it right there.) Blown fuses conduct no electricity. Ergo, dead engine. Might as well not even have a battery.
No 20 amp fuses reside in our tool boxes or clutter drawers. But I know where to find one. Quick trip number two, insert fuse, and gratifyingly, rrr, rrrr, varoom! Mower works. Check PTO. Runs.
I am so thankful that I did not hire a guy to come out for $75 a visit to fix my mower. Or even borrow a truck and haul it to someone. For small blessings we are grateful. And our lawn is better for it.
* http://tellinitllikeitis.blogspot.com/2017/08/auto-repair-or-too-late-smart.html
Last Saturday we were mowing the lawn before the rain hit and before we had to leave for a trip to the theater with some friends. Just after turning a corner, the mower went dead. I knew I was low on gas and immediately assumed that a fuel shortage had caused the untimely cessation of activity. (Spoiler alert: A little twinge, perhaps recognized after the fact, ran through my consciousness. It didn't choke and sputter. It just stopped dead.)
All of the gas cans were empty, so a quick trip to the Quik Trip station for some gas ensued. Pouring it into the tank reignited (not literally, thank the Lord) the misgiving. It didn't seem to take as much gas as an empty tank usually did. Ignoring that, I hopped onto the seat, depressed the clutch interlock, and turned the key. Absolutely nothing. No lights, no grunt, like a totally dead battery. I grabbed my trusty electrical tester and registered 12 point something on the volt meter. Full battery.
Maybe the PTO, the mechanism that runs the blade, had not been disengaged. It was off. Pull on, push off. Repeat. Turn key. Nothing. Bummer. Now what? We moved the mower up to the shed and left it a couple of days. The old "maybe it will fix itself strategy." Nope, nothing, nada.
The Internet had bookoo videos on how to check a starter and solenoid. But a failure of those parts would not kill the engine when running. Maybe the battery is bad, but reading good. Vain hope at best, but worth a try. We jumped the battery with the car and turned the key. Nothing.
Next genius thought. Remove the deck and see if something had been pulled loose or something. Nothing looks wrong from the top. The battery is under the hood, so there were no wires or anything running under the seat. Moving toward the front, when what to my wondering eye should appear but a bare wire running to the PTO'ere. (With apologies to *Clement Moore. My rhythm and rhyming was not the best, but my elation exceeded that of his narrator.) It had not been cut, but all of the insulation had been stripped off both strands and bare wires were hanging out.
Friday morning, after waiting out a short shower, I was out there with electrical tape and a pair of pliers. I wrapped the wires, insulating them and wired the little harness to the frame to keep it away from rotating parts. Nagging thought as I took my seat on the tractor–again. If the PTO had shorted out, it might have killed the engine, but after the switch was off, the wires should not be energized or even part of the electrical circuit. Turn key...nothing.
A niggling thought had followed me last night. If the switch is off, then the engine, at least should start, but the PTO would not run. Here we have what you call a dead mower. And then another brilliant thought hit the brain waves. When two wires touch and they are not supposed to touch (*See my story on car repair.) When they touch and are not supposed to, something happens. Either wires fry, or preferably a fuse blows.
Is there a fuse on this mower? I had made a cursory exam earlier, but now did it in earnest. A wiring module was attached to the frame just below the main wiring block of the dashboard. Popping it out of its holder, a yellow, 20 amp fuse appeared. (Sorry, Mrs. Cheney. The fuse did not pop itself out of the holder, I did it and then it appeared to me. I don't remember what English that error is, but still make a few of them when writing. Is it "unclear antecedent?" But I digress.) Extracting the fuse, I noticed immediately that it did not have a continuous filament or link. (Got it right there.) Blown fuses conduct no electricity. Ergo, dead engine. Might as well not even have a battery.
No 20 amp fuses reside in our tool boxes or clutter drawers. But I know where to find one. Quick trip number two, insert fuse, and gratifyingly, rrr, rrrr, varoom! Mower works. Check PTO. Runs.
I am so thankful that I did not hire a guy to come out for $75 a visit to fix my mower. Or even borrow a truck and haul it to someone. For small blessings we are grateful. And our lawn is better for it.
* http://tellinitllikeitis.blogspot.com/2017/08/auto-repair-or-too-late-smart.html
Auto Repair Or Too Late Smart
(This is a repeat of an earlier post for illustrative purposes. My apologies to those who have already seen it. It has some corrections, additions, and clarifications.)
There is an old saying from the elder generation. They are too soon old and too late smart. Not to tell on myself or give away my age, but I have a great (read "bad") example of that.
Always disconnect the battery when working on the electrical system of a car. Obvious, isn't it? Who would try to repair the wiring of a house without first flipping off the breaker? Me.
I have changed half a dozen or more generator/alternators on cars, trucks, and vans. (Hey, that could be the name of a movie or something.) I do not recall ever disconnecting the battery before beginning the adventure. Some vehicles place the alternator conveniently underneath the air conditioning compressor. Which, I might add is not "disconnectable" without special equipment and probably even a hazardous materials certification. (Just made up the "d" word.)
But never have I had a problem like this time. But first a praise. My wife took this car to Knoxville last week end. That was a miracle in itself through the accumulated ice and snow from two back to back storms. She drove the car to work Monday through Wednesday, when it started to make a funny sound. But she got home from both trips. No inconvenience and cost of towing.
I checked it when she got home, or tried to check it, and found the battery dead. One of the possibilities for the "whining" sound the car was producing was a defective or failing alternator. Finding a dead battery pretty well confirmed that analysis.
Charge the battery over night and drive to Auto Zone. Special tester announces that alternator is indeed defective. New one only costs $115–in the box. Installation is up to you. (Or me in this instance.) To make a long story short, about five hours later the new alternator is nestled snugly in its bed with the serpentine belt replaced and seemingly ready to go. (The S-belt is a story in itself, but will be foregone.)
Slide into the seat, turn the switch, and be greeted with the lovely sound of dead silence. Nothing. Maybe the battery discharged during the process. That had never happened before, but....
Jumper cable produces...same result. Visions of towing this puppy to a dealer or mechanic and sitting for days waiting for the queue to bring the Toyota into the repair bay. (Too many product placements?)
"Maybe it is a fuse," suggested one of the helpful AZ technicians. Check, sure enough, there under a little cover that said 120 A was a piece of metal lying by itself. A quick perusal of other similar boxes, only with smaller "A" numbers confirmed that Mr. 120 was indeed blown.
Did I mention that I had accidentally touched the two wires connecting the alternator to the electrical system together? There was quick snap-pop and then all was well. No harm done, I thought. Well, not exactly. This fuse is the main one for the entire automobile. It keeps dumbells like me from frying the electrical system, computer, etc. Now the results of my minor oversight of not disconnecting the battery appears. One blown fuse.
Great! Pop that puppy out and we are on our way. Several vigorous tugs later only resulted in removing the top of the little box. The fuse body was firmly in place. A second, more experienced AZ helper informed me that the "big" fuses like this are BOLTED into the fuse box. And the bolts are INSIDE the box.
Again, short story for long process, the fuse box must be removed from the chassis. Before being able to access the bolts securing it, one must remove the battery and the air filter. (One blessing here, the battery is disconnected.)Then the box is fully exposed and can be unbolted from the frame.
Now the box itself must be dismantled and the bottom removed, exposing about 50 wires of various colors and sizes that are "conveniently" located between my socket and the securing bolt. Several minutes of severe contortions and holding your mouth just right allowed us (had a helper by now) to remove the bolt. (Little praise. We did not drop the bolt down into the innards of the engine compartment.)
Bolts out. The second bolt was for some unexplained reason, placed on the outside of the box and so easily accessible that one was almost disappointed at the lack of challenge to remove it. (Again, no drops. It was all of 1/4 of an inch long or so.)
Old, expired fuse slid out with no effort at all. Almost anticlimactic. New one goes in, replace small bolts. (No mean feat, but at this stage, the impossible became merely inconvenient.)
Replace bottom of fuse box. Bolt fuse box back into place. Replace air cleaner. Replace battery. Oh, did I mention that I disconnected the battery before beginning? Guess that was kind of assumed as the battery had to be completely removed to access the fuse box securing bolt.
Put tools away. (Maybe too presumptuous here. Let's see.) Turn key. Engine sputters and purrs to life. IT RUNS! And just as important, no squeal. Success for the weekend warrior. And in fact it basically took a week end. And early week end, starting Thursday morning and finishing Friday afternoon. No work, other than auto related, completed. Just like a week end.
This reminded me of a statement that a Pastor I like makes a lot. "That is so simple it takes a preacher to mess it up." In this instance, this process of replacing a fuse is so simple that an engineer had to mess it up.
My Dad used to comment on how he wished that engineers would have to actually work on the devices that they built. The design would be a lot more "user friendly" if they personally had to make the repairs that they blithely ignore in their initial designs.
So working on my wife's crippled Camry (PP), I was reminded of Engineering Goof Ups 101. I am sure that there were some very compelling, to the engineer, anyway, reasons why the design was made. But to the poor weekend putterer (auto, not golf), they certainly pale in comparison to the difficulty of after production repair.
Thank you for you kind attention. And now I retire to solve my long neglected Rubik cube. A simple task compared to replacing a fuse.
By the way, disconnect the battery before working on any electrical system. Did I mention that? Changing the channels on the radio is excluded from this caveat. But that is about all.
At least you can say that I am a little smarter than I was on Wednesday evening.
Have a blessed day.
There is an old saying from the elder generation. They are too soon old and too late smart. Not to tell on myself or give away my age, but I have a great (read "bad") example of that.
Always disconnect the battery when working on the electrical system of a car. Obvious, isn't it? Who would try to repair the wiring of a house without first flipping off the breaker? Me.
I have changed half a dozen or more generator/alternators on cars, trucks, and vans. (Hey, that could be the name of a movie or something.) I do not recall ever disconnecting the battery before beginning the adventure. Some vehicles place the alternator conveniently underneath the air conditioning compressor. Which, I might add is not "disconnectable" without special equipment and probably even a hazardous materials certification. (Just made up the "d" word.)
But never have I had a problem like this time. But first a praise. My wife took this car to Knoxville last week end. That was a miracle in itself through the accumulated ice and snow from two back to back storms. She drove the car to work Monday through Wednesday, when it started to make a funny sound. But she got home from both trips. No inconvenience and cost of towing.
I checked it when she got home, or tried to check it, and found the battery dead. One of the possibilities for the "whining" sound the car was producing was a defective or failing alternator. Finding a dead battery pretty well confirmed that analysis.
Charge the battery over night and drive to Auto Zone. Special tester announces that alternator is indeed defective. New one only costs $115–in the box. Installation is up to you. (Or me in this instance.) To make a long story short, about five hours later the new alternator is nestled snugly in its bed with the serpentine belt replaced and seemingly ready to go. (The S-belt is a story in itself, but will be foregone.)
Slide into the seat, turn the switch, and be greeted with the lovely sound of dead silence. Nothing. Maybe the battery discharged during the process. That had never happened before, but....
Jumper cable produces...same result. Visions of towing this puppy to a dealer or mechanic and sitting for days waiting for the queue to bring the Toyota into the repair bay. (Too many product placements?)
"Maybe it is a fuse," suggested one of the helpful AZ technicians. Check, sure enough, there under a little cover that said 120 A was a piece of metal lying by itself. A quick perusal of other similar boxes, only with smaller "A" numbers confirmed that Mr. 120 was indeed blown.
Did I mention that I had accidentally touched the two wires connecting the alternator to the electrical system together? There was quick snap-pop and then all was well. No harm done, I thought. Well, not exactly. This fuse is the main one for the entire automobile. It keeps dumbells like me from frying the electrical system, computer, etc. Now the results of my minor oversight of not disconnecting the battery appears. One blown fuse.
Great! Pop that puppy out and we are on our way. Several vigorous tugs later only resulted in removing the top of the little box. The fuse body was firmly in place. A second, more experienced AZ helper informed me that the "big" fuses like this are BOLTED into the fuse box. And the bolts are INSIDE the box.
Again, short story for long process, the fuse box must be removed from the chassis. Before being able to access the bolts securing it, one must remove the battery and the air filter. (One blessing here, the battery is disconnected.)Then the box is fully exposed and can be unbolted from the frame.
Now the box itself must be dismantled and the bottom removed, exposing about 50 wires of various colors and sizes that are "conveniently" located between my socket and the securing bolt. Several minutes of severe contortions and holding your mouth just right allowed us (had a helper by now) to remove the bolt. (Little praise. We did not drop the bolt down into the innards of the engine compartment.)
Bolts out. The second bolt was for some unexplained reason, placed on the outside of the box and so easily accessible that one was almost disappointed at the lack of challenge to remove it. (Again, no drops. It was all of 1/4 of an inch long or so.)
Old, expired fuse slid out with no effort at all. Almost anticlimactic. New one goes in, replace small bolts. (No mean feat, but at this stage, the impossible became merely inconvenient.)
Replace bottom of fuse box. Bolt fuse box back into place. Replace air cleaner. Replace battery. Oh, did I mention that I disconnected the battery before beginning? Guess that was kind of assumed as the battery had to be completely removed to access the fuse box securing bolt.
Put tools away. (Maybe too presumptuous here. Let's see.) Turn key. Engine sputters and purrs to life. IT RUNS! And just as important, no squeal. Success for the weekend warrior. And in fact it basically took a week end. And early week end, starting Thursday morning and finishing Friday afternoon. No work, other than auto related, completed. Just like a week end.
This reminded me of a statement that a Pastor I like makes a lot. "That is so simple it takes a preacher to mess it up." In this instance, this process of replacing a fuse is so simple that an engineer had to mess it up.
My Dad used to comment on how he wished that engineers would have to actually work on the devices that they built. The design would be a lot more "user friendly" if they personally had to make the repairs that they blithely ignore in their initial designs.
So working on my wife's crippled Camry (PP), I was reminded of Engineering Goof Ups 101. I am sure that there were some very compelling, to the engineer, anyway, reasons why the design was made. But to the poor weekend putterer (auto, not golf), they certainly pale in comparison to the difficulty of after production repair.
Thank you for you kind attention. And now I retire to solve my long neglected Rubik cube. A simple task compared to replacing a fuse.
By the way, disconnect the battery before working on any electrical system. Did I mention that? Changing the channels on the radio is excluded from this caveat. But that is about all.
At least you can say that I am a little smarter than I was on Wednesday evening.
Have a blessed day.
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